The Visions of England Part 7

--He look'd around, and saw the world he left When to that visionary realm of song His spirit fled from bonds of flesh bereft; And on the vision he lay musing long, As o'er his soul rude minstrel-echoes throng, Old measures half-disused; and grasp'd his pen, And drew his cottage-Christ for homely men.

Thus Langland also took his pilgrimage; Rough lone knight-errant on uncourtly ways, And wrong and woe were charter'd on his page, With some horizon-glimpse of sweeter days.

And on the land the message of his lays Smote like the strong North-wind, and cleansed the sky With wholesome blast and bitter clarion-cry,

Summoning the people in the Ploughman's name.

--So fought his fight, and pa.s.s'd unknown away; Seeking no other praise, no sculptured fame Nor laureate honours for his artless lay, Nor in the Minster laid with high array;-- But where the May-thorn gleams, the gra.s.ses wave, And the wind sighs o'er a forgotten grave.

Langland, whom I have put here in contrast with Chaucer, is said to have lived between 1332 and 1400. His _Vision of Piers the Plowman_ (who is partially identified with our blessed Saviour), with some added poems, forms an allegory on life in England, in Church and State, as it appeared to him during the dislocated and corrupt age which followed the superficial glories of Edward the Third's earlier years.

_Took the toll_; Amongst other official employments, Chaucer was Comptroller of the Customs in the Port of London. See his _House of Fame_; and the beautiful picture of his walks at dawning in the daisy- meadows: Prologue to the _Legend of Good Women_.

_His of Certaldo, . . . in Scythia_; Boccaccio:--and Ovid, who died in exile at Tomi:--to both of whom Chaucer is greatly indebted for the substance of his tales.

_Picture-like_; 'It is chiefly as a comic poet, and a minute observer of manners and circ.u.mstances, that Chaucer excels. In serious and moral poetry he is frequently languid and diffuse, but he springs like Antaeus from the earth when his subject changes to coa.r.s.e satire or merry narrative' (Hallam, _Mid. Ages_: Ch. IX: Pt. iii).

_The Tabard_; Inn in Southwark whence the pilgrims to Canterbury start.

_Down the Strand_; It is thus that Langland describes himself and his feelings of dissatisfaction with the world.

_That worst woe_; Literature, even ancient literature, has no phrase more deeply felt and pathetic than the words which the Persian n.o.bleman at the feast in Thebes before Plataea addressed to Thersander of Orchomenus:--[Greek text]: (_Herodotus_, IX: xvi).

_One morn he lay_; The _Vision_ opens with a picture of the poet asleep on Malvern Hill: the last of the added poems closing as he wakes with the Easter chimes.

_Old measures_; Langland's metre 'is more uncouth than that of his predecessors' (Hallam, _Mid. Ag_. Ch. IX: Pt. iii).

_In the Minster_; Chaucer was buried at the entrance of S. Benet's Chapel in Westminster Abbey.

JEANNE D'ARC

1424

So many stars in heaven,-- Flowers in the meadow that s.h.i.+ne; --This little one of Domremy, What special grace is thine?

By the fairy beech and the fountain What but a child with thy brothers?

Among the maids of the valley Art more than one among others?

Chosen darling of Heaven, Yet at heart wast only a child!

And for thee the wild things of Nature Sot aside their nature wild:-- The brown-eyed fawn of the forest Came silently glancing upon thee; The squirrel slipp'd down from the fir, And nestled his gentleness on thee.

_Angelus_ bell and _Ave_, Like voices they follow the maid As she follows her sheep in the valley From the dawn to the folding shade:-- For the world that we cannot see Is the world of her earthly seeing; From the air of the hills of G.o.d She draws her breath and her being.

Dances by beech tree and fountain, They know her no longer:--apart Sitting with thought and with vision In the silent shrine of the heart.

And a voice henceforth and for ever Within, without her, is sighing 'Pity for France, O pity, France the beloved, the dying!'

