Read Ebook: Bulchevy's Book of English Verse by Quiller Couch Arthur Editor

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 4968 lines and 230574 words, and 100 pages

I have been able to uncover no such "generic equivalent" for an "Oxford" trademark, so until such time as I do, this will be on the order of what we will do.

Be careful, laws are different in different countries, and will be in a constant state of flux as the powers that be try to get a handle on stifling the "Information Age."

May, 1998

Chosen and Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

TO THE PRESIDENT FELLOWS AND SCHOLARS OF TRINITY COLLEGE OXFORD A HOUSE OF LEARNING ANCIENT LIBERAL HUMANE AND MY MOST KINDLY NURSE

PREFACE FOR this Anthology I have tried to range over the whole field of English Verse from the beginning, or from the Thirteenth Century to this closing year of the Nineteenth, and to choose the best. Nor have I sought in these Islands only, but wheresoever the Muse has followed the tongue which among living tongues she most delights to honour. To bring home and render so great a spoil compendiously has been my capital difficulty. It is for the reader to judge if I have so managed it as to serve those who already love poetry and to implant that love in some young minds not yet initiated.

Glosses of archaic and otherwise difficult words are given at the foot of the page: but the text has not been disfigured with reference-marks. And rather than make the book unwieldy I have eschewed notes--reluctantly when some obscure passage or allusion seemed to ask for a timely word; with more equanimity when the temptation was to criticize or 'appreciate.' For the function of the anthologist includes criticizing in silence.

Care has been taken with the texts. But I have sometimes thought it consistent with the aim of the book to prefer the more beautiful to the better attested reading. I have often excised weak or superfluous stanzas when sure that excision would improve; and have not hesitated to extract a few stanzas from a long poem when persuaded that they could stand alone as a lyric. The apology for such experiments can only lie in their success: but the risk is one which, in my judgement, the anthologist ought to take. A few small corrections have been made, but only when they were quite obvious.

The numbers chosen are either lyrical or epigrammatic. Indeed I am mistaken if a single epigram included fails to preserve at least some faint thrill of the emotion through which it had to pass before the Muse's lips let it fall, with however exquisite deliberation. But the lyrical spirit is volatile and notoriously hard to bind with definitions; and seems to grow wilder with the years. With the anthologist--as with the fisherman who knows the fish at the end of his sea-line--the gift, if he have it, comes by sense, improved by practice. The definition, if he be clever enough to frame one, comes by after-thought. I don't know that it helps, and am sure that it may easily mislead.

Having set my heart on choosing the best, I resolved not to be dissuaded by common objections against anthologies--that they repeat one another until the proverb loses all application--or perturbed if my judgement should often agree with that of good critics. The best is the best, though a hundred judges have declared it so; nor had it been any feat to search out and insert the second-rate merely because it happened to be recondite. To be sure, a man must come to such a task as mine haunted by his youth and the favourites he loved in days when he had much enthusiasm but little reading.

A deeper import Lurks in the legend told my infant years Than lies upon that truth we live to learn.

Few of my contemporaries can erase--or would wish to erase--the dye their minds took from the late Mr. Palgrave's Golden Treasury: and he who has returned to it again and again with an affection born of companionship on many journeys must remember not only what the Golden Treasury includes, but the moment when this or that poem appealed to him, and even how it lies on the page. To Mr. Bullen's Lyrics from the Elizabethan Song Books and his other treasuries I own a more advised debt. Nor am I free of obligation to anthologies even more recent--to Archbishop Trench's Household Book of Poetry, Mr. Locker-Lampson's Lyra Elegantiarum, Mr. Miles' Poets and Poetry of the Century, Mr. Beeching's Paradise of English Poetry, Mr. Henley's English Lyrics, Mrs. Sharp's Lyra Celtica, Mr. Yeats' Book of Irish Verse, and Mr. Churton Collins' Treasury of Minor British Poetry: though my rule has been to consult these after making my own choice. Yet I can claim that the help derived from them--though gratefully owned--bears but a trifling proportion to the labour, special and desultory, which has gone to the making of my book.

For the anthologist's is not quite the dilettante business for which it is too often and ignorantly derided. I say this, and immediately repent; since my wish is that the reader should in his own pleasure quite forget the editor's labour, which too has been pleasant: that, standing aside, I may believe this book has made the Muses' access easier when, in the right hour, they come to him to uplift or to console--

