And yet a chyld, renewing still thy yeares, 55
And yet the eldest of the heavenly peares?
For ere this worlds still moving mightie masse
Out of great Chaos ugly prison crept,
In which his goodly face long hidden was
From heavens view, and in deepe darknesse kept, 60
Love, that had now long time securely slept
In Venus lap, unarmed then and naked,
Gan reare his head, by Clotho being waked.
And taking to him wings of his owne heate,
Kindled at first from heavens life-giving fyre, 65
He gan to move out of his idle seate,
Weakely at first, but after with desyre
Lifted aloft, he gan to mount up hyre,
And like fresh eagle, make his hardie flight
Through all that great wide wast, yet wanting light. 70
Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way,
His owne faire mother, for all creatures sake,
Did lend him light from her owne goodly ray:
Then through the world his way he gan to take,
The world, that was not till he did it make, 75
Whose sundrie parts he from them selves did sever,
The which before had lyen confused ever.
The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fyre,
Then gan to raunge them selves in huge array,
And with contrary forces to conspyre 80
Each against other, by all meanes they may,
Threatning their owne confusion and decay:
Ayre hated earth, and water hated fyre,
Till Love relented their rebellious yre.
He then them tooke, and tempering goodly well 85
Their contrary dislikes with loved meanes,
Did place them all in order, and compell
To keepe them selves within their sundrie raines,
Together linkt with adamantine chaines;
Yet so as that in every living wight 90
They mixe themselves, and shew their kindly might.
So ever since they firmely have remained,
And duly well observed his beheast;
Through which now all these things that are contained
Within this goodly cope, both most and least, 95
Their being have, and dayly are increast
Through secret sparks of his infused fyre,
Which in the barraine cold he doth inspyre.
Thereby they all do live, and moved are
To multiply the likenesse of their kynd, 100
Whilest they seeke onely, without further care,
To quench the flame which they in burning fynd:
But man, that breathes a more immortall mynd,
Not for lusts sake, but for eternitie,
Seekes to enlarge his lasting progenie. 105
For having yet in his deducted spright
Some sparks remaining of that heavenly fyre,
He is enlumind with that goodly light,
Unto like goodly semblant to aspyre:
Therefore in choice of love, he doth desyre 110
That seemes on earth most heavenly, to embrace;
That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly race.
For sure, of all that in this mortall frame
Contained is, nought more divine doth seeme,
Or that resembleth more th’ immortall flame 115
Of heavenly light, then Beauties glorious beame.
What wonder then, if with such rage extreme
Fraile men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see,
At sight thereof so much enravisht bee?
Which well perceiving, that imperious boy 120
Doth therwith tip his sharp empoisned darts;
Which, glancing through the eyes with countenance coy,
Rest not till they have pierst the trembling harts,
And kindled flame in all their inner parts,
Which suckes the blood, and drinketh up the lyfe 125
Of carefull wretches with consuming griefe.
Thenceforth they playne, and make ful piteous mone
Unto the author of their balefull bane;
The daies they waste, the nights they grieve and grone,
Their lives they loath, and heavens light disdaine; 130
No light but that whose lampe doth yet remaine
Fresh burning in the image of their eye,
They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye.
The whylst thou, tyrant Love, doest laugh and scorne
At their complaints, making their paine thy play; 135
Whylest they lye languishing like thrals forlorne,
The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay,
And otherwhyles, their dying to delay,
Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her,
Whose love before their life they doe prefer. 140
So hast thou often done (ay me the more!)
To me thy vassall, whose yet bleeding hart
With thousand wounds thou mangled hast so sore
That whole remaines scarse any little part;
Yet to augment the anguish of my smart, 145
Thou hast enfrosen her disdainefull brest,
That no one drop of pitie there doth rest.
Why then do I this honor unto thee,
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name,
Since thou doest shew no favour unto mee, 150
Ne once move ruth in that rebellious dame,
Somewhat to slacke the rigour of my flame?
Certes small glory doest thou winne hereby,
To let her live thus free, and me to dy.
But if thou be indeede, as men thee call, 155
The worlds great parent, the most kind preserver
Of living wights, the soveraine lord of all,
How falles it then that with thy furious fervour
Thou doest afflict as well the not deserver,
As him that doeth thy lovely heasts despize, 160
And on thy subjects most doest tyrannize?
Yet herein eke thy glory seemeth more,
By so hard handling those which best thee serve,
That ere thou doest them unto grace restore,
Thou mayest well trie if they will ever swerve, 165
And mayest them make it better to deserve,
And having got it, may it more esteeme;
For things hard gotten men more dearely deeme.
