“Cys trespassa Guilleaume
De Loris, et ne fit plus pseaume.”
“Here died William
Of Loris, and made psalm no more.”
And the best word for “Canticles” in the Bible is “Asma,” or Song, which is just as grave a word as Psalmos, or Psalm.
And as it happens, this psalm-singing, or, at least, exquisitely psalm-translating, squire, mine ancient neighbour, is just as good a canticle-singer. I know no such lovely love poems as his, since Dante’s.
Here is a specimen for you, which I choose because of its connection with the modern subject of railroads; only note, first,
The word Squire, I told you, meant primarily a “rider.” And it does not at all mean, and never can mean, a person carried in an iron box by a kettle on wheels. Accordingly, this squire, riding to visit his mistress along an old English road, addresses the following sonnet to the ground of it,—gravel or turf, I know not which:—
“Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be;
And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet,