7
Oppressed with stinking flames and fear,
Weeping right sore with great relent,
For to go else she wist not where:
A narrow way with thorns and briers,
And full of mire was her before,
She sighed oft with sobs and tears,
The poor wife's heart was wonderous sore;
Tired and torn she went on still,
Sometimes she sat, and sometimes she fell,
Aye till she came to a high hill,
And then she looked baek to hell.
When she had climbed up the hill,
Before her was a goodly plain;
Where she did rest and weep her fill,
Then rose and to her feet again,
Her heart was glad the way was good,
Up to the hill she hy'd with haste,
The flowers were fair, where that she stood
The fields were pleasant to her taste.
Then she espied Jerusalem,
On Sion's mount where that it stood
Shining with gold light as the sun,
Her silly soul was then right glad;
The ports were pearls shining bright,
Glorious it was for to behold,
The preeious stones gave such a light,
The walls were of transparent gold.
