CHAUCER. 



761 



foot of a tree, where he finds a melancholy knight, 

 evidently John of Gaunt, who laments to him for 

 the loss of his partner. This poem also is dull, but 

 it contains one description of a forest landscape, in 

 a very sprightly style. * The Assembly, n> l/tc V<ir- 

 liantfiil of Mink, is another poem devoted to the 

 story of his patron's attarhnu-m. It commences with 

 a lofty abstract from the Somnium Scipioni* ; and 

 after describing the parliament, or meeting of birds, 

 to choose their mates on Valentine's day, tiresomely 

 touches the amour of the royal pair under the simi- 

 litude of eagles. 



The Romaunt of the Rose, is a fine translation 

 from the French allegory of John de Meun and Wil- 

 liam de Lorris, representing the dangers and diffi- 

 culties of a lover. 



The Flour and the Leo/'is another allegory, found- 

 ed on mysterious allusions to the virtues of the vege- 

 table world. The plan of the poem is ascribed by 

 Warton to a French original ; and the peculiar style 

 of French poetry from which it is deduced, is sup- 

 posed by the same critic to be that of the Chants 

 Itoi/aux Baladcs llondcav x and Pastorals, which Frois- 

 sart and others cultivated as the provengal poetry de- 

 clined. The fancies with which this poem is filled, 

 (says the same author,) seem to have taken their rise 

 from the floral games instituted in France in the 

 year 1324-, which filled the French poetry with im- 

 ages of this sort. They were founded by Clemen- 

 tina Isaure, Countess of Tholouse, and annually ce- 

 lebrated in the month of May. She published an 

 edict, by which she assembled all the poets of France 

 in artificial arbours, dressed with flowers, and the suc- 

 cessful poet was rewarded with a flower made in gold. 

 There were also inferior prizes in silver. This fan- 

 tastic institution soon became common over the whole 

 kingdom of France. 



The best of Chaucer's allegories (and we long to 

 have done with them) is his House of Fame, which 

 Pope has so elegantly modernized. Warton has in- 

 juriously compared Pope's imitation to the modern 

 ornaments in the venerable pile of Westminster Ab- 

 bey. Analogies drawn from one art to another, are 

 unsafe guides in matters of taste, and of all analogies 

 we deprecate those chiefly which are drawn from 

 brick and stone. We will not suffer the later poet 

 to be condemned by so arbitrary a comparison. Pope 

 has not indeed the merit of originality in his Temple 

 of Fame ; it is doubtful if even Chaucer drew it 

 from invention or translated it. What is most bold 

 and pleasing in Chaucer's piece, is the conception of 

 the palace of Fame ; of the rock of ice on which the 

 perishable names of grandeur were engraven ; his 

 theory and explanation of the expansion of sounds, 

 spreading in circles through the air like the rings on 

 water, when a pebble is cast into it, till it reach the 



* The poet describes himself as led into a forest, 



Where there were many grene grcves, -f- 

 Or thick of trees, so full of leaves ; 

 And every tree stood l>\ him>el\c 

 Fro other well ten foot or twelve. 

 So great trees and so huge of strength, 

 Of forty or fifty fathoms length, 

 All clean withouten bowe or stick, 

 With croppis brond and eke as thick ; 



( Grerc, grove*. 

 VOL. V. PART II. 



abode of Fame ; the house of Rumour for ever shift- Chaucer, 

 ing round. These ideas, and the claim* of t!u- j.cti- """ ' ""' 

 tioi.ers at the tribunal of Fame, are modernized by 

 Pope with an addition, not a lots of dignity. In ome 

 respects, the judgment of Pope 1. -ed upon 



the original. Chaucer suppobeb himself snatched up 

 to heaven bv an immense golden eagle, which addres- 

 ses him in the names of St James and the Virgin Ma- 

 ry ; but presently quiets the poet's apprehension* of 

 being carried off to Dan Jupiter like Ganymede, or 

 stellified like Orion, by assuring him that Jove wishes 

 him to sing of other subjects than of Venus and blind 

 Cupids, and has ordered him to obtain a sight of the 

 house of Fame. The philosophy of Fame appear* 

 in Pope with much more propriety coming from the 

 mouth of the poet himself, than from the beak of a 

 talkative eagle. 



We now come to his immortal Canterbury Tales. 

 The subject of that work, it will be hardly ne- 

 cessary to inform any reader, is the journey of a 

 number of travellers, who arc going on a pilgrim- 

 age to Canterbury, and who agree, at the sugges- 

 tion of a jovial landlord, to tell stories by the way, 

 with an agreement, that the one who tells the best 

 story should have a supper at the common expence 

 on their return. The plan is borrowed from Boc- 

 caccio, who first introduced in his Decamcrune the 

 dramatic form of novel writing; but whatever be the 

 merit of Boccaccio's stories, his gentlemen and ladic-- 

 in the Decamerone are spiritless portraits compared 

 to those of Chaucer. The Italian poet's characters 

 are true gentlemen and ladies, as similar to each other 

 as old shillings, from which the polish of society has 

 effaced every stamp of originality. In comparing 

 the merit of the different tales, Dryden pronounces 

 the highest panegyric on the Knight's story, while 

 those of the Squire and Miller have been honoured 

 by the preference of Warton. The former has been 

 immortalized by the notice of Milton himself, vir. . 

 the story of Cambuscan bold. The enumeration of 

 the pilgrims at the opening of the poem has no rival 

 in description drawn from familiar life. The groups 

 of Homer's heroes, and of Milton's devils, are more 

 astonishing, but not more perfect in their kind. The 

 scene is full without confusion, varied with the ap- 

 pearance of accident, but with consummate art. Never 

 were drawn together a company so completely fitted 

 to be the representatives or the entire state of soci- 

 ety at one period. A fine unobtrusive but sufficient 

 contrast is supported between the characters ; as be- 

 tween the demure society of the prioress and the 

 jovial laxity of the wife or Bath ; the rudeness of the 

 shipman and the polish of the knight, &c. ; but it is 

 a contrast arising out of nature, not an antithesis be- 

 traying intention. The dramatic conduct of the 

 piece deserves uncommon approbation. Among uine- 



They \verin not an inch asunder 

 That it was .--hade ovir all undir. 

 And many a harte and many a hinde 



oth before me and behinde : 

 Of fawnis, sowris, buck is, does. 

 Was full the wood, and many roes 

 And many squirrilis, that sate 

 Full high upon the trees and ate. 



$ Starr/*, bucks fours rears olcU 

 5D 



