"On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long; The Lake poets-Heaven bless them!-have one and all-Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey-loudly and angrily denied to Dryden a poetical eye for nature, quoting in proof some inflated passage or another from his rhyming plays. Pope, too, according to them, was blind, and had never seen the moon and stars. Where, we ask, in all the poetry of the Lakes and Tarns, is there such a strain-so rich and so sustained-as that yet ringing in your ears? And "the ancient woman seated on Helmcrag" answers-"where?" True, "The ladies left their measures at the sight, And each with open arms embraced her chosen knight. The grace and ornament of all the wood; That pleasing shade they sought, a soft retreat From sudden April showers, a shelter from the heat. So near the clouds was her aspiring head, And every knight a lady by his side: The trunk itself such odours did bequeath That a Moluccan breeze to these was common breath. Their homage, with a low obeisance made, And seem'd to venerate the sacred shade. These rites perform'd, their pleasures they pursue, And a fresh object of delight beheld. "The ladies dressed in rich symars were seen, And the soft lute trembling beneath the touching hand. They saw, and thitherward they bent their way; To this both knights and dames their homage made, And then the band of flutes began to play, To which a lady sang a virelay; And still at every close she would repeat The burden of the song, The daisy is so sweet. O bardlings of Young England! withhold, we beseech you, from winsome Maga, your verse-offerings, while thus the sons of song, evoked from the visionary land, coming and going like shadows, smile to let drop at her feet the scrolls of their inspiration. Poetry indeed! "You lisp in numbers, for the numbers come." But in big boobies a lisp is only less loathsome than a burr. Some of you have both, and therefore deserve to die. Readers beloved! prefer you not such sweet, strong strains as these sounded by Dryden, when he had nearly counted threescore and ten? "Yet was not his natural force abated "--while his sense of beauty, instructed and refined by meditations that deepen amongst life's evening shades, became holier within sight of the grave. You will thank us for another quotation; for much do we fear, O lady fair! that thou hast no copy of Dryden in thy boudoir, and yet life is fast flowing on with thee, for thou art -nay, there's no denying-yea, thou art-in thy twentieth year-and if you continue to refuse our advice—will soon be an old woman. "The Lady of the Leaf ordain'd a feast, With sudden seats adorn'd, and large for either train. That I could hear and see whatever pass'd: The ladies sat with each a knight between, Nor wanted sweet discourse, the banquet of the mind. The sun was set; and Vesper, to supply To sing the service of th' ensuing May, Every soul alive knows something of them-but not very many more than Stothard, in his celebrated Picture, has informed their eye withal. Their plan ranks them among works which are numerous, early and late, but which rather belong to early literature. East and West such are to be found, but they belong rather to the Oriental genius. A slender narrative, the container of weightier ones -a technical contrivance, which gave to a number of slighter compositions, collectively taken, the importance of a greater work-which prolonged to the tale-teller who had once gained the ear of his auditory his right of audience-and which, in a world where the tongue was more active in the diffusion of literature than the quill, afforded to each involved tale a memorial niche that might save it from dropping entirely away into oblivion. To Chaucer, the scheme serves a higher purpose of art, which of itself allies him to the higher poets. By it he is enabled to comprehend, as if in one picture, a more diversified and complete representation of humanity. The thought is genial and sprightly. A troop of riders, who have been stirred severally from their firesides by the searching spirit of spring, have casually fallen into company, and who pace along, breathing an air which "sweet showers" have embalmedexhilarated by the brightening radiance of "the young sun," and made loquacious by the very power which pours out the song of the glad birds from the newly-leaved boughs by the long wayside. And who are the riders? And what is the charm that has drawn together a company of thirty to ride on the same road at the same hour of the same day? The suddenly-spun band of a union that will be as hastily dissolved, squares happily with the large purpose of the poet, by unforcedly bringing together persons of both sexes, and of exceedingly diverse conditions, high, low, learned, unlearned, military, civil, religious, from city and from country, land and sea, of unlike occupations, buoyant with youth, grave with years. The momentary tie has poetical vitality, from the fact that it is borrowed from the heart of the time and of England. They are Pilgrims from all quarters to the shrine of England's illustrious and favourite Saint, the martyr of Canterbury. They have gradually mustered into cavalcade in coming up from the shires to the metropolis, one exceptedthe Poet. He falls into their party, by the hap of sleeping the night preceding the journey out from the capital at the same inn, in the suburb towards Canterbury-Southwark. The specific incitement of the Taletelling is thus invented in a natural spirit, and aptly to the vivacity of the whole conception. Mine host of the Tabard, Henry Bailey, a hearty fellow no doubt, since Chaucer has thought his name worthy of his immortalizing, contrives the proceeding, and this half in good fellowship, and half in the way of his trade. To shorten the tediousness of the road, he proposes that each of them shall tell, on the way to