again. But he was quite an old man at this time. The last we find of him he hired a house in the garden of Westminster Abbey, in which he lived till his death. Then he was buried in the great Abbey, the very first of a long line of poets who sleep there, in what is called the “Poets’ Corner” of the grand old church.
Chaucer is said to have been very handsome, and I fancy it is true, since his beautiful works must have made him beautiful. But the only description I find of him does not read very flatteringly. This is it:—
“His stature was not very tall;
Lean he was, his legs were small;
Hosed with a stock of red,
A buttoned bonnet on his head.”
His poetry is old-fashioned now—much of it is unfit to read. But in many of his verses, especially when he describes nature, we seem to see the daisy or the dewy grass, or smell the odor of new-mown hay in country pastures, and hear the cattle lowing, and feel the fresh air blowing from woods and fields.
The stories which I shall tell you from Chaucer, are all taken from “The Canterbury Tales.” Each story is supposed to be related by one of a party of travellers who are journeying together. The one which follows is told by a knight, and is the story of the “Two Noble Kinsmen.”