So hard those heavenly beauties be enfyred,
As things divine least passions doe impresse, 170
The more of stedfast mynds to be admyred,
The more they stayed be on stedfastnesse:
But baseborne mynds such lamps regard the lesse,
Which at first blowing take not hastie fyre;
Such fancies feele no love, but loose desyre. 175
For Love is lord of truth and loialtie,
Lifting himselfe out of the lowly dust
On golden plumes up to the purest skie,
Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust,
Whose base affect, through cowardly distrust 180
Of his weake wings, dare not to heaven fly,
But like a moldwarpe in the earth doth ly.
His dunghill thoughts, which do themselves enure
To dirtie drosse, no higher dare aspyre,
Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure 185
The flaming light of that celestiall fyre,
Which kindleth love in generous desyre,
And makes him mount above the native might
Of heavie earth, up to the heavens hight.
Such is the powre of that sweet passion, 190
That it all sordid basenesse doth expell,
And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion
Unto a fairer forme, which now doth dwell
In his high thought, that would it selfe excell;
Which he beholding still with constant sight, 195<
br />
Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light.
Whose image printing in his deepest wit,
He thereon feeds his hungrie fantasy,
Still full, yet never satisfyde with it;
Like Tantale, that in store doth sterved ly, 200
So doth he pine in most satiety;
For nought may quench his infinite desyre,
Once kindled through that first conceived fyre.
Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is,
Ne thinks on ought, but how it to attaine; 205
His care, his joy, his hope is all on this,
That seemes in it all blisses to containe,
In sight whereof all other blisse seemes vaine.
Thrise happie man, might he the same possesse,
He faines himselfe, and doth his fortune blesse. 210
And though he do not win his wish to end,
Yet thus farre happie he him selfe doth weene,
That heavens such happie grace did to him lend,
As thing on earth so heavenly to have seene,
His harts enshrined saint, his heavens queene, 215
Fairer then fairest, in his fayning eye,
Whose sole aspect he counts felicitye.
Then forth he casts in his unquiet thought,
What he may do, her favour to obtaine;
What brave exploit, what perill hardly wrought, 220
What puissant conquest, what adventurous paine,
May please her best, and grace unto him gaine:
He dreads no danger, nor misfortune feares;
His faith, his fortune, in his breast he beares.
Thou art his god, thou art his mightie guyde, 225
Thou, being blind, letst him not see his feares,
But cariest him to that which he hath eyde,
Through seas, through flames, through thousand swords and speares:
Ne ought so strong that may his force withstand,
With which thou armest his resistlesse hand. 230
Witnesse Leander in the Euxine waves,
And stout Æneas in the Trojane fyre,
Achilles preassing through the Phrygian glaives,
And Orpheus daring to provoke the yre
Of damned fiends, to get his love retyre: 235
For both through heaven and hell thou makest way,
To win them worship which to thee obay.
And if by all these perils and these paynes
He may but purchase lyking in her eye,
What heavens of joy then to himselfe he faynes! 240
Eftsoones he wypes quite out of memory
What ever ill before he did aby;
Had it bene death, yet would he die againe,
To live thus happie as her grace to gaine.
Yet when he hath found favour to his will, 245
He nathemore can so contented rest,
But forceth further on, and striveth still
T’ approch more neare, till in her inmost brest
He may embosomd bee, and loved best;
And yet not best, but to be lov’d alone; 250
For love can not endure a paragone.
The feare whereof, O how doth it torment
His troubled mynd with more then hellish paine!
And to his fayning fansie represent
Sights never seene, and thousand shadowes vaine, 255
To breake his sleepe and waste his ydle braine;
Thou that hast never lov’d canst not beleeve
Least part of th’ evils which poore lovers greeve.
The gnawing envie, the hart-fretting feare,
The vaine surmizes, the distrustfull showes, 260
The false reports that flying tales doe beare,
The doubts, the daungers, the delayes, the woes,
The fayned friends, the unassured foes,
With thousands more then any tongue can tell,
Doe make a lovers life a wretches hell. 265
Yet is there one more cursed then they all,
That cancker worme, that monster Gelosie,
Which eates the hart, and feedes upon the gall,
Turning all loves delight to miserie,
Through feare of loosing his felicitie. 270
Ah, gods! that ever ye that monster placed
In gentle love, that all his joyes defaced!
By these, O Love, thou doest thy entrance make
Unto thy heaven, and doest the more endeere
Thy pleasures unto those which them partake, 275
As after stormes, when clouds begin to cleare,
The sunne more bright and glorious doth appeare;
So thou thy folke, through paines of Purgatorie,
Dost beare unto thy blisse, and heavens glorie.
