The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume 5 - Edmund Spenser
"So happie are they, and so fortunate,
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love,
That freed from bands of impacable** fate, 395
And power of death, they live for aye above,
Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remove:
But with the gods, for former verities meede,
On nectar and ambrosia do feede.
[* _Impacable_, unappeasable.]
"For deeds doe die, how ever noblie donne, 400
And thoughts of men do as themselves decay;
But wise wordes taught in numbers for to runne,
Recorded by the Muses, live for ay;
Ne may with storming showers be washt away,
Ne bitter-breathing windes with harmfull blast, 405
Nor age, nor envie, shall them ever wast.
"In vaine doo earthly princes then, in vaine,
Seeke with pyramides to heaven aspired,
Or huge colosses built with costlie paine,
Or brasen pillours never to be fired, 410
Or shrines made of the mettall most desired,
To make their memories for ever live:
For how can mortall immortalitie give?
"Such one Mausolus made, the worlds great wonder,
But now no remnant doth thereof remaine: 415
Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thunder:
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine:
Such one King Edmond, but was rent for gaine.
All such vaine moniments of earthlie masse,
Devour'd of Time, in time to nought doo passe. 420
"But Fame with golden wings aloft doth flie,
Above the reach of ruinous decay,
And with brave plumes doth beate the azure skie,
Admir'd of base-borne men from farre away:
Then who so will with vertuous deeds assay 425
To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride,
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide.
"For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake,
Could save the sonne of Thetis from to die;
But that blinde bard did him immortall make 430
With verses dipt in deaw of Castalie:
Which made the Easterne conquerour to crie,
O fortunate yong man! whose vertue found
So brave a trompe thy noble acts to sound.
"Therefore in this halfe happie I doo read* 435
Good Melibae, that hath a poet got
To sing his living praises being dead,
Deserving never here to be forgot,
In spight of envie, that his deeds would spot:
Since whose decease, learning lies unregarded, 440
And men of armes doo wander unrewarded.
[* _Read_, consider]
"Those two be those two great calamities,
That long agoe did grieve the noble spright
Of Salomon with great indignities,
Who whilome was alive the wisest wight: 445
But now his wisedome is disprooved quite,
For he that now welds* all things at his will
Scorns th'one and th'other in his deeper skill.
[* _Welds_, wields]
"O griefe of griefes! O gall of all good heartes!
To see that vertue should dispised bee 450
Of him that first was raisde for vertuous parts,
And now, broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot up that nigh him planted bee.
O let the man of whom the Muse is scorned,
Nor alive nor dead, be of the Muse adorned! 455
"O vile worlds trust! that with such vaine illusion
Hath so wise men bewitcht and overkest*,
That they see not the way of their confusion:
O vainesse to be added to the rest
That do my soule with inward griefe infest! 460
Let them behold the piteous fall of mee,
And in my case their owne ensample see.
[* _Overkest_, overcast.]
"And who so els that sits in highest seate
Of this worlds glorie, worshipped of all,
Ne feareth change of time, nor fortunes threats, 465
Let him behold the horror of my fall,
And his owne end unto remembrance call;
That of like ruine he may warned bee,
And in himselfe be moov'd to pittie mee."
Thus having ended all her piteous plaint, 470
With dolefull shrikes shee vanished away,
That I, through inward sorrowe wexen faint,
And all astonished with deepe dismay
For her departure, had no word to say;
But sate long time in sencelesse sad affright, 475
Looking still, if I might of her have sight.
Which when I missed, having looked long,
My thought returned greeved home againe,
Renewing her complaint with passion strong,
For ruth of that same womans piteous paine; 480
Whose wordes recording in my troubled braine,
I felt such anguish wound my feeble heart,
That frosen horror ran through everie part.
So inlie greeving in my groning brest,
And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach, 485
Whose meaning much I labored foorth to wreste,
Being above my slender reasons reach,
At length, by demonstration me to teach,
Before mine eies strange sights presented were,
Like tragicke pageants seeming to appeare. 490
I.
I saw an Image, all of massie gold,
Placed on high upon an altare faire,
That all which did the same from farre beholde
Might worship it, and fall on lowest staire.
Not that great idoll might with this compaire, 495
To which th'Assyrian tyrant would have made
The holie brethren falslie to have praid.
