UNA AND THE LION. FROM THE "FAERIE QUEENE," BOOK 1. CANTO 111. ONE day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way, From her unhastie beast she did alight; And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight; From her fayre head her fillet she undight, And layd her stole aside. Her angels face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place; Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace. It fortuned, out of the thickest wood A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly, Hunting full greedy after salvage blood : Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, To have attonce devoured her tender corse; But to the pray whenas he drew more ny, And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious His bloody rage aswagèd with remorse,§ forse. Instead thereof, he kist her wearie feet, And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong; As he her wrongèd innocence did weet. || O how can beautie maister the most strong, And simple truth subdue avenging wrong! Whose yielded pryde and proud submission, Still dreading death, when she had marked long, Her hart gan melt in great compassion; And drizling teares did shed for pure affection. "The lyon, lord of everie beast in field," Quoth she, "his princely puissance doth abate, And mightie proud to humble weake does yield, Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate : But he, my lyon, and my noble lord, How does he find in cruell hart to hate Her, that him lovd, and ever most adord As the god of my life? why hath he me abhord ?" Redounding tears did choke th' end of her plaint, Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; And, sad to see her sorrowful constraint, The kingly beast upon her gazing stood; With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry moo!. At last, in close hart shutting up her payne, Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood, And to her snowy palfrey got agayne, To seeke her strayed champion if she might attayne. The lyon would not leave her desolate, And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent, With humble service to her will prepard; From her fayre eyes he took commandment, And ever by her lookes conceived her intent. EDMUND SPENSER. THE BOWER OF BLISS. FROM THE "FAERIE QUEENE," BOOK II. CANTO XII. THERE the most daintie paradise on ground The trembling groves; the christall running by; And, that which all faire workes doth most aggrace,* The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place. One would have thought (so cunningly the rude And scorned partes were mingled with the fine) That Nature had for wantonesse ensude + Art, and that Art at Nature did repine; So striving each th' other to undermine, Each did the others worke more beautify; So diff'ring both in willes agreed in fine : So all agreed, through sweete diversity, This gardin to adorne with all variety. And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, Of richest substance that on earth might bee, So pure and shiny that the silver flood Was over wrought, and shapes of naked boyes, Of which some seemed with lively iollitee To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, Whylest others did themselves embay in liquid ioyes. And over all, of purest gold, was spred A trayle of yvie in his native hew; For the rich metall was so coloured, That wight, who did not well avised it vew, Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew: Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe, That, themselves dipping in the silver dew, Their fleecy flowres they fearefully did steepe, Which drops of christall seemed for wantones to weep. Infinit streames continually did well Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see, see, All pav'd beneath with iaspar shining bright, That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle upright. Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound, Of all that mote delight a daintie eare, Such as attonce might not on living ground, Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere. Right hard it was for wight which did it heare, To read what manner musicke that mote bee; For all that pleasing is to living eare Was there consorted in one harmonee; Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters, all agree: The ioyous birdes, shrouded in chearefull shade, Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet; Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made To th' instruments divine respondence meet; The silver-sounding instruments did meet With the base murmure of the waters fall; The waters fall, with difference discreet, Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call ; The gentle warbling wind low answered to all. EDMUND SPENSER. THE LADY LOST IN THE WOOD. FROM "COMUS." THIS way the noise was, if mine ear be true, Through every channell running one might see; Of riot and ill-inanaged merriment, Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe Stirs up amongst the loose, unlettered hinds, Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. But where they are, and why they came not back, Is now the labor of my thoughts: 't is likeliest With everlasting oil, to give due light Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, These thoughts may startle well, but not astound The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended O welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, course. The water-nymphs that in the bottom played, MILTON THE HAUNT OF THE SORCERER. FROM "COMUS." WITHIN the navel of this hideous wood, And the inglorious likeness of a beast Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill Tending my flocks hard by i' the hilly crofts, Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, MILTON. THE NYMPH OF THE SEVERN. FROM "COMUS." THERE is a gentle nymph not far from hence That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream. Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; That brow this bottom-glade, whence night by night, He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl, In their obscurèd haunts of inmost bowers. PASSION and pain, the outcry of despair, The pang of the unattainable desire, And youth's delight in pleasures that expire, Then through a mighty sorrowing, as through fire, RICHARD HOVEY. |