Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 1
THE
ROMANCE OF THE ROSE
I
The famed Romance that hight the Rose,
Behold! love’s art its leaves enclose.
Are dreams false or true?
Full many a man hath cried amain
That dreams and visions are but vain
Imaginings and lies, but I
Believe that they may truthfully
Forecast the future; and full clear
And plain this matter doth appear
By that famed dream of Scipio,
Whereof Macrobius long ago10
The story wrote, and stoutly he
Affirmeth dreams for verity.
Moreover, if one think or say
That fond and foolish ’tis to pay
Respect to visions, seeing that ne’er
They prove them true, that man may dare
To call me fool, for I avow
That I dim night-tide’s warnings trow
Sincerely, and believe that they,
Of good and ill, to men betray20
The shadow, showing darkly all
That shall in day’s clear light befall.
A dream befell the author
’Twas in my twentieth year of age,
When Love doth all young hearts engage
To pay him toll, that on my bed
I lay one night, as custom led.
Asleep, when o’er my spirit fell
A wondrous pleasant dream that well
Delighted me, and nought therein
I saw but what did later win 30
Fulfilment, and I now in rhyme
Set forth the tale, to while your time
And glad young hearts, by Love’s command.
And should or swain or maid demand
How that is called which now I write,
I answer “The Romance” it hight,
For lovers written, “of the Rose,”
Which doth Love’s gentle art enclose.
Good is the matter, fair and true,
God grant that grace it find in view 40
Of her for whose behoof ’twas writ;
Worthy of love is she, and fit,
Before all other maids I swear.
The fragrant name of Rose to bear.
Five years have rolled their suns away.
Since in the amorous month of May
I dreamed this dream: O month of joy
That knows all nature to decoy
To mirth and pleasure; bush and brake
Alike their fresh spring raiment take 50
Of leaves that long in swaddlings lay
Close shrouded from the light of day.
While woods and thickets don their green
Rich mantling of resplendent sheen.
The sweetness of springtide
Then earth, though old, once more grows vain.
And, cheered by balmy dews and rain,
Forgets her poverished drear estate
’Neath winter stern and obdurate;
For pride awaketh new desire
To dizen her in bright attire,60
And thereto doth she fashion quaint
And fair habiliments, and paint
Them o’er with tints of varying hue,
Green herb, and flowers, white, red, and blue;
And tricked in such gay robes I ween
Old Earth loves dearly to be seen.
The merry birds that silence kept
While all the world ’neath winter slept,
And wild winds roared, and skies were grey
With rain, break forth, when cometh May,70
In lusty note, and let sweet song
Proclaim their joy that winter’s wrong
Is past, and now once more doth reign
Sweet spring-tide o’er old earth’s domain.
Then nightingales with new-born voice
Through day and night make dulcet noise.
While larks on high, and in the brake
The woodwales, heavenly music wake;
And hearkening such sweet clamour, soon
Young hearts respond the amorous tune80
In this sweet season of fair spring.
O dull the soul that carolling
Of birds delighteth not when they
The echoes wake in joyous May.
’Twas in this season of delight.
When all things love as if of right,
The Dreamer wanders forth
That, lying on my bed, I dreamed
Dull night was passed and dawning beamed,
And, leaping from the couch, my face
I washed in haste, the night to chase,90
Put on my shoes, then straightway took
A silver bodkin from a book
Or bodkin-case, and with a thread
Engarnished it, then forthwith sped
From out the town, with will to hear
The woodland fowl with piping clear
Give welcome to the season new.
And as I went the cords I drew
Basting my sleeves, all joyous I
To hear the birds sing merrily100
Among the spring-tide’s burgeoning trees.
Moved gently by the fragrant breeze.
So to a river came I near
Whose pleasant murmur struck mine ear,
And soothing, past all words, did seem
The rippling music of the stream.
From out a moss-grown rocky bank
In bubbling waves, that rose and sank
With changing force, the water cool
Fell clear and bright, until a pool110
It formed, meandering o’er the plain
In volume less than rolls the Seine,
But broader spreading as I ween.
Never the eye of man hath seen
A fairer sight than that which I
Now gazed upon so rapturously.
Awhile I stood, then in the wave,
Glistening and fresh, I stooped to lave
He comes to a walled garden
My face, and saw the river-bed
With smooth bright gravel stones bespread, 120
And all around, the meadows wide
Were freshened by the lapping tide.
Calm and serene, and bright and sweet,
Was that spring morning, as my feet
Along the river bank I bent.
Light-hearted, heedless where I went.
And hearkening, as it rolled along.
The stream’s unending murmur-song.