But th'altare on the which this image staid
Was (O great pitie!) built of brickle* clay,
That shortly the foundation decaid, 500
With showres of heaven and tempests worne away;
Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay,
Scorned of everie one which by it went;
That I, it seing, dearelie did lament.
[* _Brickle_, brittle.]
II.
Next unto this a statelie Towre appeared, 505
Built all of richest stone that might bee found,
And nigh unto the heavens in height upreared,
But placed on a plot of sandie ground:
Not that great towre which is so much renownd
For tongues confusion in Holie Writ, 510
King Ninus worke, might be compar'd to it.
But, O vaine labours of terrestriall wit,
That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a soyle,
As with each storme does fall away and flit,
And gives the fruit of all your travailes toyle 515
To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes spoyle,
I saw this towre fall sodainlie to dust,
That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was brust.
III.
Then did I see a pleasant Paradize,
Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights, 520
Such as on earth man could not more devize,
With pleasures choyce to feed his cheereful sprights:
Not that which Merlin by his magicke slights
Made for the gentle Squire, to entertaine
His fayre Belphoebe, could this gardine staine. 525
But O short pleasure bought with lasting paine!
Why will hereafter anie flesh delight
In earthlie blis, and ioy in pleasures vaine?
Since that I sawe this gardine wasted quite,
That where it was scarce seemed anie sight; 530
That I, which once that beautie did beholde,
Could not from teares my melting eyes with-holde.
IV.
Soone after this a Giaunt came in place,
Of wondrous power, and of exceeding stature,
That none durst vewe the horror of his face; 535
Yet was he milde of speach, and meeke of nature.
Not he which in despight of his Creatour
With railing tearmes defied the Iewish hoast,
Might with this mightie one in hugenes boast;
For from the one he could to th'other coast 540
Stretch his strong thighes, and th'ocean overstride,
And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast.
But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride!
One of his feete unwares from him did slide,
That downe hee fell into the deepe abisse, 545
Where drownd with him is all his earthlie blisse.
V.
Then did I see a Bridge, made all of golde,
Over the sea from one to other side,
Withouten prop or pillour it t'upholde,
But like the coloured rainbowe arched wide: 550
Not that great arche which Traian edifide,
To be a wonder to all age ensuing,
Was matchable to this in equall vewing.
But ah! what bootes it to see earthlie thing
In glorie or in greatnes to excell, 555
Sith time doth greatest things to ruine bring?
This goodlie bridge, one foote not fastned well,
Gan faile, and all the rest downe shortlie fell,
Ne of so brave a building ought remained,
That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained. 560
VI.
I saw two Beares, as white as anie milke,
Lying together in a mightie cave,
Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as silke,
That salvage nature seemed not to have,
Nor after greedie spoyle of blood to crave: 565
Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be found,
Although the compast* world were sought around.
[* _Compast_, rounded.]
But what can long abide above this ground
In state of blis, or stedfast happinesse?
The cave in which these beares lay sleeping sound
Was but earth, and with her owne weightinesse 571
Upon them fell, and did unwares oppresse;
That, for great sorrow of their sudden fate,
Henceforth all worlds felicitie I hate.
Much was I troubled in my heavie spright, 575
At sight of these sad spectacles forepast,
That all my senses were bereaved quight,
And I in minde remained sore agast,
Distraught twixt feare and pitie; when at last
I heard a voyce which loudly to me called, 580
That with the suddein shrill I was appalled.
"Behold," said it, "and by ensample see,
That all is vanitie and griefe of minde,
Ne other comfort in this world can be,
But hope of heaven, and heart to God inclinde; 585
For all the rest must needs be left behinde."
With that it bad me to the other side
To cast mine eye, where other sights I spide.
I.
Upon that famous rivers further shore,
There stood a snowie Swan, of heavenly hiew 590
And gentle kinde as ever fowle afore;
A fairer one in all the goodlie criew
Of white Strimonian brood might no man view:
There he most sweetly sung the prophecie
Of his owne death in dolefull elegie. 595
At last, when all his mourning melodie
He ended had, that both the shores resounded,
Feeling the fit that him forewarnd to die,
With loftie flight above the earth he bounded,
And out of sight to highest heaven mounted, 600
Where now he is become an heavenly signe;
There now the ioy is his, here sorrow mine.
II.
