Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
England: Vols. I–IV. 1876–79.
Fair Rosamond
By Percys ReliquesW
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.
Appeard to each mans sight;
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose
For mastership did strive.
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe.
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.
Of stone and timber strong,
An hundered and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:
With turnings round about,
That none but with a clue of thread,
Could enter in or out.
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave
Unto a valiant knighte.
“My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
That pleasest best mine eye:
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye:
Whose sweetness doth excelle:
My royal Rose, a thousand times
I bid thee nowe farwelle!
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase.
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee.”
And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore:
After that daye faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.
And into France was gone;
With envious heart, queene Ellinor,
To Woodstocke came anone.
In an unhappy houre;
Who with his clue of twined thread,
Came from this famous bower.
The queene this thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.
“That rich and costlye bee;
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.”
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav’d
For her offences all.
Fair Rosamonde did crye;
“And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye.
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the worlde soe wide.
Though I was forc’d theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe.”
She wrunge full often there;
And downe along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,
As she knelt on her knee,
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand:
Shee did for mercye calle;
And drinking up the poison stronge,
Her life she lost withalle.
Had showde its greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse
Shee was a glorious wight.
When life was fled away,
At Godstowe, neare to Oxforde towne,
As may be seene this day.