Parliament of Fowls

The life so short, the craft so long to learn, The test so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dreadful joy, that slips away in turn; All this I mean by Love, that my feelings Are astonished by his wondrous working So deeply indeed, that when I think, I know not whether I float or sink. For although I know not Love in deed, Nor know how he pays folk for their hire, Yet full often in my books I read, Of his miracles, and his cruel ire, There I read he will be Lord and sire; I dare not say much, his strokes are so sore, Just God save such a lord! I'll say no more. By habit, for pleasure or for lore, I often read books, as I have told. But why do I say this? Some time before, Not long ago, I happened to behold, A weighty book, written with letters old; And thereupon, a certain thing to learn, That long day did I its pages turn. For from the oldest fields, as men do say, Comes forth all this new corn from year to year; And from the oldest writings, in good faith, Comes forth this new knowledge that men can hear. But now to my purpose in this matter— To read on so began me to beguile, That all the day seemed but a little while. This book of which I now make mention, Was entitled thus, as I shall tell: "Cicero on the Dream of Scipio." Seven chapters it had, of heaven and hell, And the earth, and the souls that therein dwell, Of which topic, as briefly as I can, I shall relate the meaning and the plan. First it tells of when Scipio had come To Africa; Massinissa, at the sight, Clasped him in arms, by joy overcome. Then it tells their talk, and all the delight That came between them, until came the night; And how his ancestor, Africanus dear, Appeared before him in sleep, strange and near. From his starry place, Africanus showed Him Carthage, all laid out in bright array, And warned of his fortune, yet bestowed, And said: whatever man, learned or lay, Who loves the common good, and speeds its way, He shall unto a blissful place ascend, Where there is joy that lasts without an end. Then Scipio asked if those who died here Have life and dwelling in another place; And Africanus said, "Yes, have no fear; On this present world, our life's narrow space Is but a kind of death, whose path we trace, And righteous folk shall go, after they die, To heaven." And showed him the galaxy. He showed him the little earth that lies here, So small besides the heavens' quantity; And after that he showed him the nine spheres, And Scipio then heard the melody That comes forth from those spheres three times three, The source of all music and melody On earth below, and cause of harmony. Then he warned him, since Earth is so slight So full of torment and so harsh in grace, That in the world he should find no delight. And Africanus said, in some years' space That every star should come into its place To where it first begun; and out of mind Shall pass all worldly things wrought by mankind. Then Scipio begged him: show me my role, Teach me my path to that heavenly sphere; And he said, "First, know your soul is deathless. Look diligently that you work and steer To the common good; then you shall not miss To follow swiftly to that place so dear, That is suffused with bliss and with souls clear. But law-breakers, he went on to explain, And lecherous folk, when their lives had worn out, Shall reel around the earth in constant pain, Until years have passed, without a doubt, And then, forgiven for their grubby rout, They shall all come unto that blissful place, To which may God send you with all his grace! With the day failing, as the gloomy night Which robs all beasts of their business, Bereft me of my book for want of light, So for my bed I began to undress, Filled with thoughts and restless heaviness; For I had both that which I did not want, And lacked the thing that I had wanted most. But finally my spirit, at the last, Full weary from the labours of the day, Took rest and stuck me in a sleep so fast, That in my sleep I dreamed it, as I lay, How Africanus, in that same array That Scipio had seen him wear before, Had come to me, and stood right at my door. The weary hunter sleeping in his bed, In dreams returns to the woods that he knows; The judge dreams how his cases will be sped; The carter dreams of how his cart still goes; The rich dream of gold; the knight fights his foes; The sick man dreams he drinks of the cask; The lover dreams his lady's won at last. I cannot guess what the cause was, unless What I read of Africanus before Made me dream of his terrible largesse, But thus said he: "You have so well sought for Lessons to learn from my decrepit lore, Which Macrobius thought had much to say, That some of your labor would I repay!" O Cytherea! Blissful lady sweet, Whose firebrand tames all hearts as you desire, And who first made me this vision to meet, Be now my help in this, as I require; As sure as I saw you, your hanged fire, North-northwest, when