A Farewell to False Love
by Baron Halpenny, LincsMag Editor-in-Chief.
Date: 14 February 2010
As it’s Valentines day today, we have to publish a love poem and what better than one of the poets of the Elizabethan era, none other than the pipe smoking Sir Walter Raleigh famous for his reputed act of Chivalry by placing his cloak over a puddle in order to prevent Queen Elizabeth I from muddying her shoes.
Writer, poet, soldier, courtier, and explorer, he was it seems never far from controversy, even to secretly marrying Elizabeth "Bess" Throckmorton, who was one of the Queen Elizabeth's ladies-in-waiting.
The marriage was not unauthorized and the Queen on discovering it immediately ordered Raleigh be imprisoned and Bess dismissed from court. Reighly was later released but both he and his wife remained devoted to each other throughout their lives.
The following poem by Sir Walter Raleigh, suggests to the reader that true love has been found and now in the light of this real love that which was before he can see was false … Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.
A Farewell to False Love
Farewell, false love, the oracle of lies,
A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
An envious boy, from whom all cares arise,
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed,
A way of error, a temple full of treason,
In all effects contrary unto reason.
A poisoned serpent covered all with flowers,
Mother of sighs, and murderer of repose,
A sea of sorrows whence are drawn such showers
As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
A gilded hook that holds a poisoned bait.
A fortress foiled, which reason did defend,
A siren song, a fever of the mind,
A maze wherein affection finds no end,
A raging cloud that runs before the wind,
A substance like the shadow of the sun,
A goal of grief for which the wisest run.
A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,
A path that leads to peril and mishap,
A true retreat of sorrow and despair,
An idle boy that sleeps in pleasure's lap,
A deep mistrust of that which certain seems,
A hope of that which reason doubtful deems.
Sith then thy trains my younger years betrayed,
And for my faith ingratitude I find;
And sith repentance hath my wrongs bewrayed,
Whose course was ever contrary to kind:
False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu.
Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.
