John Hanmer - Chaucer lyrics

When I remember how, nor separate chance Nor restless traffic peopling many a shore Nor old tradition with innumerous lore, But poets wrought our best inheritance; Sweet words and noble; in their gai science That England heard, and then for evermore Loved as her own, and did with deeds adore; I bless thee with a kindred heart, Provence; For to thy tales, like waves that come and go, Sat Chaucer listening with exulting ear; And casting his own phrase in giant mould: That still had charms for sorrow's gentlest tear, Telling the story of Griselda's woe, "Under the roots of Vesulus the cold."