first I began to write, So give me might to rhyme and to endite! With this, Africanus seized my hand, And forth with him to a gate I was brought, Enclosing a park, walled with green stone grand; And over the gate, with letters huge wrought, There were two verses written, as I had thought, On either side, of fateful difference, Of which I shall tell the significance. "Through me, men go into that blissful place Of heart's healing and deadly wounds' cure; Through me men go unto the well of Grace, Where green and lusty May shall ever endure; This is the way to all good adventure; Cast off your sorrow, let your spirits lift, I am open. Pass in, and go thee swift!" "Through me men go," then spoke that other side, "Unto the mortal strokes of the barbed spear, Of which Disdain and Rebuff is the guide, Where trees shall bear no fruit, nor leaves appear. This stream leads you to the sorrowful weir, Where fish are caught in drought and left to die; Avoidance is the only remedy." These shining verses of gold and black I read, And transfixed stood amazedly behold, For with one I was gripped with fearful dread, And with the other verse my heart grew bold; One warmed me, the other chilled me cold, I had no wit, for doubting, how to choose To enter or flee, save myself or lose. Just as between two lodestones placed just so, Of even strength, a piece of iron set Will have no power to move to nor fro— For what the one may pull, the other lets— Was I; unsure whether it was better yet To stay or go, till Africanus my guide Seized me, and shoved me in at the gates wide, And said, "It stands written plain in your face, Your error, though you won't tell it to me; But do not fear to come into this place, For this writing is nothing meant by thee, Nor by any, less he Love's servant be; And you have lost your taste of love, I guess, As a sick man has of sweet and bitterness. But nonetheless, though your spirit is dull, That which you cannot do, you may yet see; For many a man who can't bear the pull, Loves to watch the wrestling - don't you agree? - And finds whether he does better, or he; And if you have a little skill to write, I shall now show you something worth the sight!" With that, he took my hand without delay, From which I took comfort, and went in fast; And, Lord, I was more glad that I can say! For everywhere that I my eyes did cast, Were trees clad in leaves that ever shall last, Each in its kind, of colour fresh and green As emerald, that joy it was to see. The builder's oak, and then the hardy ash; The pillar elm, coffin-wood for carrion; The piper's boxwood; the holly for lash; The sailing fir; the cypress, grief's companion; The shooter yew, the asp for arrows' shafts; The olive of peace, and the drinker's vine, The victor's palm; the laurel, fortune's sign. A garden I saw, with blossomy boughs, Beside a river, in a green meadow, Where sweetness dwells forever, and endows The field with flowers — white, blue, and yellow — And cool well-streams, nothing dead, in quick flow, That swam full of small fishes, darting light, With fins of red and their scales silver-bright. On every bough I heard the birds there sing, With angel-voices in their harmony, Some busied themselves with their chicks' upbringing; The rabbits hurried to their play nearby. And further all about I began to spy The timid roe, the buck, the hart and hind, And squirrels, and small beasts of gentle kind. Of instruments, each one stringed in accord I heard playing a ravishing sweetness, That God, who maker is of all and lord, Never heard music better, as I guess; With that a wind, scarcely could it be less, Made in the green leaves a murmuring sound In concord with the birdsong all around. The air of that place so temperate was, That never was grievance of heat or cold; There grew also every wholesome spice and grass, And there no man would grew sick nor grow old; And yet joy waxed there a thousandfold beyond all telling. Never came the night, But always clear day, to every man's sight. Under a tree, beside a well, I saw Cupid, our lord, his arrows forge and file, And at his feet his bow ready to draw; Desire, his daughter, tempered all the while The arrows in the spring, and with her guile She set them each to their appointed end, Some to slay, and some to wound and to rend. Then I at once was aware of Pleasure, And Finery, and Want, and Courtesy, And of Craft that can and has the measure To force a fool creature into folly— Disfigured was she, here I shall not lie; And by himself, under an oak, I guess, I saw Delight, who stood with Gentleness. I saw Beauty, bare of any attire, And Youth, all full of sport and jollity, Foolhardiness, Flattery, and Desire, Messenger, Bribery, and other three— Their names shall not here be told by me— And upon jasper pillars, huge and long I saw a temple of brass, firm and strong. About that temple, dancing there daily Were troops of women, gorgeous and