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Froissart Ballads, and Other Poems (The Romantic Tradition in American Literature Ser.)

Cooke, Philip Pendleton

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ISBN 10: 0405046316 / ISBN 13: 9780405046315
Published by Ayer Co Pub, 1972
Condition: Good
From Better World Books (Mishawaka, IN, U.S.A.)

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Shows some signs of wear, and may have some markings on the inside. Bookseller Inventory # GRP75387954

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Bibliographic Details

Title: Froissart Ballads, and Other Poems (The ...

Publisher: Ayer Co Pub

Publication Date: 1972

Book Condition:Good

About this title

Synopsis:

This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1847. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... FROISSART BALLADS. THE MASTER OF BOLTON. PART I. Young Gawen, from his castle wall, Has heard the merry mavis call; But Gawen better loves to hark The warble of the morning lark. That better bird is up to meet The sun, with music proud and sweet. A wonder is the song he sings--And like the notes of charmed strings. Just now his lay was all of earth, Of sorrow intertoned with mirth, But now, triumphant in his steven, He mounts him to the ruddy heaven--Making all humbler singers dumb With his divine delirium. Young Gawen views the fallow deer Peopling the wide park far and near. Some browse beneath the dewy shades, Which edge the sunlight of the glades; And some stare forth with earnest eyes To greet a wandering hart whose cries Break on the wild bird's melodies. Kind nature, with a lavish hand, Had poured her beauties on that land; But Gawen, from his castle wall, Looked moodily upon them all. For he was born of gentle sires, And in his bosom burned their fires, And much it chafed his pride, to be Shut from the pale of his degree, By the base wants of poverty. His sires, the knights of Bolton, were Masters of spreading lands and fair. Their lordly hold is stately still On the green beauty of its hill; But servitors, with busy din, Break not the desert gloom within. And over walls and portal towers The ivy tod is weaving bowers. A hundred steeds once fed in stall: One freckled gray is left of all--And he is stiff of joint and lean. Once he was swift, and strong, and keen As ever bore knight in harnasine. White Raoull is his stately name, And from a foreign land he came. The master's sire, by dint of sword, Won the brave steed at Castle Nord From Raoull de Coucy, a Frankish lord. Whilst Gawen mused in sombre cheer, A noise of hoofs came on his ear; And soon a goodl...

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