Year 7 Medieval Poetry: Of a Rose

The original is here. This was an easy poem. I was able to get it just from the first reading. Tim suggested that maybe I'm just getting better at it, but I think this particular poem is just easier.

Of a rose, a lovely rose,
Of a rose is all my song.

Listen, lords, both old and young,
How this rose began to spring;
A rose as much to my liking
In all this world I know not one.

The Angel came from heaven's tower,
To greet Mary with great honor,
And said she would bear the flower
That would break the fiend's bond.

The flower sprang in high Bethlehem,
That is both bright and beautiful:
The rose is Mary, heaven's queen,
Out of her bosom the blossom sprang.

The first branch is full of might,
That sprang on Christmas night,
The star shone over Bethlehem bright
That is both broad and long.

The second branch sprang to hell,
To fell the fiend's power:
So that no soul might dwell there;
Blessed be the time the rose sprang!

The third branch is good and sweet,
It sprang to heaven plant and root
To dwell there be our salvation;
Every day it shows in priest's hand.

We pray to her with great honor,
She that bore the blessed flower,
She is our help and our aid
And shields us from the fiend's bond.

Spring-tide

Anonymous. c. 1300
The original poem and a translation is here

3. Spring-tide

Early spring is come with love in its turn,
With blossom and with birds' song,
That all this bliss brings;
Daisies in the valleys,
Sweet notes of nightingales,
Each fowl sings its song;

The thrush chides them all,
Gone is their winter woe,
When woodruff blooms;
Marvellously many fowls sing,
And whistle so in their happiness,
That all the wood rings.

The rose clothes herself in red,
The leaves on the light-colored wood
All grow all with a will;
The moon sends forth her light,
The lily is lovely to see,
The fennel and the thyme;
The wild drakes woo,
Males make their mates merry;
Like a stream that still flows,
The moody man moans; many of them do
It seems that I am one of them
Because of love that went wrong.

The moon sends forth her light,
So does the bright, lovely sun.
When birds sing lustily;
Dew makes the slopes soggy,
Lovers with their secret tales
Give their decisions;
Worms woo under the dirt,
Women grow so proud,
So it would seem,
If I can't have the will of one,
I'll forego this wealth of joy
And be banished to the woods.

Poem Paraphrase: This World's Joy

I'm a little behind; I still need to do Spring-Tide and Blow, Northern Wind. But today's looked fairly straightforward, so I went ahead and did it.

5. This World's Joy
Anonymous. c. 1300
(read the original here)

Winter wakens all my care,
Now these leaves wax bare;
Often I sigh and mourn sorely
When it comes to my mind
Of this world's joy, how it amounts to nothing.

Now it's here, and now it's not,
as though it had never been, I wist;
Many man say it, and so it is:
Everything ends except God's will:
We shall all die, though none of us us like it.

All that was around me grew green,
But now it all fades
Jesus, help us remember that fact
And shield us from hell!
ForI know not where I shall end up, nor how long I shall dwell here.

Alison

I'm paraphrasing Ambleside Online's Year 7 Medieval Poems because it's the only way I can grasp them. Here's the second one. The poem in its original Ye Olde English is here. This is very different from the Elvis Costello version of Alison that I'm familiar with.

2 Alison

Between March and April
When new growth begins to spring
The little bird has her way
And sings in her own language
I live with yearning in love
For the most beautiful of all things
She may bring me bliss
I am her devoted servant
And I've taken advantage of a lucky break
I'll wager that it's sent from heaven
My love has left all other women
And alighted on Alison

The color of her hair is fair
Her brow is brown, her eyes black
With a loving look she laughs at me
She's well-made, with a small waist
If she doesn't decide to take me
As her own mate
I'll lose my desire to live
And wish I were dead
And I've taken advantage of a lucky break
I'll wager that it's sent from heaven
My love has left all other women
And alighted on Alison

At night I toss and turn
That's why I grow so pale
Lady, because of you
I've developed this yearning
In all the world there's no man wise enough
To tell all of her bounty
Her neck is whiter than the swan
She's the prettiest maiden in town
And I've taken advantage of a lucky break
I'll wager that it's sent from heaven
My love has left all other women
And alighted on Alison

I'm worn out with vigils from wooing
Like water in a stagnant pool
Someone else might steal my mate
I've been distressed for a long time
Yet it's better to endure distress for a while
Than to mourn forevermore
Prettiest thing under any dress
Listen to my song
And I've taken advantage of a lucky break
I'll wager that it's sent from heaven
My love has left all other women
And alighted on Alison

My Reading for the Year

I've posted the boys' school schedules. So, what am I planning to read? I always wanted to read some of AO's Year 7 books, but when Tim did Year 7, I didn't have time - I don't remember if I was pregnant then or what, but it was undoable at the time. So now Keola is in Year 7 and I have a second opportunity. I'm going to read The History of English Literature for Boys and Girls by H.E. Marshall, The Life of the Spider by Henri Fabre, and possibly Churchill's Birth of Britain and Secrets of the Universe by Paul Fleisher. I'll also be reading Medieval poems from the Oxford Book of English Verse, and I'll be paraphrasing them so I can understand them, with Tim's help. Here's the first poem, and I think I can write it in my own words now.

1. Cuckoo Song (Anonymous. c. 1250)

Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springth the wude nu--
Sing cuccu!

Awe bleteth after lomb,
Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth,
Murie sing cuccu!

Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu:
Ne swike thu naver nu;
Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!

-------------------

Summer is coming in,
Sing loudly, cuckoo!
The seed grows, the meadow blows,
And the wood springs new--
Sing cuckoo!

The ewe bleats after her lamb,
The cow lows after her calf;
The bull leaps, the deer springs,
Sing merrily cuckoo!

Cuckoo, Cuckoo, sing well, cuckoo:
Don't stop singing;
Sing cuckoo, now, sing cuckoo,
Sing cuckoo, sing now cuckoo!