Robbins Library Digital Projects > Camelot Project > Burne-Jones, Edward Coley

Burne-Jones, Edward Coley

Edward Coley Burne-Jones

August 28, 1833 - June 16, 1898


Artwork
...And drow his sail, and saw her nevermo....And in hir smok, with heed and foot al bare......Me thoughte I saw an egle sore......whan that I hadde songe, Me thoughte she leyde a greyn upon my tonge...Agayn the knyght this olde wyf gan ryse, And seyde: Sire knyght, heerforth ne lith no wey...Allas! quod she, that evere I was born!Almighty and al merciable Quene, To whom that al this world fleeth for socour...Amidde saugh I Hate sonde, That for hir wrathe, ire, and onde, Semed to been a moveresse...Among thise children was a wydwes sone, A litel clergeon, seven yeer of age...Amydde a tree fordrye, as whit as chalk...And al this hous, of whiche I rede, Was made of twigges...And at the window leep he fro the lofte Whan she hath warned him, and doon him bote.And by the hande he held the noble quene, Corouned with whyte, & clothed al in grene...And fast I sleep; and in sleping, Me mette swiche a swevening...And in a launde, upon an hille of floures, Was set this noble goddesse Nature...And in a privee corner, in disporte, Fond I Venus and hir porter Richesse...And in the grove, at tyme and place yset, This Arcite and this Palamon ben met.And maden him upon a lond to falle, Wherof that Phillis lady was and quene...And out he cometh by the clewe again Ful prevely, whan he this beste hath slain...And Pandarus, that ladde hir by the lappe, Com ner, and gan in at the curtin pyke...And she, the mooste servysable of alle, Hath every chambre arrayed and his halle.And therwithal Dyane gan appeere, With bowe in honde, right as an hunteresse...And thus this companye of Muses yblamed casten wrothly the chere dounward to the erthe...And to the Lord right thus I speke and seye...And to the temple his wey forth hath he holde, Wheras he knew he sholde his lady see.And whan she say thise poetical Muses aprochen aboute my bed, and endytinge wordes to my wepinges, she was a litel amoved, and glowede with cruel eyen.And whan this maister, that this magyk wroughte, Saugh it was tyme, he clapte his handes two...And with that word he gan to waxen reed ... And sobreliche on hir he threw his look...And with that word, naked, with ful good herte, Among the serpents in the pit she sterte...Anoon doun kneling upon my knee, Profering for to kisse his feet...Before the temple-dore ful soberly Dame Pees sat, with a curteyn in hir hond...But atte laste the statue of Venus shook And made a signe...But I, allas, now morne shal; Bicause I was without the wal...But nathelees this mayde, bright of hewe, Fro foot to heed they clothed han al newe.But prively she caughte forth a knyf, And therwithal she rafte herself her lyf...But than a cherl, foule him bityde! Bisyde the roses gan him hyde...But which a congregacioun Of folk, as I saugh rome aboute...A compleynt hadde I, writen, in myn hond...Criseyde ... Gan eche of hem in armes other winde.Cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen, And leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, That to hirself she seyde: Who yaf me drinke?The double sorwe of Troilus to tellen, That was the king Priamus sone of Troye...For Narcisus, shortly to telle, By aventure com to that welle To reste him...For which delibered was by parlement, For Antenor to yelden up Criseyde...For, by my trouthe, I wol be to yow bothe, This is to seyn, ye, bothe fair and good.Ful dredfully tho gan she stonde stille, And took it nought, but al hir humble chere Gan for to chaunge...Ful redy was at pryme Dyomede, Criseyde unto the Grekes ost to lede...Ful wel yclothed was Fraunchyse...The God of Love, jolyf and light, Ladde on his honde a lady bright...Here taketh the makere of this book his leve.Hir lemman was bisyde alway, In swich a gyse, that he hir kiste...Hit was of Venus ... Naked fletinge in a see.How clippeth she the dede cors, allas!I saugh a Gardin right anoon, Ful long and brood, and everydel Enclos it was, and walled wel...In at the halle-dore, al sodeynly, Ther cam a knyght upon a steede of bras...Largesse, that sette al hir entente For to be honourable and free...Little Lowis my sone, I have perceived wel by certeyne evidences thyn abilite to lerne sciencez...Madame, quod he, by God that this world made...Me thoughte she layde a greyn under my tongue (Frontispiece)Me, fleinge, at a swappe he hente, And with his sours agayn up wente...Resoun men clepe that lady, Which from hir tour deliverly Come doun to me withouten more.She for to daunce called me...She had ywoven in a stamin large How she was broght from Athenes in a barge...Sire, I releesse thee thy thousand pound...The Sleep of King Arthur in AvalonSorowe was peynted next Envye Upon that walle of masonrye.The statue of Mars bigan his hauberk rynge; And with that soun he herde a murmurynge...Thanne wolde she sitte adoun upon the grene, And pitously into the see biholde...That she moste kisse his child er that it deyde...That thurgh a wyndow, thikke of many a barre Of iren, greet and square as any sparre, He cast his eye upon Emelya...That, by a clewe of twyne, as he hath goon, The same wey he may returne anoon...Ther he was slayn, his loking doun he caste; And in himself he lough right at the wo...Ther mighte men the royal egle finde....Ther to me Venus the goddesse, Which ay werreyeth Chastite, Came of hir grace, to socoure me...Therwith Fortune seyde Chek here!This al and som, that Arcite moot dye...This ugly sergeant, in the same wyse That he hire doghter caughte...Tho saw I al the half ygrave With famous folkes names fele...Thou art so loothly, and so oold also, And therto comen of so lough a kynde...Til on Criseyde it smoot, and ther it stente.Under a tree, besyde a welle, I say Cupyde our lord his arwes forge and fyle...Upon Grisilde, this povre creature, Ful ofte sithe this markys sette his eye...Upon the fyr of sacrifys she sterte, And with his swerd she roof her to the herte.Whan I was hurt thus in that stounde, I fel doun plat unto the grounde.Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote...Whan that this dore hadde opened me This mayden, semely for to see...What did this Eolus, but he Tok out his blakke trumpe of bras...When Adriane his wyf aslepe was...With that my hond in his he took anoon, Of which I comfort caughte, and wente in faste...Yeres and dayes fleteth this creature Thurghout the see of Grece...

Show Full List