austere, Some fair by nature, and some dressed gaily; Loose-haired and disheveled danced they there— That was their office always, year by year— And on the temple, of doves white and fair I saw roosting, many a hundred pair. Before the temple very solemnly Lady Peace sat, a curtain in her hand: And beside, wonderfully discreetly, Dame Patience sitting next to her I found With pale face, perched upon a hill of sand; And nearest, within and also without, Promise and Art, and of their folk a crowd. Within the temple, sighs as hot as fire I heard murmur, hurry, and swirl about; Those sighs so engendered with deep desire, They set every altar to burning out With darts of new flames; and I had no doubt That all the keen sorrows which I could see Sprung from their bitter goddess Jealousy. The god Priapus saw I, as I went, Within the temple, in sovereign place, Arrayed as he was in that event When the ass brayed loud and spoiled his chase, His staff held in his hand, and on his face A look of stalled intent; and all around Folk heaped fresh garlands on his gaudy crown. And in a secret corner, in disport, I found Venus and her porter, Richness, A noble dame, of mannered, haughty sort; That place was dark, but further on lightness I saw a light, scarcely could it be less, Where on a bed of gold she lay to rest, Until the hot sun sunk into the west. Her gilded hair was banded with a thread Of gold, and all unbraided as she lay, And naked from the breast unto the head Men might behold her; and, truly to say, The rest was vestured in a pleasing way, With a subtle kerchief, Valence-thin — No stronger cloth to shield her gentle skin. The place was thick with a thousand scents sweet, And Bacchus, god of wine, sat by her side, And Ceres next, who relieves hunger's heat; And in the midst lay Venus in her pride, To whom two young folk knelt, and, kneeling, cried For her to help; but thus I let her lie, And deeper in the temple I cast my eye. And there, in spite of Diana the chaste, Many a broken bow hung on the wall Of maidens, whose long service went to waste; And painted all over throughout that hall Were many a tale, of which I can recall But few: Callisto, and Atalanta's state, And other maidens of forgotten fate. Semiramis, Candace, and Hercules, Biblis, Dido, Thisbee and Pyramus, Tristram, Isolde, Paris, and Achilles, Helen, Cleopatra, and Troilus, Scylla, and she who mothered Romulus— All these were painted on that other side, And all their love, and how for love they died. When I returned again to that sweet place, Of which I spoke, so gentle and so green, I walked on, to bring me some solace. And then I saw her sitting there: a queen Whose brilliance, as the sun in summer sheen Surpasses stars, was so beyond all measure; She was fairer than any creature. In that glade, upon a hill of flowers, Was set this noble goddess of Nature; Woven branches were her halls and bowers, All wrought after her craft and her measure; Nor was there bird, no truly born creature, That was not seen ready in her presence, To take her rule and give her audience. For this was on Saint Valentine's day, When every bird comes there to choose his mate, Of every kind that men may think or say; And such a mighty noise did they then make, That earth and air, and tree, and every lake So thickly thronged that scarcely was there space For me to stand, so full was all the place. And just as Alain, in the Plaint of Kind, Describes Nature in her array and face, In selfsame array men might her there find. This noble empress, ever full of grace, Then bade every bird to take its own place, As they would always do, from year to year, On Saint Valentine's day assembling there. That is to say: the hungry birds of prey Were set highest; and then the smaller birds, That eat of that which nature would purvey, Foodstuff like worms, on which I'll waste no words; And water-fowl sat lowest in the swards; But birds that live by seed sat on the green, So many, it made a strange wondrous scene. There might a man the royal eagle find, Who with his fierce sharp look pierces the sun; And other eagles of a lower kind, Of which skilled tales the scholars have spun. There was the tyrant with his feathers dun And gray, I mean the goshawk, who'll distress Gentler birds with outrageous greediness. The noble falcon, who clutches in his claws The king's hand; and the sparrowhawk sharp-beaked, The quail's foe; the merlin busy in his cause Who dauntless sallies forth, the lark to seek; There was also the dove, with her eyes meek; The jealous swan, against his death that sings; The owl also, who death's ill tidings brings; The crane, the giant, with his trumpet's sound; The thief, the jackdaw; the prattling magpie; The mocking jay; the heron, eel's hell-hound; The false lapwing, with her deceitful cry; The starling sly, who lets no secret lie; The tame robin; and the cowardly kite; The cock, who is hamlets' clock at first light; The