C H A U C E R. 



Chaucer, adieu of the prince, and taking an oath of constancy, 

 / which, like many other mistresses, she forgets, and 

 repairing to the camp of the Greeks, transfers her 

 affections to Diomed. Troilus learns her infidelity, 

 and dies in despair. The story concludes disagree- 

 ably, and is tediously told ; but it is interspersed with 

 a number of interesting and deeply pathetic passages. 

 Though the scene and subject are connected with 

 classical and heroic story, the poet describes no pomp 

 nor circumstances of war, but such as are immediate- 

 ly necessary to usher in his hero to the notice of his 

 mistress with better effect, returning victorious from 

 the field ; and he seems to describe the temple of 

 Minerva, only for the sake of introducing the beauty 

 in a greater attitude of solemnity. Like the true 

 poet of love, he magnifies the importance of domestic 

 ecenes, and neglects war and public circumstances, 

 except where they serve as auxiliaries to that passion 

 which 



*' Drives ambition with its pomp away ; 

 Unless conducive to his ampler sway." 



The scenery and names in Troilus and Cresseide 

 are Trojan, but the sentiments and manners are pure- 

 ly modern and chivalrous. In one place we hear of 

 jousts and tournaments, in another of the parliament 

 of Troy. Cresseide is found by a noble anachronism 

 reading the Thebais of Statins during the Trojan 

 war. In the speeches, there are frequent allusions 

 to bishops, scholastic divinity, the devil, and other 

 ideas still more modern than Statins. Next to the 

 length of the poem, the greatest obstacle to our in- 

 terest in it is an inconsistency between the strength 

 and tenderness, and the lawlessness and secrecy of 

 Troilus's passion. The poet represents no sufficient 

 cause to prevent the Trojan from marrying Cresseide. 

 He dies of love for her, and yet declares no honour- 

 able passion. This is a departure from nature and 

 probability, the more remarkable in a poet whose 

 characteristic merit is generally adherence to both. 

 Yet this tale of Troy divine, which Sir Philip Syd- 

 ney adored, and which was once regarded as an or- 

 nament of our language, did not fascinate our fore- 

 fathers without a reason. As an ancient novel in 

 verse, it reminds us very frequently of the minute 

 touches and pathos of Richardson. The confession 

 which Cresseide makes of her attachment in the btcuc 

 of felicity, has been noticed, deservedly, by Warton as 

 exceedingly beautiful. 



Cresseide all quite 1 from every dride and tene*, * 

 As she that juste cause had him to trisU, 

 Made him soche feast, it joy was for to sene*, 

 When she his trouth and clene intent y wist 5. 

 And as ahout a tree with many a twist 

 Bitrent 15 and writhen 7 is the sweet woodbinde, 

 Can eche of 'hem 8 in armis other vvinde. 



And as the new abashed nightingale, 

 That stintith' when she beginneth sing, 

 When that she herith any herdis tale, 

 Or in the hedges any wight stirring; 

 And after sikir 10 doth her voice onstring, 



Right so Cresseide, whan that her drede' stent, 1 

 Opened her hert and told him her intent. 



The grief of Troilus at her departure, is most na- 

 turally pourtrayed : 



Where is mine own6 lady, lefe, and dere ? 

 Where is her white breast? where is it, where? 

 Where ben her *trmis, and her eyen clear, 

 That yesterday this time with me were ? 

 Now may I weep alone with many a tear, 

 And grasp about I may, but in this place, 

 Save a pillowe, I find nought to embrace. 



His sensations on arriving at her house, when, in- 

 stead of finding her returned, he sees the barred doors 

 and shut windows giving token of her absence, and 

 his hurrying precipitately from the distracting sight, 

 are well conceived and described : 



Therewith when he was ware, and gan behold 

 How shut was every window of the place, 

 As frost, him thought his heart began to cold, 

 For which, with changed dedly paly face, 

 Withouten worde he forthe by gan to pace, 

 And as God would, he gan so fast to ride, 

 That no wight his continuance aspide. l * 

 Then said he thus, O palace desolate ! 

 O house of houses, whilom best ydight ! ' 3 

 O palace empty and disconsolate ! 

 O thou lanterne of which quejnt ' 4 j s the light ! 

 O palace whilom day that now art night ! 

 Well oughtest thou to fall and I to die. 



It would be unprofitable to enter minutely into aK 

 the poems of Chaucer, which are numerous as well 

 as individually large. His Dream, which is suppo- 

 sed to be an epithalamium on the marriage of John of 

 Gaunt, is an allegory of very childish and grotesque 

 fancy. He dreams of an enchanted island, which is 

 visited by a knight, and invaded by Cupid, who brings 

 a formidable navy, and wounds the queen. The 

 knight departs, after obtaining a promise of marriage 

 from the queen ; but returning in a ship, which has 

 the convenient property of enlarging or contracting 

 its dimensions, he finds the queen has changed her 

 mind. The knight commits suicide at the news, and 

 the queen expires. While thr ir bodies are surrounded 

 by mourners, a beautiful bird enters, and sings over 

 the bier of the queen, but returning back, dashes 

 against a window, and falls down lifeless. Another 

 bird enters, and restores the dead one, by putting a 

 seed into its mouth. This furnishes a hint for re- 

 storing the knight and queen, who are revived and 

 married with great splendor. Such was the style of 

 allegory that was tolerated in the infancy of our 

 poetry. It certainly appears, at first sight, to have 

 as little connection with John of Gaunt as with John 

 o* Nokes, and to be abundantly foolish. 



The Boke of the Duchess is another dream, in- 

 tended to commemorate the sorrow of his patron for 

 the same Lady Blanche, who is heroine of the former 

 story. He dreams that he has been led into a forest 

 by the sound of the hunting horn, and that a dog 

 who comes and fawns upon him, leads him to the 



When the final e, which is now silent in our language, but which in Chaucer's poetry seems to be arbitrarily silenced and 

 Bounded as it suits his purpose, is pronounced as it is accented in the specimens we have quoted, the versification will read as 

 smoothly as much later poetry. 



1 Q uit ?> fr ee. a Tene, grief. 3 Trist, trust. 



Vwut, knew. 6 Sitrent, twined. 7 Writhen, wreathed. 



9 Stintith, stoppeth. o gikir, assured. ' ' Stent, stopt, ceased. 



Aspide, espied. 3 ydight, graced- 4 Queint, extinguished. 



4 Sene, see. 

 8 'Hem, them. 



