Mr Godwin has elegantly and justly characterized the present version:--"The poem of the 'Floure and the Lefe' is a production of Chaucer, with which Dryden was 'so particularly pleased, both for the invention and the moral,' as to induce him to transfuse it into modern English. He has somewhat obscured the purpose of the tale, which in the original is defective in perspicuity; but he has greatly heightened the enchantment of its character. He has made its personages fairies, who annually hold a jubilee, such as is here described, on the first of May; Chaucer had left the species of the beings he employs vague and unexplained. In a word, the poem of Dryden, regarded merely as the exhibition of a soothing and delicious luxuriance of fancy, may be classed with the most successful productions of human genius." _Life of Chaucer_, Vol I. p. 344. [Footnote 194: Godwin's Life of Chaucer, Vol. I. p. 346.] THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF; OR, THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR. A VISION. Now turning from the wintry signs, the sun His course exalted through the Ram had run, And whirling up the skies, his chariot drove Through Taurus, and the lightsome realms of love; Where Venus from her orb descends in showers, To glad the ground, and paint the fields with flowers: When first the tender blades of grass appear, } And buds, that yet the blast of Eurus fear, } Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe the year; } Till gentle heat, and soft repeated rains, Make the green blood to dance within their veins: Then, at their call emboldened, out they come, And swell the gems, and burst the narrow room; Broader and broader yet, their blooms display, Salute the welcome sun, and entertain the day. Then from their breathing souls the sweets repair To scent the skies, and purge the unwholesome air: Joy spreads the heart, and, with a general song, Spring issues out, and leads the jolly months along. In that sweet season, as in bed I lay, And sought in sleep to pass the night away, I turned my weary[195] side, but still in vain, Though full of youthful health, and void of pain. Cares I had none, to keep me from my rest, For love had never entered in my breast; I wanted nothing fortune could supply, Nor did she slumber till that hour deny. I wondered then, but after found it true, Much joy had dried away the balmy dew: Seas would be pools, without the brushing air, } To curl the waves; and sure some little care } Should weary nature so, to make her want repair. } When Chanticleer the second watch had sung, Scorning the scorner sleep, from bed I sprung; And dressing, by the moon, in loose array, } Passed out in open air, preventing day, } And sought a goodly grove, as fancy led my way. } Straight as a line in beauteous order stood Of oaks unshorn, a venerable wood; Fresh was the grass beneath, and every tree, At distance planted in a due degree,