sparrow, Venus' son; the nightingale, Whose singing calls forth the fresh leaves anew; The swallow, killer of the flies so frail, That make honey of flowers fresh of hue; The bride turtledove, with her heart so true; The peacock, with his angel-feathers bright; The pheasant, scorner of the cock by night; The vigilant goose; the cuckoo unkind; The popinjay, so full of lechery; The drake, the destroyer of his own kind; The stork, avenger of adultery; The ardent cormorant of gluttony; The raven wise, the crow with voice of care; The old thrush, and last the frosty fieldfare. What should I say? Of birds of every kind That in this world have feathers and stature, Men might assembled in that place well find Before the noble goddess Nature. And each of them did his busy care, With gentle good will, to choose or to take, By her accord, his lady or his mate. But to the point: Nature held in her hand A formel eagle, of shape the noblest That she ever among her works had found, The most gracious and the goodliest; In her was every virtue at its rest, So fully, that Nature herself had bliss To look on her, and oft her beak to kiss. Nature, the viceroy of the mighty Lord, Who hot, cold, heavy, light, and moist and dry Has knit by even number of accord, In gentle voice began to speak and say, "Birds, take heed of my meaning here, I pray, And, for your ease, in furthering of your need, As quickly as I can, I will proceed. "You know well how, on Saint Valentine's day, By my directive and at my leisure, You come to choose—and take away— Your mates, as I prick you with pleasure. But nonetheless, my rightful ordinance May I not waive, for all this world to win, That he who is most worthy shall begin. "The tercel eagle, as you all know well, The royal bird above you in decree, The wise and worthy, secret, true as steel, He who I have formed, just as you may see, In every part as it best pleases me — You need no more describing of his array, He shall choose first and speak in his own way. "And after him, by order shall you choose, After your kind, your most coveted pair, And, as your luck is, shall you win or lose; But that one of you which love most ensnares, God send him her, who for him most despairs." And thereupon the tercel did she call, And said, "My son, to you the choice must fall. "But all the same, there is a condition That binds the choice of all who gather here, That she must needs agree to his election, Whoever he be that should be her dear; This is our custom always, year to year; And he who at this time may have his grace, In blissful time has come into this place." With head inclined and with a humble air, This royal tercel spoke and tarried not: "Unto my sovereign, beyond my compare, I choose, and choose with will and heart and thought, The eagle on your hand so deftly wrought, I give myself to her, and ever will serve, Whether she bid me live, or bid me starve. "Beseeching her for mercy and for grace, As she who is my lady sovereign; Or let me die here present in this place. For certainly, I won't live long in pain; For in my heart is carven every vein; Have no regard but to my faithfulness — My dear heart, treat my woe with tenderness. "And if I should to her be found untrue, Unruly, or wilfully negligent, A braggart, or in time should love anew, I pray to you, let this be my judgment: That by these birds to pieces I'll be rent, That very day that she might me find To her untrue, or in my guilt unkind. "And since no one loves her so well as I, Though she has never promised me a whit, Then ought she be made mine, by mercy's tie, For there's no other bond that I can knit. For never, for no sorrow, shall I quit However far she may go; this I vow. Say what you will, my tale is ended now." Just as the fresh red rose, in bloom anew, By the summer sun flushed with colour is, Right so for shame began to wax the hue Of this young eagle, hearing all of this; She neither answered "Well," nor spoke amiss, So sorely was she shamed, until Nature Said, "Daughter, fear you not, I you assure." Another tercel eagle then spoke anon, Of lower kind, and said, "I tell you true, I love her better than you, by Saint John, Or at least I love her as well as you, And have served her longer, in my degree. If she loves for long love-service done, By me alone should the guerdon be won. "I dare also say, if she finds me fake, Unkind, loose-tongued, in any way fall short, Or jealous, hang me till my neck should break! And if I don't suffice in her support, As well as all my wits and will comport, From point to point, for her honour to save, Take all I have, and take me to the grave." The third tercel eagle then answered so: "Now, sirs, you see what little time is here; For every bird cries out, eager to go Forth with his mate, or with his lady dear; And Nature in her haste will hardly hear A half of my message, however brief; But I must speak now, or else die of grief. "Of long love's