EDMUND SPENSER. (1552?-1599.) THE SONG OF ENCHANTMENT. Spenser's Lyrical Poems (the Shepherd's Calendar, Astrophel, the Amoretti, Epithalamion, Four Hymns, and Prothalamion) have appeared in a separate volume in Mr. Ernest Rhys' series of "The Lyric Poets" (London and New York, 1895). Extracts of a lyrical cast from the Shepherd's Calendar, 1579, appear in the volume of English Pastorals in the present series. The Daphnaida, “an elegy upon the death of the noble and virtuous Douglas Howard", appeared in 1591; the Amoretti or Sonnets in 1595 (written 1592–3); the Epithalamion, a song in celebration of the poet's own marriage, in 1595 (written 1594-5); the Prothalamion, or a "Spousal Verse, in honour of the double marriage of two honourable and virtuous ladies, the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Katherine Somerset ", in 1596; and the Four Hymns in the same year. The following is the famous Song of Despair from the Fairy Queen,, book I., canto ix. WHO travels by the weary wandering way, To come unto his wished home in haste, He there does now enjoy eternal rest And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave, What if some little pain the passage have, That makes frail flesh to fear the bitter wave? Is not short pain well borne, that brings long ease, Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war, death after life does greatly please! The lenger life, I wot, the greater sin; All those great battles, which thou boasts to win For he that once hath missèd the right way, Then do no further go, no further stray, All which, and thousands mo, do make a loathsome life. FROM THE DAPHNAIDA. OW happy was I when I saw her lead How The shepherds' daughters dancing in a round! But now, ye shepherd lasses! who shall lead Let now your bliss be turnèd into bale, 1 light songs. And into plaints convert your joyous plays, Henceforth I hate what ever Nature made, Leaving behind them nought but grief of mind, I hate the heaven, because it doth withhold I hate the fire, because to nought it flies; I hate the sea, because it tears supplies. I hate to speak, my voice is spent with crying; I hate to hear, loud plaints have dulled mine ears; I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left; So all my senses from me are bereft. I hate all men, and shun all womankind; My love with them, that wont to be their star: To live I find it deadly dolorous, For life draws care, and care continual woe; Therefore to die must needs be joyeous, Yet, whilst I in this wretched vale do stay SONNETS. VI MORE than most fair, full of the living fire, Kindled above unto the Maker near; No eyes but joys, in which all powers conspire, Dark is the world, where your light shined never; LIKE as a ship, that through the Ocean wide, So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray Do wander now, in darkness and dismay, Till then I wander careful1, comfortless, LXVIII. MOST glorious Lord of life! that, on this day, And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin, grant that we, for whom thou diddest die, Being with thy dear blood clear washed from sin, May live for ever in felicity! And that thy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love thee for the same again; So let us love, dear love, like as we ought: LXX. FRESH Spring, the herald of love's mighty king, In whose coat-armour richly are displayed All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid, 1 full of care. |