--Now between church-wall and cottage What comes in the blinding light, --Rainbow plumes and armour, Face as the sun in his height . . .

'Angel that pierced the red dragon, Pity for France, O pity!

Holy one, thou shalt save her, Vineyard and village and city!'

Poor sweet child of Domremy, In thine innocence only strong, Thou seest not the treason before thee, The gibe and the curse of the throng,-- The furnace-pile in the market That licks out its flames to take thee;-- For He who loves thee in heaven On earth will not forsake thee!

Poor sweet maid of Domremy, In thine innocence secure, Heed not what men say of thee, The buffoon and his jest impure!

Nor care if thy name, young martyr, Be the star of thy country's story:-- Mid the white-robed host of the heavens Thou hast more than glory!

_Angel that pierced_; 'She _had pity_, to use the phrase for ever on her lip, _on the fair realm of France_. She saw visions; St. Michael appeared to her in a flood of blinding light': (_Green_, B. IV: ch. vi).

_The buffoon_; Voltaire.

TOWTON FIELD

Palm Sunday: 1461

Love, Who from the throne above Cam'st to teach the law of love, Who Thy peaceful triumph hast Led o'er palms before Thee cast, E'en in highest heaven Thine eyes Turn from this day's sacrifice!

Slaughter whence no victor host Can the palms of triumph boast; Blood on blood in rivers spilt,-- English blood by English guilt!

From the gracious Minster-towers Of York the priests behold afar The field of Towton s.h.i.+mmer like a star With light of lance and helm; while both the powers Misnamed from the fair rose, with one fell blow, --In snow-dazed, blinding air Ma.s.s'd on the burnside bare,-- Each army, as one man, drove at the opposing foe.

Ne'er since then, and ne'er before, On England's fields with English hands Have met for death such myriad myriad bands, Such wolf-like fury, and such greed of gore:-- No natural kindly touch, no check of shame: And no such b.e.s.t.i.a.l rage Blots our long story's page; Such lewd remorseless swords, such selfishness of aim

--Gracious Prince of Peace! Yet Thou May'st look and bless with lenient eyes When trodden races 'gainst their tyrant rise, And the bent back no more will deign to bow: Or when they crush some old anarchic feud, And found the throne anew On Law to Freedom true, Cleansing the land they love from guilt of blood by blood.

Nor did Heaven unmoved behold When h.e.l.las, for her birthright free Dappling with gore the dark Saronian sea, The Persian wave back, past Abydos, roll'd:-- But in this murderous match of chief 'gainst chief No chivalry had part, No impulse of the heart; Nor any sigh for Right triumphant breathes relief.

--Midday comes: and no release, No carnage-pause to blow on blow!

While through the choir the palm-wreathed children go, And gay hosannas hail the Prince of Peace:-- And evening falls, and from the Minster height They see the wan Ouse stream Blood-dark with slaughter gleam, And hear the demon-struggle shrieking through the night.

Love, o'er palms in triumph strown Pa.s.sing, through the crowd alone,-- Silent 'mid the exulting cry,-- At Jerusalem to die: Thou, foreknowing all, didst know How Thy blood in vain would flow!

How our madness oft would prove Recreant to the law of love: Wrongs that men from men endure Doing Thee to death once more!

'On the 29th of March 1461 the two armies encountered one another at Towton Field, near Tadcaster. In the numbers engaged, as well as in the terrible obstinacy of the struggle, no such battle had been seen in England since the field of Senlac. The two armies together numbered nearly 120,000 men': (_Green_, B. IV: ch. vi).

_Saronian sea_; Scene of the battle of Salamis, B.C. 480.

_They see the wan Ouse stream_; Mr. R. Wilton, of Londesborough, has kindly pointed out to me that _Wharfe_, which from a brook received the bloodshed of Towton, does not discharge into _Ouse_ until about ten miles south of York. The _gleam_ is, therefore, visionary: (1889).

GROCYN AT OXFORD

_THE ENGLISH RENAISSANCE_

1491