service I can boast nothing, But I could as easily die today For woe, as he that has been languishing These twenty winters; and I dare to say A man may serve better, and better repay In half a year, although it were no more, Than some man has, that served long years before. "I don't speak for me, for I never can Do anything that might my lady please; But I dare say, I am her truest man, And more than anything would bring her ease, In short: from now until death has me seized, I will be hers, whether I wake or sleep, And true in every vow a heart can keep. In all my life, no tongue could ever tell Such gentle plea in love or other thing; Nor any man recite it half so well, Even if he had the time and cunning, To well rehearse his style and his speaking; And from the dawn these speeches came to last Until down drew the sun, wonderfully fast. The noise of birds, crying to be delivered, So loudly rang — "Have done, and let us wend!" That I thought the woods themselves had shivered. "Come off!" they cried, "Alas, you do offend! When shall your cursed pleading have an end? How should a judge now find for either bird, Without some proof or evidence he's heard?" The goose, the cuckoo, and the duck also So cried out, "kek, kek!" "cuckoo!" "quack, quack!", That through my ears the noise raced to and fro. The goose called, "All this is not worth a fly! But now a remedy I shall devise, And I will say my verdict fair and swift For water-fowl, whether they're glad or miffed." "And I for worm-fowl," said the fool cuckoo, "For I will, of my own authority, For common good, speak where verdict is due, For to deliver us is charity." "You may yet hold your tongue, for courtesy!" Said the turtledove, "if that be your will: A bird may speak, but might as well be still. "I am a seed-fowl, the unworthiest, This I know well, and little of cunning; But better is that a creature's tongue rest Than he interferes in some such doing Of which he can neither advise nor sing. And he who meddles, will foully corrupt, For office unappointed often irks much." At this Nature, who always had an ear To the murmur of the rabble behind, With eloquent voice said, "Hold your tongues there! And I shall soon, I hope, a counsel find To rescue you, and from this noise unbind; I rule, of every group one shall be called To propose the verdict for you birds all." Assented were to Nature's conclusion The birds all gathered; and the birds of prey Had chosen first, by open election, The tercel falcon, who none could gainsay, Their judgment to determine and convey; And he to Nature they did then present, And she accepted him with glad intent. The tercel started, his speaking sincere: "Too hard is it by reasoning to tell Who loves the best this noble eagle here; For each has such reply, and speaks so well, That no presumption may argument quell. I can find no verdict from this prattle; Then it seems to me there must be battle." "All ready!" cried these three eagles anon. "No, sirs!" the speaker said, "if I dare say, You do me wrong, my tale is not yet done! For sirs, take no offence yet, as I pray, It cannot go, as you would, in this way; The voice is ours who have the charge in hand, And to the judges' verdict you must stand; "So therefore, peace! I say, as to my wit, It would seem to me that the worthiest Of knighthood, and the longest practiced it, Of highest rank, of blood the noblest, Would be most fitting, if she think it best; And of these three she knows herself, I believe, Which he is: for it's not hard to perceive." Together the water-fowls' heads were laid To brood, and in deliberation spent, When every bird his mighty mouthful said They spoke truly, and all by one assent, How the goose, with her gentle eloquence, Who so desired to speak unto our need, Should tell our tale — and prayed, "God give her speed." Therefore then for these water-fowls began The goose to speak, and in her cackling way She said, "Peace! now take notice every man, And listen to what reason I shall bring! My wit is sharp, I love not tarrying; I advise him, though he were my brother, If she won't love him, let him love another!" "Lo, here this perfect logic of a goose!" Quoth the sparrowhawk; "Never may she thrive! Lo, what it is to have a tongue too loose! Now, fool, it would help your credibility To keep your peace, not show your stupidity! Though that lies not in her wit nor her will, It's truly said: 'a fool cannot be still.'" The laughter arose from those well-bred birds, At once the seed-fowl chose among their kind The turtledove, and called her forth in words Most earnestly, and begged that she would find The truth of this, and truly speak her mind. And she replied that she would plainly tell Her whole intent, and what she thought was well. "No, God forbid a lover should ever change!" The turtledove said, and blushed for shame all red; "Though that his lady evermore turn strange, Yet let him serve her always, till