But in sic haste, that mist he has the trap,
And in the mire he fell, such was his hap,
Well forty foot in breadth beneath the stair;
Yet got he up-with clothing nothing fair,
All drearily upon his feet he stude,

And thro' the mire full smartly then he yude;1
And o'er the wall he clambered hastily,

Which round about was laid with cope stones dry.
Of his escape in heart he was full fain,

I trow he shall be loath to come again."*

There are few of Chaucer's tales which are equal, and certainly none of them superior to this

excellent piece of satire. I have dwelt upon

it the rather, because without the coarseness and licentiousness which infects the poetry of the age, it gives us a fine specimen of its strength and natural painting. The whole management of the story, its quiet comic humour, its variety and natural delineation of human character, the freshness and brilliancy of its colouring, the excellence and playfulness of its satire upon the hypocritical and dissolute lives of many of the monastic orders, and the easy and vigorous versification into which it is thrown, are entitled to the highest praise.

Another beautiful poem of this author is, the "Golden Targe," but our limits will hardly permit us to touch upon it. Its subject is, the Power of Love; and nothing, certainly, can breathe a sweeter or truer spirit of poetry than its opening

stanzas.

66

Brycht as the sterne of day begonth to schyne,
Quhen gon to bed war Vesper and Lucyne,

I raiss, and by a rosere did me rest:
Up sprang the golden candle matutyne,
With clere depurit bemes crystalline,

Glading the merry foulis in their nest:
Or Phoebus was in purpour cape revest;
Upraise the lark, the hevyn's menstrale fyne,
In May in till a morrow myrthfullest.

"Full angellike thir birdis sang their houris
Within thair curtyns grene, into their bouris,
Apparalit quhite and red, wyth blomes swete;
Anamalit wes the felde with all colouris;
The perly droppis schuke in silvir schouris;
Quhile all in balme did branch and levis flete;
To part fra Phœbus did Aurora grete:
Hir crystall teris I saw hyng on the flouris,

Quhilk he for luve all drank up with his hete."*

Changing only the old spelling, scarce a word requires alteration or transposition:

"Bright as the star of day began to shine,
When gone to bed were Vesper and Lucyne,
I rose, and by a rose tree did me rest:
Up sprung the golden candle matutyne,
With clear and purest radiance crystalline,
To glad the merry birds within their nest,
For Phoebus was in purple garment drest;
Up rose the lark, the heaven's minstrel fine,

In May-whose mornings are the mirthfullest.

"Most angel-like the sweet birds sang their hours,
Enclosed in curtains green within their bowers,

Thro' blossoms white and red they gan to peep;
Enamelled was the field with all colours;
Down fell the pearly drops in silver showers,
And all in balm did leaves and branches steep; .
To part from Phoebus did Aurora weep:
Her crystal tears hung heavy on the flowers,

Which he anon drank up, so warm his love and deep."

The poet, as is rather too usual with him, falls asleep, and sees a vision.

"Lull'd by the birds delightful harmony,
And with the river's sound that ran me by;
On Flora's cloak sleep seiz'd me as I lay,
Where soon into my dreams came fantasy.
I saw approach against the orient sky,

A sail as white as hawthorn bud on spray,
With ropes of gold, bright as the star of day,
And still she near'd the land full lustily,

Swift as the falcon pouncing on her prey."

The ship anchors, and a hundred beautiful nymphs leap smilingly from its deck; amongst whom he recognizes love's mirthful queen, attended by

'Cupid, the king, with bow in hand ybent,

And dreadful arrows grundin1 sharp and keen." Secretly drawing near, to behold this wondrous sight, and creeping through the leaves, he is discovered by Venus, who commands Beauty, and others of her archers who attend on her, to seize the culprit; but when they are drawing their bows to pierce him to the heart, Reason, with his golden targe or shield, throws himself between these assailants and their victim::

"Then Reason came with shield of gold so clear, In plate of mail, like Mars, armipotint, Defended me this noble chevalier."

Presence, however, throws a powder in the eyes of this noble knight; and, when his defender has thus been blinded, the unhappy poet is abandoned to all the tyranny of Beauty, who wounds him nearly to death. Lord Æolus now gives a flourish on his bugle, and the whole scene, but a few 1 ground.

moments before so fresh and brilliant, fades away into empty air

"Leaving no more but birds, and bank, and brook."

This fine piece, which well deserves the high encomium bestowed on it by Warton, concludes with a spirited address to Chaucer, Gower, and Lydgate, whom Dunbar compliments as the great improvers of the language and poetry of England.

"Oh, reverend Chaucer, rose of rhetors all,
And of our tongue the flower imperial;
Sweetest that ever rose to give delight.
Thou beiast of makers the triumph riall;
Thy fresh enamelled works most cœlical,

This matter could illumined have full bright-
Wast thou not of our English all the light;
Surmounting every tongue terrestrial,

As far as May's fresh morning doth midnight.

"Oh, moral Gower, and Lydgate laureate,
Your sugard lips and tongues most aureate
Have to our ears been cause of great delight;
Your angel voices most mellifluate,
Our language rude has clear illuminate,

And gilded oer our speech, that imperfyte
Stood, till your golden pens began to urite;
This isle till then was bare and desolate
Of rhetorick or lusty fresch endyte.

"Thou little book be still obedient,
Humble and meek, and simple in intent;
Before the face of every cunning wight,
I know that thou of rhetorick art schent; 2
Of all her lovely roses redolent,

Is none into thy garland set on hight;
Ashamed be then-and draw thee out of sight.
Rude is thy weed, distained, bare, and rent,
Well may'st thou be afraid to face the light."*
2 shorn, deprived.
* Poems, vol. i. pp. 20, 21.-The spelling is altered.

1

imperfect.

The power and variety of Dunbar's genius must be evident, from the extracts already given. It is difficult to say whether his humorous, or his moral and didactic vein, is the richest and most original. He has attempted, also, and frequently with great felicity, a style of poetry which appears to have been extremely popular in those days; although it is somewhat difficult to find a name for it. It commences or concludes with some Latin quotation taken from the Psalms or the Gospels; or sometimes only from the words of an ancient Christian prayer or mass; and upon this, as a text, the poet builds a sacred ode or religious hymn, making his concluding English lines to rhyme, in rather an uncouth manner, with the Latin final syllables. Thus, in his lines on "The Resurrection:"

"Done is the battle on the dragon black;

Our champion, Christ, confounded hath his force.
The gates of hell are broken with a crack;
The sign triumphal raised is of the cross.

The devils tremble with a hideous voice;

The souls are purchased, and to bliss may go. Christ, with his blood, our ransom doth indorse; Surrexit Dominus de Sepulchro.

"The victor great again is ris'n on hight;

That for our quarrel to the death was wounded.
The sun, that wax'd all pale, again shines bright,
And darkness clears; our faith is now refounded.
The knell of mercy from the heavens is sounded!

The Christians are delivered from their woe;
The Jews, and their gross errors are confounded.
Surrexit Dominus de Sepulchro." *

It is deeply to be regretted, that of a poet
Poems, vol. i. p. 247.