Canterbury, one tale, and on the way back, another-or, for here the poem a little disagrees with itself, two tales going and two returning; and that he or she who tells the best tale shall have, on their return, a supper, for which all the others shall pay, and which of course, he, Henry Bailey, shall provide. Upon these terms he will, without fee, perform the part of their conductor to Canterbury and back again. In assenting, the Pilgrims constitute him the judge of the tales; and thus mine host, with his joyous temper, courtesy, where courtesy needs, worldly sense, rough, sharp, and ready wit, and unappealable dictatorship in all matters of the commonwealth, becomes a dramatic person of the very first consequence, the animating soul of the poetical ac-. tion; and who, continually stepping in between the finishing of one tale and the beginning of the next, organically links together the otherwise disunited and incomposite Series. The General Prologue contains, as was unavoidable, besides the scheme of the poem, the description of the several Pilgrims, and constitutes in itself, by the versatile feeling with which the portraits are seized, by the strength, precision, peculiarity, liveliness, rapidity, and number of the strokes with which each is individualized-a masterpiece of poetical painting. One lost generation of Old England moves before us in the warmth and hues of life. The Knight, his son the Squire, his servant the good Yeoman-a gallant three-the Clerke of Oxenford, the "poure Person of a toun," and his brother the Ploughman, are, each in his estate, of thorough worthiness, and. are all, accordingly, drawn in a spirit of full affection. The Prioress and the Franklin are laughed at a littleshe for the pains she gives herself to display her imitative high breeding, and for-only think it!-A. D. 1489 her SENTIMENTALITY!-he for his love of a plenteously-spread board, and for his "poignant sauces!" But the two are good at heart; and the satire of the poet leaves to them undisturbed their place in your good esteem. His other men of some condition-the Monk, the Friar, the "Sergeant of the Lawe," the Merchant, the "Doctour of Physike"-he lashes with a more vigorous wrist. But not like a farce-monger, who, to gain your laugh, must utterly abase his characters, and make them merely ridiculous. The hunting Monk wants nothing but his hood off to be a distinguished country squire. He is "a manly man to be an abbot able!" and, if he keeps greyhounds, they are "as swift as fowl of flight." And look but at his horse's points and condition! The rascal of a "Frere," if, by his perseverance and persuasiveness in begging, he impoverishes the county, is a noble post of women. his order, and well beloved and familiar with franklins, and with worthy The Merchant has an assumed air of importance-magnifies his gains-thinks the protection of the sea betwixt the ports from which his vessels run the first duty of civilized governments-and keeps his wit set upon the main chance. But that is the worst of him-" For sothe he was a worthy man withalle." The Lawyer is at the top of his profession-wise, witty, perfect in statutes and in precedents, high in honours. What are his faults? You can hardly tell. There is a slight ostentation of wisdom. He has got a deal of money together he is full of business-but he " seems yet busier than he is." The Doctor, too, is an excellent physician. He calls the stars in to his aid. But that may be Chaucer's belief, not his mirth. He knows the disease, and has the remedy at command. To be sure, he and his apothecaries understand one another. He is learned in a thousand books; but not in THE Book. Gold is of high esteem in medicine as a cordial. Therefore he Floves gold. Why go on? Like Shakspeare, Chaucer portrays men in a spirit of humanity. He paints his fellows; and, if he is amused with our follies, he prefers showing the fairer side of our nature. Even the merry, warmblooded Wife of Bath, with her five wedded husbands, earns some good will of us by her joyous and invincible spirit. Imagine the daring, the vigour, and the stirring wit of the westcountry cloth-manufacturess, who cannot rest easy till she has been three times in pilgrimage to Jerusa lem! There is a visible purpose of keeping up the RESPECTABILITY of the company. If the MILLER, the COKE, the REVE, and the SOMPNOUR, stand on a somewhat low step of the social stair-the HABERDASHER, the CARPENTER, the WEBBE (Weaver)-the DYER and the TAPISER-who are lumped in the poet's description "A semely man— For to have ben a marshal in an halle. A large man he was, with eyen stepe,* A fairer burgeis is ther non in Chepe. Bold of his speche, and wise and wel ytaught, And of manhood him lacked righte nought." Moreover, even that chief of poetical Taverns, the TABARD, is designated as "This gentil hostelrie." No wonder! since "The chambres and the stables weren wide, And wel we weren esed ATTE BESTE." The Tales are, in some respect, like an extension of the Prologue. They carry out the characters, or the spirit if the chivalry of the time is impersonof the characters, there drawn. Thus, and courteous demeanour, in the ated, in respect of its valour, honour, Knight, in his Tale it mounts into poetical aspiration, and shines out in regal splendour. The contrast, due to the different years of the father and the son, is in part disappointed by the cross destiny which has " left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold." The youthful fancy, dipped or drenched in romance, of the twenty-year old Squire, shows itself, indeed, in the two sections which we have of his chivalrous narrative. The Sword, * The Monk, too, has this characteristic, which is of dubious exposition. Tyrwhitt thinks that the meaning may be-" Eyes sunk deep in the head." Certainly a feature giving force and distinction to the physiognomy has been intended. |