My thanks are here tendered to those who have helped me with permission to include recent poems: to Mr. A. C. Benson, Mr. Laurence Binyon, Mr. Wilfrid Blunt, Mr. Robert Bridges, Mr. John Davidson, Mr. Austin Dobson, Mr. Aubrey de Vere, Mr. Edmund Gosse, Mr. Bret Harte, Mr. W. E. Henley, Mrs. Katharine Tynan Hinkson, Mr. W. D. Howells, Dr. Douglas Hyde, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, Mr. Andrew Lang, Mr. Richard Le Gallienne, Mr. George Meredith, Mrs. Meynell, Mr. T. Sturge Moore, Mr. Henry Newbolt, Mr. Gilbert Parker, Mr. T. W. Rolleston, Mr. George Russell , Mrs. Clement Shorter , Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Francis Thompson, Dr. Todhunter, Mr. William Watson, Mr. Watts-Dunton, Mrs. Woods, and Mr. W. B. Yeats; to the Earl of Crewe for a poem by the late Lord Houghton; to Lady Ferguson, Mrs. Allingham, Mrs. A. H. Clough, Mrs. Locker-Lampson, Mrs. Coventry Patmore; to the Lady Betty Balfour and the Lady Victoria Buxton for poems by the late Earl of Lytton and the Hon. Roden Noel; to the executors of Messrs. Frederic Tennyson , Charles Tennyson Turner , Edward FitzGerald , William Bell Scott , William Philpot , William Morris , William Barnes, and R. L. Stevenson; to the Rev. H. C. Beeching for two poems from his own works, and leave to use his redaction of Quia Amore Langueo; to Mssrs. Macmillan for confirming permission for the extracts from FitzGerald, Christina Rossetti, and T. E. Brown, and particularly for allowing me to insert the latest emendations in Lord Tennyson's non-copyright poems; to the proprietors of Mr. and Mrs. Browning's copyrights and to Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. for a similar favour, also for a copyright poem by Mrs. Browning; to Mr. George Allen for extracts from Ruskin and the author of Ionica; to Messrs. G. Bell & Sons for poems by Thomas Ashe; to Messrs. Chatto & Windus for poems by Arthur O'Shaughnessy and Dr. George MacDonald, and for confirming Mr. Bret Harte's permission; to Mr. Elkin Mathews for a poem by Mr. Bliss Carman; to Mr. John Lane for two poems by William Brighty Rands; to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge for two extracts from Christina Rossetti's Verses; and to Mr. Bertram Dobell, who allows me not only to select from James Thomson but to use a poem of Traherne's, a seventeenth-century singer rediscovered by him. To mention all who in other ways have furthered me is not possible in this short Preface; which, however, must not conclude without a word of special thanks to Dr. W. Robertson Nicoll for many suggestions and some pains kindly bestowed, and to Professor F. York Powell, whose help and wise counsel have been as generously given as they were eagerly sought, adding me to the number of those many who have found his learning to be his friends' good fortune. October 1900 A.T.Q.C.

SUMER is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! Groweth sed, and bloweth med, And springth the wude nu-- Sing cuccu!

Awe bleteth after lomb, Lhouth after calve cu; Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth, Murie sing cuccu!

Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu: Ne swike thu naver nu; Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu, Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!

BYTUENE Mershe ant Averil When spray biginneth to spring, The lutel foul hath hire wyl On hyre lud to synge: Ich libbe in love-longinge For semlokest of alle thynge, He may me blisse bringe, Icham in hire bandoun. An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent, Ichot from hevene it is me sent, From alle wymmen my love is lent Ant lyht on Alisoun.

On heu hire her is fayr ynoh, Hire browe broune, hire eye blake; With lossum chere he on me loh; With middel smal ant wel y-make; Bote he me wolle to hire take For to buen hire owen make, Long to lyven ichulle forsake Ant feye fallen adoun. An hendy hap, etc.

Nihtes when I wende and wake, For-thi myn wonges waxeth won; Levedi, al for thine sake Longinge is y-lent me on. In world his non so wyter mon That al hire bounte telle con; Hire swyre is whittore than the swon, Ant feyrest may in toune. An hendy hap, etc.

Icham for wowyng al for-wake, Wery so water in wore; Lest eny reve me my make Ichabbe y-yerned yore. Betere is tholien whyle sore Then mournen evermore. Geynest under gore, Herkne to my roun-- An hendy hap, etc.

LENTEN ys come with love to toune, With blosmen ant with briddes roune, That al this blisse bryngeth; Dayes-eyes in this dales, Notes suete of nyhtegales, Vch foul song singeth; The threstlecoc him threteth oo, Away is huere wynter wo, When woderove springeth; This foules singeth ferly fele, Ant wlyteth on huere winter wele, That al the wode ryngeth.

The rose rayleth hire rode, The leves on the lyhte wode Waxen al with wille; The mone mandeth hire bleo, The lilie is lossom to seo, The fenyl ant the fille; Wowes this wilde drakes, Miles murgeth huere makes; Ase strem that striketh stille, Mody meneth; so doth mo For loue that likes ille.

The mone mandeth hire lyht, So doth the semly sonne bryht. When briddes singeth breme; Deowes donketh the dounes, Deores with huere derne rounes Domes forte deme; Wormes woweth under cloude, Wymmen waxeth wounder proude, So wel hit wol hem seme, Yef me shal wonte wille of on, This wunne weole y wole forgon Ant wyht in wode be fleme.

ICHOT a burde in boure bryht, That fully semly is on syht, Menskful maiden of myht; Feir ant fre to fonde; In al this wurhliche won A burde of blod ant of bon Never yete y nuste non Lussomore in londe. Blou northerne wynd! Send thou me my suetyng! Blou northerne wynd! blou, blou, blou!

