Song by Richard Eœur de Lion. 1157-1199. Written during his imprisonment in the Tour Tenebreuse, or Black Tower. O wretched captive of his prison speaks, Unless with pain and bitterness of soul; Yet consolation from the Muse he seeks, Whose voice alone misfortune can control. Where now is each ally, each baron, friend, Whose face I ne'er beheld without a smile? Will none, his sovereign to redeem, expend The smallest portion of his treasures vile? Though none may blush that near two tedious years Not one of you should thus remain immured; The meanest subject of my wide domains, Had I been free, a ransom should have found, Too true it is-so selfish human race!— What can from infamy their names restore, If, while a prisoner, death my eyes should close? But small is my surprise, though great my grief, Though lofty towers obscure the cheerful day, Ye dear companions of my happy days, My foes against me wage inglorious war; The insults I receive while captive here. Know, all ye men of Anjou and Touraine, And ev'ry bachelor knight robust and brave, From bonds your sovereign and your friend to save. The wretched captive of a powerful foe, Who all your zeal and ardour can defy, Nor leave you aught but pity to bestow. AISIE of light! very ground of comfort! The sunnis doughtir ye hight, as I rede, For when he westrith, farwell your disport; By your nature anone, right for pure drede Of the rude Night, that with his boistous wede Of derkenesse shadowith our hemisphere, Then closin ye, my liv'is ladie dere. CHAUCER'S LOVE FOR THE DAISY. Daunying the daie unto his kind resort, Je vouldray; but the grete God disposeth From "A Godely Balade." Chaucer's Love for the Daisy. OW have I than eke this condicion, That above all the flouris in the mede Than love I moste these flouris white and rede, To them have I so grete affectioun, As I saied erst, whan comin is the Maie, So glad am I whan that I have presence Of it to doin it all revèrence, As she that is of all flouris the floure, |