Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookthis egle goon, (20) 1110 I gan beholde upon this place. And certein, or I ferther pace, I wol yow al the shap devyse Of hous and site; and al the wyse How I gan to this place aproche 1115 That stood upon so high a roche, Hyer stant ther noon in Spaine. But up I clomb with alle paine, And though to climbe hit greved me, Yit I ententif was to see, (30) 1120 And for to pouren wonder lowe, If I coude any weyes knowe What maner stoon this roche was; For hit was lyk a thing of glas, But that hit shoon ful more clere; 1125 But of what congeled matere Hit was, I niste redely. But at the laste espyed I, And found that hit was, every deel, A roche of yse, and not of steel. (40) 1130 Thoughte I, 'By Seynt Thomas of Kent! This were a feble foundement To bilden on a place hye; He oughte him litel glorifye That her-on bilt, god so me save!' 1135 Tho saw I al the half y-grave With famous folkes names fele, That had y-been in mochel wele, And hir fames wyde y-blowe. But wel unethes coude I knowe (50) 1140 Any lettres for to rede Hir names by; for, out of drede, They were almost of-thowed so, That of the lettres oon or two Was molte away of every name; 1145 So unfamous was wexe hir fame; But men seyn, 'What may ever laste?' Tho gan I in myn herte caste, That they were molte awey with hete, And not awey with stormes bete. (60) 1150 For on that other syde I sey Of this hille, that northward lay, How hit was writen ful of names Of folk that hadden grete fames Of olde tyme, and yit they were 1155 As fresshe as men had writen hem there The selve day right, or that houre That I upon hem gan to poure. But wel I wiste what hit made; Hit was conserved with the shade-- (70) 1160 Al this wrytinge that I sy-- Of a castel, that stood on by, And stood eek on so cold a place, That hete mighte hit not deface. Tho gan I up the hille to goon, 1165 And fond upon the coppe a woon, That alle the men that ben on lyve Ne han the cunning to descryve The beautee of that ilke place, Ne coude casten no compace (80) 1170 Swich another for to make, That mighte of beautee be his make, Ne [be] so wonderliche y-wrought; That hit astonieth yit my thought, And maketh al my wit to swinke 1175 On this castel to bethinke. So that the grete craft, beautee, The cast, the curiositee Ne can I not to yow devyse, My wit ne may me not suifyse. (90) 1180 But natheles al the substance I have yit in my remembrance: For-why me thoughte, by Seynt Gyle! Al was of stone of beryle, Bothe castel and the tour, 1185 And eek the halle, and every bour, Withouten peces or Ioininges. But many subtil compassinges, Babewinnes and pinacles, Imageries and tabernacles, (100) 1190 I saw; and ful eek of windowes, As flakes falle in grete snowes. And eek in ech of the pinacles Weren sondry habitacles, In whiche stoden, al withoute-- 1195 Ful the castel, al aboute-- Of alle maner of minstrales, And gestiours, that tellen tales Bothe of weping and of game, Of al that longeth unto Fame. (110) 1200 Ther herde I pleyen on an harpe That souned bothe wel and sharpe, Orpheus ful craftely, And on his syde, faste by, Sat the harper Orion, 1205 And Eacides Chiron, And other harpers many oon, And the Bret Glascurion; And smale harpers with her gleës Seten under hem in seës, (120) 1210 And gonne on hem upward to gape, And countrefete hem as an ape, Or as craft countrefeteth kinde. Tho saugh I stonden hem behinde, A-fer fro hem, al by hemselve, 1215 Many thousand tymes twelve, That maden loude menstralcyes In cornemuse and shalmyes, And many other maner pype, That craftely begunne pype (130) 1220 Bothe in doucet and in rede, That ben at festes with the brede; And many floute and lilting-horne, And pypes made of grene corne, As han thise litel herde-gromes, 1225 That kepen bestes in the bromes. Ther saugh I than Atiteris, And of Athenes dan Pseustis, And Marcia that lost her skin, Bothe in face, body, and chin, (140) 1230 For that she wolde envyen, lo! To pypen bet then Apollo. Ther saugh I famous, olde and yonge, Pypers of the Duche tonge, To lerne love-daunces, springes, 1235 Reyes, and these straunge thinges. Tho saugh I in another place Stonden in a large space, Of hem that maken blody soun In trumpe, beme, and clarioun; (150) 1240 For in fight and blood-shedinge Is used gladly clarioninge. Ther herde I trumpen Messenus, Of whom that speketh Virgilius. Ther herde I Ioab trumpe also, 1245 Theodomas, and other mo; And alle that used clarion In Cataloigne and Aragon, That in hir tyme famous were To lerne, saugh I trumpe there. (160) 1250 Ther saugh I sitte in other seës, Pleyinge upon sondry gleës, Whiche that I cannot nevene, Mo then sterres been in hevene, Of whiche I nil as now not ryme, 1255 For ese of yow, and losse of tyme: For tyme y-lost, this knowen ye, By no way may recovered be. Ther saugh I pleyen Iogelours, Magiciens and tregetours, (170) 1260 And phitonesses, charmeresses, Olde wicches, sorceresses, That use exorsisaciouns, And eek thise fumigaciouns; And clerkes eek, which conne wel 1265 Al this magyke naturel, That craftely don hir ententes, To make, in certeyn ascendentes, Images, lo, through which magyk To make a man ben hool or syk. (180) 1270 Ther saugh I thee, queen Medea, And Circes eke, and Calipsa; Ther saugh I Hermes Ballenus, Lymote, and eek Simon Magus. Ther saugh I, and knew hem by name, 1275 That by such art don men han fame. Ther saugh I Colle tregetour Upon a table of sicamour Pleye an uncouthe thing to telle; I saugh him carien a wind-melle (190) 1280 Under a walsh-note shale. What shuld I make lenger tale Of al the peple that I say, Fro hennes in-to domesday? Whan I had al this folk beholde, 1285 And fond me lous, and noght y-holde, And eft y-mused longe whyle Upon these walles of beryle, That shoon ful lighter than a glas, And made wel more than hit was (200) 1290 To semen, every thing, y-wis, As kinde thing of fames is; I gan forth romen til I fond The castel-yate on my right hond, Which that so wel corven was 1295 That never swich another nas; And yit hit was by aventure Y-wrought, as often as by cure. Hit nedeth noght yow for to tellen, To make yow to longe dwellen, (210) 1300 Of this yates florisshinges, Ne of compasses, ne of kervinges, Ne how they hatte in masoneries, As, corbets fulle of imageries. But, lord! so fair hit was to shewe, 1305 For hit was al with gold behewe. But in I wente, and that anoon; Ther mette I crying many oon,-- 'A larges, larges, hold up wel! God save the lady of this pel, (220) 1310 Our owne gentil lady Fame, And hem that wilnen to have name Of us!' Thus herde I cryen alle, And faste comen out of halle, And shoken nobles and sterlinges. 1315 And somme crouned were as kinges, With crounes wroght ful of losenges; And many riban, and many frenges Were on hir clothes trewely. Tho atte laste a |