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The British poets; including translations Volume 1 (Inglés) Tapa blanda – 8 jul 2012


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Tapa blanda, 8 jul 2012
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1822 edition. Excerpt: ...lond no cristen dorste route; All cristen folk ben fled fro that contree Thurgh payenes, that conquereden all aboute The plages of the North by lond and see. To Wales fled the cristianitee Of olde Bretons, dwelling in this ile; Ther was hir refuge for the mene while. But yet n'ere cristen Bretons so exiled, That ther n'ere som which in hir privitee Honoured Crist, and hethen folk begiled; And neigh the castle swiche ther dwelten three: That on of hem was blind, and might not see, But it were with thilke eyen of his mimlo, With which men mowen see whan they ben blinde. Bright was the sonne, as in that sommers day, For which the constable and his wif also And Custance, han ytake the righte way Toward the see, a furlong way or two, To plaien., and to romen to and fro; ' And in hir walk this blinde man they mette, Croked and olde, with eyen fast yshette. In the name of Crist (cried this blinde Breton) Dame Hermegild, yeve me my sight again. This lady wexe afraied of that soun, Lest that hire husbond, shortly for to sain, Wold hire for Jesu Cristes love have slain, Til Custance made hire bold, and bad hire werche The will of Crist, as doughter of holy cherche. The constable wexe abashed of that sight, And sayde; What amounteth all this fare? Custance answerd; Sire, it is Cristes might, That helpeth folk out of the fendes snare: And so ferforth she gan our lay declare, That she the constable, er that it were eve, Converted, and on Crist made him beleve. This constable was not lord of the place Of which I speke, ther as he Custance fond, But kept it strongly many a winter space, tinder Alla, king of Northumberlond, That was ful wise, and worthy of his hond Againe the Scottes, as men may wel hate; But tourne I wol again to my matere. Sathan, that ever us...

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