Ich was in one sumere dale,10

In one swithe digele hale,11
I-herede 12 ich holde grete tale 13
An ule and one nigtingale.

16

That plait 14 was stif and starc and strong,
Sum wile 15 softe, and lud among;
And aither 17 agen other swal,18
And let that vule mod ut al.19
And either 17 seide of otheres custe
That alre-worste 21 that hi wuste;
And hure and hure 23 of otheres songe
Hi 24 heolde plaiding swithe 25 stronge.
The nigtingale bi-gon the speche,

In one hurne 26 of one beche;
And sat up one vaire bohe,27
Thar were abute 28 blosme i-nohe,29
In ore waste 30 thicke hegge,

31

20 22

were

I-meind mid spire and grene segge.
Heo 32
was the gladur vor 33 the rise,34
And song a vele cunne wise.35
Bet thuhte the drem 36 that be 37
Of harpe and pipe, than he 37 nere,38
Bet thuhte 39 that he 37 were i-shote
Of harpe and pipe than of throte.
Tho 40 stod on old stoc thar bi-side,
Thar tho4ule song hire tide,42
And was mid ivi al bi-growe,
Hit was thare ule earding-stowe.43

ΙΟ

20

As I was in a summer dale,
Within a very secret vale,

I heard of talking a great tale
Betwixt an owl and a nightingale.

The strife was stiff and stark and strong;
Sometimes 'twas soft, then loud, their song.
Either against the other swelled,

Let out the rage that in her dwelled.
And each said of the other's ways
The worst she knew to her dispraise;
And specially of each other's song
They had a quarrel very strong.

The nightingale began the speech,
Snug in a corner of a beech;

She sat upon a pretty bough,

There were about her blossoms enow,

All in a lonely, thickset hedge,

Tangled with shoots and green with sedge. She was the gladder for the sprays,

And sang in many kinds of ways.

It rather seemed the sound I heard

ΙΟ

20

Was harp and pipe than song of bird;
For rather seemed the sound to float
From harp and pipe than from bird's throat.
There stood an old stump there beside,
Wherefrom the owl in her turn cried;

It was with ivy overgrown,

And there the owl dwelled all alone.

3

8

say pray shall be present 9I

27

10

13

paid grant success dale 11 a very secret corner 15 while 16 at times spirit all out qualities 23 and indeed and indeed 24

20

a summer 12 heard strife talk 14 18 each swelled 19 the foul 21 the very worst they very

25

26

22 knew

corner

about a fair bough 31 mixed with sprouts 32 she sang in many kinds of rather it 38 was not

37

41 where the 42 in her turn

the sound seemed

it seemed rather 40 then

Min heorte at-flith," and falt 12 mi tunge,
Wonne 13 thu art to me i-thrunge.14
Me luste bet speten 15 thane singe,
Of 16 thine fule gogelinge." 17

22

Theos ule abod fort 18 hit was eve,
Heo ne mihte no leng bileve,19
Vor hire heorte was so gret,20
That wel neh 21 hire fnast at-schet;
And warp 23 a word thar-after longe :
"Hu thincthe 24 nu bi mine songe?
Wenst 25 thu that ich ne cunne 26 singe
Theh 27 ich ne cunne 28 of writelinge? 29
I-lome 30 thu dest 31 me grame,3

And seist me bothe teone 33 and schame;
Gif 34 ich the heolde on min vote,35
So hit bi-tide 36 that ich mote! 37
And thu were ut of thine rise,38
Thu scholdest singe an other wise.

30

40

50

310

320

66

'Monster," she said, "away with thee!

The worse for me that thee I see!

Verily for thy ugly look,

I oftentimes my song forsook.

My tongue is mute, my heart takes flight,
When thou appearest in my sight.

I rather wish to spit than sing,
At sound of thy foul sputtering."
The owl abode till eventide,

No longer could she then abide,

So swollen was her heart with wrath
That she could scarcely get her breath;
And still she made a speech full long:
"How think'st thou now about my song?
Think'st thou to sing I have no skill
Merely because I cannot trill?
Oft am I angered by thy blame,
Thou speakest to my hurt and shame;
If I once held thee in my claw,
Would that I might here in this shaw!
And thou wert down from off thy spray,
Then should'st thou sing another way!

*

"And yet thou sayest another thing,
And tellest me I cannot sing,
That all my song is mourning drear,
A fearsome sound for men to hear.
That is not sooth; my voice is true,
And full and loud, sonorous too.
Thou thinkest ugly every note
Unlike the thin ones from thy throat.
My voice is bold and not forlorn,
It soundeth like a mighty horn;
And thine is like a little pipe
Made of a slender reed unripe.
Better I sing than thou at least;
Thou chatterest like an Irish priest.
I sing at eve, a proper time,
And after, when it is bedtime,
And once again at middle-night,
And so ordain my song aright
When I see rising from afar

30

40

50

310

320

Wone 13 ich i-seo arise veorre 57