Robbins Library Digital Projects Announcement: We are currently working on a large-scale migration of the Robbins Library Digital Projects to a new platform. This migration affects The Camelot Project, The Robin Hood Project, The Crusades Project, The Cinderella Bibliography, and Visualizing Chaucer.
While these resources will remain accessible during the course of migration, they will be static, with reduced functionality. They will not be updated during this time. We anticipate the migration project to be complete by Summer 2025.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us directly at robbins@ur.rochester.edu. We appreciate your understanding and patience.
While these resources will remain accessible during the course of migration, they will be static, with reduced functionality. They will not be updated during this time. We anticipate the migration project to be complete by Summer 2025.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us directly at robbins@ur.rochester.edu. We appreciate your understanding and patience.
Ballade of Tristram's Last Harping
The end that Love doth seek, what bard can say,
In that fair season when the tender green
Of opening leaves doth roof the woods of May,
And sweet wild buds from out their places lean
To touch the dainty feet that heedless stray
Among them, with a youth in knight's attire?
His lady's will capricious to obey,
This is the end of dawning Love's desire.
And when amid the summer's bright array
Of blossoms, are the crimson roses seen,
And one young maid, fairer than any spray
In perfect bloom, wanders their lines between,
What blessëd solace can the lover pray
Of her compassion, for his heart of fire?
With kisses on her mouth all words to stay--
This is the end of eager Love's desire.
With driven clouds the hovering sky is grey;
The winds above the frozen hills are keen,
And all fair buds have fallen in decay;
What joy hath now the true knight of his Queen?
No rapture less exultant can allay
His need, than softly craves this faulty lyre:
To answer all his pleading with sweet 'Yea'--
This is the end of yearning Love's desire.
Envoy
Beloved, now is done our life's brief day;
Not with the day howe'er doth Love expire.
Within thine arms the night to dream away--
This is the end of Love's supreme desire.
In that fair season when the tender green
Of opening leaves doth roof the woods of May,
And sweet wild buds from out their places lean
To touch the dainty feet that heedless stray
Among them, with a youth in knight's attire?
His lady's will capricious to obey,
This is the end of dawning Love's desire.
And when amid the summer's bright array
Of blossoms, are the crimson roses seen,
And one young maid, fairer than any spray
In perfect bloom, wanders their lines between,
What blessëd solace can the lover pray
Of her compassion, for his heart of fire?
With kisses on her mouth all words to stay--
This is the end of eager Love's desire.
With driven clouds the hovering sky is grey;
The winds above the frozen hills are keen,
And all fair buds have fallen in decay;
What joy hath now the true knight of his Queen?
No rapture less exultant can allay
His need, than softly craves this faulty lyre:
To answer all his pleading with sweet 'Yea'--
This is the end of yearning Love's desire.
Envoy
Beloved, now is done our life's brief day;
Not with the day howe'er doth Love expire.
Within thine arms the night to dream away--
This is the end of Love's supreme desire.
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