THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
faint breezes, but most of all a day of roses. Roses did hang everywhere, by hedgerow and byway and brake and river, white and red, in bud and blossoming, filling the fields with a faint scent that could scarce be perceived but might not be denied. And on this day Sir Payne was lying according to his use by the Uske, keeping well in the hedge's shadow, and just above him with boughs falling to his hand was a great bush of pink roses, and here and there was a blossom almost as red as blood, but most were paler. But their odour came not to his nostrils since beside the rose bush grew an elder tree, the bloom of which is strongly fragrant, and it made the air heavy all around. And while he thus lay, pondering and dreaming and listening to the perpetual ripple of the river (for on the opposite side it was shallow) the bell of the Priory began to ring for Nonesong very sweetly, and looking up he noticed the roses, and a quaint thought came into his head. How these fancies are engendered I know not; but it is certain that if one seek for them they are not to be found, but they come and go at their pleasure and are altogether licentious. And this thought of Sir Payne's was to fashion a wreath of roses and to cast it on the current of the Uske; and thus to make an oblation to those maidens of high race of Færie, to whom belongeth every winding of the river, every ripple and little tributary brooklet, all broad spaces and reaches of still and glassy water, from the wells in the mountains unto Severn Sea. And so he twined his fret of blossoms, setting four of the reddest at
[ 158 ]