There thou them placest in a paradize 280
Of all delight and joyous happie rest,
Where they doe feede on nectar heavenly wize,
With Hercules and Hebe, and the rest
Of Venus dearlings, through her bountie blest,
And lie like gods in yvorie beds arayd, 285
With rose and lillies over them displayd.
There with thy daughter Pleasure they doe play
Their hurtlesse sports, without rebuke or blame,
And in her snowy bosome boldly lay
Their quiet heads, devoyd of guilty shame, 290
After full joyance of their gentle game;
Then her they crowne their goddesse and their queene,
And decke with floures thy altars well beseene.
Ay me! deare lord, that ever I might hope,
For all the paines and woes that I endure, 295
To come at length unto the wished scope
Of my desire, or might my selfe assure,
That happie port for ever to recure!
Then would I thinke these paines no paines at all,
And all my woes to be but penance small. 300
Then would I sing of thine immortall praise
An heavenly hymne, such as the angels sing,
And thy triumphant name then would I raise
Bove all the gods, thee onely honoring,
My guide, my god, my victor, and my king: 305
Till then, dread lord, vouchsafe to take of me
This simple song, thus fram’d in praise of thee.
An Hymne in Honour of Beautie
AH! whither, Love, wilt thou now carrie mee?
What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire
Into my feeble breast, too full of thee?
Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre,
Thou in me kindlest much more great desyre, 5
And up aloft above my strength doest rayse
The wondrous matter of my fyre to prayse.
That as I earst in praise of thine owne name,
So now in honour of thy mother deare,
An honourable hymne I eke should frame, 10
And with the brightnesse of her beautie cleare,
The ravisht harts of gazefull men might reare
To admiration of that heavenly light,
From whence proceeds such soule enchaunting might.
Therto do thou, great goddesse, Queene of Beauty, 15
Mother of Love, and of all worlds delight,
Without whose soverayne grace and kindly dewty
Nothing on earth seemes fayre to fleshly sight,
Doe thou vouchsafe with thy love-kindling light
T’ illuminate my dim and dulled eyne, 20
And beautifie this sacred hymne of thyne.
That both to thee, to whom I meane it most,
And eke to her, whose faire immortall beame
Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghost,
That now it wasted is with woes extreame, 25
It may so please that she at length will streame
Some deaw of grace into my withered hart,
After long sorrow and consuming smart.
WHAT time this worlds great wor
kmaister did cast
To make al things such as we now behold, 30
It seemes that he before his eyes had plast
A goodly paterne, to whose perfect mould
He fashiond them as comely as he could,
That now so faire and seemely they appeare
As nought may be amended any wheare. 35
That wondrous paterne, wheresoere it bee,
Whether in earth layd up in secret store,
Or else in heaven, that no man may it see
With sinfull eyes, for feare it to deflore,
Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore; 40
Whose face and feature doth so much excell
All mortall sence, that none the same may tell.
Thereof as every earthly thing partakes
Or more or lesse, by influence divine,
So it more faire accordingly it makes, 45
And the grosse matter of this earthly myne,
Which clotheth it, thereafter doth refyne,
Doing away the drosse which dims the light
Of that faire beame which therein is empight.
For through infusion of celestiall powre 50
The duller earth it quickneth with delight,
And life-full spirits privily doth powre
Through all the parts, that to the lookers sight
They seeme to please. That is thy soveraine might,
O Cyprian queene, which, flowing from the beame 55
Of thy bright starre, thou into them doest streame.
That is the thing which giveth pleasant grace
To all things faire, that kindleth lively fyre,
Light of thy lampe, which, shyning in the face,
Thence to the soule darts amorous desyre, 60
And robs the harts of those which it admyre;
Therewith thou pointest thy sons poysned arrow,
That wounds the life, and wastes the inmost marrow.
How vainely then doe ydle wits invent
That Beautie is nought else but mixture made 65
Of colours faire, and goodly temp’rament
Of pure complexions, that shall quickly fade
And passe away, like to a sommers shade,
Or that it is but comely composition
Of parts well measurd, with meet disposition! 70
Hath white and red in it such wondrous powre,
That it can pierce through th’ eyes unto the hart,
And therein stirre such rage and restlesse stowre,
As nought but death can stint his dolours smart?
Or can proportion of the outward part 75
Move such affection in the inward mynd,
That it can rob both sense, and reason blynd?
Why doe not then the blossomes of the field,
Which are arayd with much more orient hew,
And to the sense most daintie odours yield, 80
Worke like impression in the lookers vew?
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 157
