Thisby Thestoop and the Black Mountain

It’s fair to say that I read a good number of books children’s books. Having kids of my own, I like to pilfer their shelves from time to time. In our house, we like to stock “the classics” as a sort of quality guarantee. Since children’s books became a genre there have been writers who have tried to cash in on the children’s market as a way to make a quick buck with little effort. Reading “the classics” means that you get the best books from every era without having to wade through the formulaic twaddle, most of which has mercifully been forgotten over the years.
It’s a different story with modern children’s books. Picking up a new children’s book means taking a chance on wasting your time, and the modern children’s book publishing machine loves tried and true formulas. After the success of Harry Potter we got books about schools for magical/mythological/specially talented kids who are sorted into groups based on their personalities. After The Hunger Games took off, we’ve have had m…

To a Ladye

To a Ladye
William Dunbar

SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,
Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,
    Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,
    And everie vertew that is wenit dear,
Except onlie that ye are mercyless.

Into your garth this day I did persew;
There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;
    Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne,
    And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene;
Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.

I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne,
Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene;
    Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paine
    That I would make to plant his root againe,—
So confortand his levis unto me bene.

Comments

Erica said…
I think I got the general idea of the poem but I'd still like to see a modern English translation...
And it took me this long to realize your background picture is Gandalf at Bag End...
Rick said…
It is modern English! Late 1400s. Well after Chaucer.
But I suppose... ;)

Sweet rose of virtue and gentleness,
Delightsome lily of every lustiness,
Richest in bounty and in beauty clear,
And every virtue that is held dear,
Except only that you are merciless.

Into your garden this day I did pursue;
There saw I flowers that fresh were of hue;
Both white and red most lustly were to be seen;
And wholesome herbs upon stalks green;
Yet leaf nor flower find could I non of rue.

I doubt that March, with his cold blasts keen,
Has slain this gentle herb, that complain of;
Whose piteous death does to my heart such pain,
That I would make to plant his root again,
So comforting his leaves unto me have been.
Erica said…
You know what I mean ;-)