Whilest thus I looked, loe! adowne the lee*
I sawe an Harpe, stroong all with silver twyne,
And made of golde and costlie yvorie, 605
Swimming, that whilome seemed to have been
The harpe on which Dan Orpheus was seene
Wylde beasts and forrests after him to lead,
But was th'harpe of Philisides** now dead.
[* _Lee_, surface of the stream.]
[** _Phili-sid-es_, Sir Philip Sidney]
At length out of the river it was reard, 610
And borne above the cloudes to be divin'd,
Whilst all the way most heavenly noyse was heard
Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind,
That wrought both ioy and sorrow in my mind:
So now in heaven a signe it doth appeare, 615
The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern Beare.
III.
Soone after this I saw on th'other side
A curious Coffer made of heben* wood,
That in it did most precious treasure hide,
Exceeding all this baser worldes good: 620
Yet through the overflowing of the flood
It almost drowned was and done to nought,
That sight thereof much griev'd my pensive thought.
[* _Heben_, ebony.]
At length, when most in perill it was brought,
Two angels, downe descending with swift flight, 625
Out of the swelling streame it lightly caught,
And twixt their blessed armes it carried quight
Above the reach of anie living sight:
So now it is transform'd into that starre,
In which all heavenly treasures locked are. 630
IV.
Looking aside I saw a stately Bed,
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold,
That might for anie princes couche be red*,
And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold
Be for some bride, her ioyous night to hold: 635
Therein a goodly virgine sleeping lay;
A fairer wight saw never summers day.
[* _Red_, taken.]
I heard a voyce that called farre away,
And her awaking bad her quickly dight,
For lo! her bridegrome was in readie ray 640
To come to her, and seeke her loves delight:
With that she started up with cherefull sight,
When suddeinly both bed and all was gone,
And I in languor left there all alone.
V.
Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood 645
A Knight all arm'd, upon a winged steed,
The same that was bred of Medusaes blood,
On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly seed,
The faire Andromeda from perill freed:
Full mortally this knight ywounded was, 650
That streames of blood foorth flowed on the gras.
Yet was he deckt (small ioy to him, alas!)
With manie garlands for his victories,
And with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas
Through brave atcheivements from his enemies: 655
Fainting at last through long infirmities,
He smote his steed, that straight to heaven him bore,
And left me here his losse for to deplore.
VI.
Lastly, I saw an Arke of purest golde
Upon a brazen pillour standing hie, 660
Which th'ashes seem'd of some great prince to hold,
Enclosde therein for endles memorie
Of him whom all the world did glorifie:
Seemed the heavens with the earth did disagree,
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee. 665
At last me seem'd wing-footed Mercurie,
From heaven descending to appease their strife,
The arke did beare with him above the skie,
And to those ashes gave a second life,
To live in heaven, where happines is rife: 670
At which the earth did grieve exceedingly,
And I for dole was almost like to die.
_L'Envoy._
Immortall spirite of Philisides,
Which now art made the heavens ornament,
That whilome wast the worldes chiefst riches. 675
Give leave to him that lov'de thee to lament
His losse by lacke of thee to heaven hent*,
And with last duties of this broken verse,
Broken with sighes, to decke thy sable herse!
[* _Hent_, taken away.]
And ye, faire Ladie! th'honor of your daies 680
And glorie of the world, your high thoughts scorne,
Vouchsafe this moniment of his last praise
With some few silver dropping teares t'adorne;
And as ye be of heavenlie off-spring borne,
So unto heaven let your high minde aspire, 685
And loath this drosse of sinfull worlds desire.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
Ver. 8.--_Verlame._ Veralam, or Verulamium, was a British and Roman
town, near the present city of St. Alban's in Hertfordshire. Some
remains of its walls are still perceptible. H.
Ver. 64.--_Th'Assyrian Lyonesse._ These types of nations are taken
from the seventh chapter of the book of Daniel. H.
Ver. 190.--_I saw him die_. Leicester died at Cornbury Lodge, in
Oxfordshire. Todd suggests that he may have fallen sick at St. Alban's,
and that Spenser, hearing the report in Ireland, may havo concluded
without inquiry that this was the place of his subsequent death, C.
Ver. 225.--_Colin Cloute._ Spenser himself, who had been befriended by
Leicester. H.
Ver. 239.--_His brother._ Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick.