he is dead; In truth, I praise not what the goose has said; For though she died, I would choose no other mate, I will be hers, until death should me take." "Well jested!" quacked the duck, "by my hat! That men should always love, without a cause, Who can find reason or good sense in that? Does he dance merrily, he who is mirthless? Why care so for a lady who is careless? Yes, quack!" said the duck, "Spoken well and fair — There are more stars, God knows, than just one pair!" "Now fie, churl!" said the noble tercel then, "Out of the dunghill came those words, all right, You cannot see what ways go well for men: You're struck by love as owls are struck by the light, The day blinds them, though well they see by night; Your kind is of such low wretchedness, That what love is, you cannot see nor guess." The cuckoo pushed his way into the crowd, To speak for birds that eat the worms and grubs, "If I may have my mate in peace, I vow I don't care how long you all scratch and scrub; Let each of them live single and snubbed, This is my counsel, since they can't agree; This short word needs no more authority." "Oh! Has the glutton stuffed enough his paunch, Then all is well!" so snapped the merlin; "Murderer of the sparrow on the branch That brought you forth, you pitiless glutton! Then live alone, you worms' own corruption! The world is not lacking of your kind; Get gone, you fool, and leave us well behind!" "Now peace!" said Nature, "this is my command; For I have heard the views of every kind, And yet no closer do we seem to stand; But finally, this verdict here I find: That she herself shall choose as she's inclined, Of whom she please, whoever curse or bless; Him that she choose shall have her, nonetheless. "For since by talk we cannot here agree, Who loves her best, as said the tercelet, Then will I do her this favour, that she Shall have the one on whom her heart is set, And he have her, whose heart to hers is knit; Thus judge I, Nature, for I may not lie; To no estate do I show partial eye." "But as for counsel for to choose a mate, If it were proper, surely then would I Counsel you the royal tercelet take, As said the tercel very skillfully, He is the noblest and the most worthy, Which I have wrought so well to my pleasure; That for you, he ought to meet your measure." With trembling voice the formel eagle said, "My rightful lady, goddess of Nature, It is true that I live under your rod, Like as must live every other creature, And I am yours while my life may endure; And therefore I pray, grant me my first boon, And my intent I will tell you right soon." "I grant it you," said she; and right away The formel eagle spoke in this degree, "Almighty queen, for one more year's delay I beg respite to better counsel me, And after that to have my choosing free; This is the sum and all that I will say; You'll get no more, although you do me die. "I will not yet serve Venus nor Cupid For now, not by any manner of way." "Now since it cannot happen otherwise," Replied Nature, "here is no more to say; My will is then that these birds were away Each with his mate, not tarrying here"— And said to them thus, as you shall now hear. "To you I speak, you eagles," said Nature, "Be of good heart and serve her well, all three; A year more is not so long to endure, And each of you take pains, in your degree, To do you well; for, God knows, she is free This year; whatever after may befall, This amuse-bouche is served for you all." And when this work was all brought to an end, To each Nature gave a mate for partnering, By equal accord, and on their way they wend. And, Lord, the bliss and joy that they did bring! For each lover took the other in their wings, And wound their necks around each other, Thanking always the noble goddess Nature. But first were chosen some birds for singing, As year by year it was their observance To sing a roundel at their departing, To do to Nature honour and pleasance. The melody, I think, was made in France; The words of it were such as you may find, In the next verse, as I now have in mind. "Now welcome the summer, with your sun soft, That has this winter's weathers beaten back, And driven away the long nights of black! "Saint Valentine, who are very high aloft;— Thus sing the smallest birds, all for your sake— "Now welcome the summer, with your sun soft, That has this winter's weathers beaten back. "Full well do they have cause for gladness oft, Since each of them has regained his mate; Blissfully may they sing when they wake; "Now welcome the summer, with your sun soft, That has this winter's weathers beaten back, And driven away the long nights of black." And with that clamour, when their song was done, Then the flocking birds made their flight away, I woke — and other books I took to Read upon, and indeed I read always; In hope, indeed, that I will read someday Something to dream about, and so to fare Better; and thus to read I will not spare.