With lokkes lefliche ant longe, With frount ant face feir to fonge, With murthes monie mote heo monge, That brid so breme in boure. With lossom eye grete ant gode, With browen blysfol under hode, He that reste him on the Rode, That leflych lyf honoure. Blou northerne wynd, etc.

Hire lure lumes liht, Ase a launterne a nyht, Hire bleo blykyeth so bryht. So feyr heo is ant fyn. A suetly swyre heo hath to holde, With armes shuldre ase mon wolde, Ant fingres feyre forte folde, God wolde hue were myn! Blou northerne wynd, etc.

Heo is coral of godnesse, Heo is rubie of ryhtfulnesse, Heo is cristal of clannesse, Ant baner of bealte. Heo is lilie of largesse, Heo is parvenke of prouesse, Heo is solsecle of suetnesse, Ant lady of lealte.

For hire love y carke ant care, For hire love y droupne ant dare, For hire love my blisse is bare Ant al ich waxe won, For hire love in slep y slake, For hire love al nyht ich wake, For hire love mournynge y make More then eny mon. Blou northerne wynd! Send thou me my suetyng! Blou northerne wynd! blou, blou, blou!

WYNTER wakeneth al my care, Nou this leves waxeth bare; Ofte I sike ant mourne sare When hit cometh in my thoht Of this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht.

Nou hit is, and nou hit nys, Al so hit ner nere, ywys; That moni mon seith, soth hit ys: Al goth bote Godes wille: Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle.

Al that gren me graueth grene, Nou hit faleweth albydene: Jesu, help that hit be sene Ant shild us from helle! For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.

OF on that is so fayr and bright Velut maris stella, Brighter than the day is light, Parens et puella: Ic crie to the, thou see to me, Levedy, preye thi Sone for me, Tam pia, That ic mote come to thee Maria.

Al this world was for-lore Eva peccatrice, Tyl our Lord was y-bore De te genetrice. With ave it went away Thuster nyth and comz the day Salutis; The welle springeth ut of the, Virtutis.

Levedy, flour of alle thing, Rose sine spina, Thu bere Jhesu, hevene king, Gratia divina: Of alle thu ber'st the pris, Levedy, quene of paradys Electa: Mayde milde, moder es Effecta.

LESTENYT, lordynges, both elde and yinge, How this rose began to sprynge; Swych a rose to myn lykynge In al this word ne knowe I non.

The Aungil came fro hevene tour, To grete Marye with gret honour, And seyde sche xuld bere the flour That xulde breke the fyndes bond.

The flour sprong in heye Bedlem, That is bothe bryht and schen: The rose is Mary hevene qwyn, Out of here bosum the blosme sprong.

The ferste braunche is ful of myht, That sprang on Cyrstemesse nyht, The sterre schon over Bedlem bryht That is bothe brod and long.

The secunde braunche sprong to helle, The fendys power doun to felle: Therein myht non sowle dwelle; Blyssid be the time the rose sprong!

The thredde braunche is good and swote, It sprang to hevene crop and rote, Therein to dwellyn and ben our bote; Every day it schewit in prystes hond.

Prey we to here with gret honour, Che that bar the blyssid flowr, Che be our helpe and our socour And schyd us fro the fyndes bond.

Robert Mannyng of Brunne. 1269-1340

NO thyng ys to man so dere As wommanys love in gode manere. A gode womman is mannys blys, There her love right and stedfast ys. There ys no solas under hevene Of alle that a man may nevene That shulde a man so moche glew As a gode womman that loveth true. Ne derer is none in Goddis hurde Than a chaste womman with lovely worde.

John Barbour. d. 1395

A! Fredome is a noble thing! Fredome mays man to haiff liking; Fredome all solace to man giffis, He levys at ese that frely levys! A noble hart may haiff nane ese, Na ellys nocht that may him plese, Gyff fredome fail; for fre liking Is yarnyt our all othir thing. Na he that ay has levyt fre May nocht knaw weill the propyrte, The angyr, na the wretchyt dome That is couplyt to foule thyrldome. Bot gyff he had assayit it, Than all perquer he suld it wyt; And suld think fredome mar to prise Than all the gold in warld that is. Thus contrar thingis evirmar Discoweryngis off the tothir ar.

Geoffrey Chaucer. 1340?-1400

O YONGE fresshe folkes, he or she, In which that love up groweth with your age, Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee, And of your herte up-casteth the visage To thilke god that after his image Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre This world, that passeth sone as floures fayre.

And loveth him, the which that right for love Upon a cros, our soules for to beye, First starf, and roos, and sit in hevene a-bove; For he nil falsen no wight, dar I seye, That wol his herte al hoolly on him leye. And sin he best to love is, and most meke, What nedeth feyned loves for to seke?

Geoffrey Chaucer. 1340?-1400

HYD, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere; Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-doun; Hyd, Jonathas, al thy frendly manere; Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun, Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun; Hyde ye your beautes, Isoude and Eleyne; My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet