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“What is he, this lordling, that cometh from the fight?”
by William Herebert, 14th century
translation by Michael R. Burch

Who is he, this lordling, who staggers from the fight,
with blood-red garb so grisly arrayed,
once appareled in lineaments white?
Once so seemly in sight?
Once so valiant a knight?

“It is I, it is I, who alone speaks right,
a champion to heal mankind in this fight.”

Why then are your clothes a bloody mess,
like one who has trod a winepress?

“I trod the winepress alone,
else mankind was done.”



“Thou wommon boute fere”
by William Herebert
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Woman without compare,
you bore your own father:
great the wonder
that one woman was mother
to her father and brother,
as no one else ever was.



“My sang es in sihting”
by Richard Rolle, 14th century
translation by Michael R. Burch

My song is in sighing,
My life is in longing,
Till I see thee, my King,
So fair in thy shining,
So fair in thy beauty,
Leading me into your light...



A hymn to Jesus
by Richard of Caistre, circa 1400
translation by Michael R. Burch

Jesu, Lord that madest me
and with thy blessed blood hath bought,
forgive that I have grieved thee,
in word, work, will and thought.

Jesu, for thy wounds’ hurt
of body, feet and hands too,
make me meek and low in heart,
and thee to love, as I should do...
On the Siege of Calais, 1436
Middle English poem
translation by Michael R. Burch



On July 19, 1436, the Duke of Burgundy laid siege to Calais, but lifted the siege six days later.

The next morrow, while it was day,
Early, the Duke fled away,
And with him, they off Ghent.
For after Bruges and Apres both
To follow after they were not loath;
Thus they made their departure.
For they had knowledge
Of the Duke of Gloucester’s coming,
Calais to rescue.
Because they bode not there,
In Flanders, he sought them far and near,
That ever after they might rue it.



Lent is Come with Love to Town
Middle English poem, circa 1330
translation by Michael R. Burch

Springtime comes with love to town,
With blossoms and with birdsong ’round,
Bringing all this bliss:
Daisies in the dales,
Sweet notes of nightingales.
Each bird contributes songs;
The thrush chides ancient wrongs.
Departed, winter’s glowers;
The woodruff gayly flowers;
The birds create great noise
And warble of their joys,
Making all the woodlands ring!

Keywords/Tags: Middle English, translation, Calais, Lent, love, town, bird, songs, winter, joy, fight, woman, women, mankind, right
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