Ver. 245.--_His noble spouse._ Anne, the eldest daughter of Francis
Russell, Earl of Bedford.
Ver. 260.--_His sister_. Lady Mary Sidney.
Ver. 261.--_That good earle_, &c. This Earl of Bedford died in 1585.--
TODD.
Ver. 267.--_He, noble bud_, &c. Edward Russell, grandson of Francis
Earl of Bedford, succeeded in the earldom, his father, Francis, having
been slain by the Scots.--OLDYS.
Ver. 275.--_That goodly ladie_, &c. Lady Mary Sidney, mother of Sir
Philip Sidney and the Countess of Pembroke.
Ver. 281.--_Most gentle spirite._ Sir Philip Sidney.
Ver. 317.--_Thine owne sister,_ &c. The Countess of Pembroke, to whom
this poem is dedicated. "The Dolefull Lay of Clorinda" (Vol. IV. p.
426) appears to have been written by her.
Ver. 436.--_Good Melibae_. Sir Francis Walsingham, who died April
6,1590. The _poet_ is Thomas Watson.--OLDYS.
Ver. 447-455.--These lines are aimed at Burghley, who was said to have
opposed the Queen's intended bounty to the poet. C.
Ver 491.--These allegorical representations of the vanity of exalted
position, stately buildings, earthly pleasures, bodily strength, and
works of beauty and magnificence, admit of an easy application to the
splendid career of the Earl of Leicester,--his favor and influence with
the Queen, his enlargement of Kenilworth, his princely style of living,
and particularly (IV.) his military command in the Low Countries. The
sixth of these "tragick pageants" strongly confirms this
interpretation. The two bears are Robert and Ambrose Dudley. While
Leicester was lieutenant in the Netherlands, he was in the habit of
using the Warwick crest (a bear and ragged staff) instead of his own.
Naunton, in his Fragmenta Regalia, calls him _Ursa Major_. C.
Ver. 497.--_The holie brethren_, &c. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
Daniel, ch. iii. C.
Ver. 582-586.--A paraphrase of Sir Philip's last words to his brother.
"Above all, govern your will and affection by the will and word of your
Creator, in me beholding the end of this world with all her vanities."
This is pointed out by Zouch, Life of Sidney, p. 263. C.
Ver 590.--This second series of pageants is applicable exclusively to
Sir Philip Sidney. The meaning of the third and fourth is hard to make
out; but the third seems to have reference to the collection of the
scattered sheets of the Arcadia, and the publication of this work by
the Countess of Pembroke, after it had been condemned to destruction by
the author. The fourth may indeed signify nothing more than Lady
Sidney's bereavement by her husband's death; but this interpretation
seems too literal for a professed allegory. The sixth obviously alludes
to the splendid obsequies to Sidney, performed at the Queen's expense,
and to the competition of the States of Holland for the honor of
burying his body. C.
L'ENVOY: _L'Envoy_ was a sort of postscript _sent with_ poetical
compositions, and serving either to recommend them to the attention of
some particular person, or to enforce what we call the moral of them.--
TYRWHITT.
* * * * *
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
BY ED. SP.
LONDON:
IMPRINTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBIE, DWELLING IN PAULES CHURCHYARD AT THE
SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD.
1591.
* * * * *
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE
THE LADIE STRANGE.
Most brave and noble Ladie, the things that make ye so much honored of
the world as ye bee are such as (without my simple lines testimonie)
are throughlie knowen to all men; namely, your excellent beautie, your
vertuous behavior, and your noble match with that most honourable Lord,
the verie paterne of right nobilitie. But the causes for which ye have
thus deserved of me to be honoured, (if honour it be at all,) are, both
your particular bounties, and also some private bands of affinitie*,
which it hath pleased your Ladiship to acknowledge. Of which whenas I
found my selfe in no part worthie, I devised this last slender meanes,
both to intimate my humble affection to your Ladiship, and also to make
the same universallie knowen to the world; that by honouring you they
might know me, and by knowing me they might honor you. Vouchsafe, noble
Lady, to accept this simple remembrance, though not worthy of your
self, yet such as perhaps by good acceptance thereof ye may hereafter
cull out a more meet and memorable evidence of your own excellent
deserts. So recommending the same to your Ladiships good liking, I
humbly take leave.
Your La: humbly ever.
ED. SP.
