Lectures On The English Poets William Hazlitt

32
Of the world was neur seene or than
So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man.
And as I sat the birds harkening thus,
Me thought that I heard voices sodainly,
The most sweetest and most delicious
That euer any wight I trow truly
Heard in their life, for the armony
And sweet accord was in so good musike,
That the uoice to angels was most like."
There is here no affected rapture, no flowery sentiment: the whole is
an ebullition of natural delight "welling out of the heart," like water
from a crystal spring. Nature is the soul of art: there is a strength as
well as a simplicity in the imagination that reposes entirely on nature,
that nothing else can supply. It was the same trust in nature, and
reliance on his subject, which enabled Chaucer to describe the grief and
patience of Griselda; the faith of Constance; and the heroic
perseverance of the little child, who, going to school through the
streets of Jewry,
"Oh _Alma Redemptoris mater_, loudly sung,"
and who after his death still triumphed in his song. Chaucer has more of
this deep, internal, sustained sentiment, than any other writer, except
Boccaccio. In depth of simple pathos, and intensity of conception, never
swerving from his subject, I think no other writer comes near him, not
even the Greek tragedians. I wish to be allowed to give one or two
instances of what I mean. I will take the following from the Knight's
Tale. The distress of Arcite, in consequence of his banishment from his
love, is thus described:
"Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was,
Ful oft a day he swelt and said Alas,
For sene his lady shall he never mo.
And shortly to concluden all his wo,
So mochel sorwe hadde never creature,
That is or shall be, while the world may dure.
His slepe, his mete, his drinke is him byraft.
That lene he wex, and drie as is a shaft.
His eyen holwe, and grisly to behold,