[Footnote: Lady Strange was Alice Spencer, sixth daughter of Sir John
Spencer of Althorpe. C.]
* * * * *
THE TEARES OF THE MUSES.
Rehearse to me, ye sacred Sisters nine,
The golden brood of great Apolloes wit,
Those piteous plaints and sorowfull sad tine
Which late ye powred forth as ye did sit
Beside the silver springs of Helicone, 5
Making your musick of hart-breaking mone!
For since the time that Phoebus foolish sonne,
Ythundered, through loves avengefull wrath,
For traversing the charret of the Sunne
Beyond the compasse of his pointed path, 10
Of you, his mournfull sisters, was lamented,
Such mournfull tunes were never since invented.
Nor since that faire Calliope did lose
Her loved twinnes, the dearlings of her ioy,
Her Palici, whom her unkindly foes, 15
The Fatall Sisters, did for spight destroy,
Whom all the Muses did bewaile long space,
Was ever heard such wayling in this place.
For all their groves, which with the heavenly noyses
Of their sweete instruments were wont to sound, 20
And th'hollow hills, from which their silver voyces
Were wont redoubled echoes to rebound,
Did now rebound with nought but rufull cries,
And yelling shrieks throwne up into the skies.
The trembling streames which wont in chanels cleare 25
To romble gently downe with murmur soft,
And were by them right tunefull taught to beare
A bases part amongst their consorts oft;
Now forst to overflowe with brackish teares,
With troublous noyse did dull their daintie eares. 30
The ioyous Nymphes and lightfoote Faeries
Which thether came to heare their musick sweet,
And to the measure of their melodies
Did learne to move their nimble-shifting feete,
Now hearing them so heavily lament, 35
Like heavily lamenting from them went.
And all that els was wont to worke delight
Through the divine infusion of their skill,
And all that els seemd faire and fresh in sight,
So made by nature for to serve their will, 40
Was turned now to dismall heavinesse,
Was turned now to dreadfull uglinesse.
Ay me! what thing on earth, that all thing breeds,
Might be the cause of so impatient plight?
What furie, or what feend, with felon deeds 45
Hath stirred up so mischievous despight?
Can griefe then enter into heavenly harts,
And pierce immortall breasts with mortall smarts?
Vouchsafe ye then, whom onely it concernes,
To me those secret causes to display; 50
For none but you, or who of you it learnes,
Can rightfully aread so dolefull lay.
Begin, thou eldest sister of the crew,
And let the rest in order thee ensew.
CLIO.
Heare, thou great Father of the Gods on hie, 55
That most art dreaded for thy thunder darts;
And thou, our Syre? that raignst in Castalie
And Mount Parnasse, the god of goodly arts:
Heare, and behold the miserable state
Of us thy daughters, dolefull desolate. 60
Behold the fowle reproach and open shame
The which is day by day unto us wrought
By such as hate the honour of our name,
The foes of learning and each gentle thought;
They, not contented us themselves to scorne, 65
Doo seeke to make us of the world forlorne*.
[* Forlorne, abandoned]
Ne onely they that dwell in lowly dust,
The sonnes of darknes and of ignoraunce;
But they whom thou, great love, by doome uniust
Didst to the type of honour earst advaunce; 70
They now, puft up with sdeignfull insolence,
Despise the brood of blessed Sapience.
The sectaries* of my celestiall skill,
That wont to be the worlds chiefe ornament,
And learned impes that wont to shoote up still, 75
And grow to hight of kingdomes government,
They underkeep, and with their spredding armes
Doo beat their buds, that perish through their harmes.
[* _Sectaries_, followers.]
It most behoves the honorable race
Of mightie peeres true wisedome to sustaine, 80
And with their noble countenaunce to grace
The learned forheads, without gifts or game:
Or rather learnd themselves behoves to bee;
That is the girlond of nobilitie.
But ah! all otherwise they doo esteeme 85
Of th'heavenly gift of wisdomes influence,
And to be learned it a base thing deeme:
Base minded they that want intelligence;
For God himselfe for wisedome most is praised,
And men to God thereby are nighest raised. 90
But they doo onely strive themselves to raise
Through pompous pride, and foolish vanitie;
In th'eyes of people they put all their praise,
And onely boast of armes and auncestrie:
But vertuous deeds, which did those armes first give
To their grandsyres, they care not to atchive. 96