Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  And seeking all the forrest busily,

  At last he found where sleeping he did ly. 1320

  The wicked weed, which there the Foxe did lay,

  From underneath his head he tooke away,

  And then him waking, forced up to rize.

  The Lion, looking up, gan him avize,

  As one late in a traunce, what had of long 1325

  Become of him: for fantasie is strong.

  ‘Arise,’ said Mercurie, ‘thou sluggish beast,

  That here liest senseles, like the corpse deceast,

  The whilste thy kingdome from thy head is rent,

  And thy throne royall with dishonour blent: 1330

  Arise, and doo thy selfe redeeme from shame,

  And be aveng’d on those that breed thy blame.’

  Thereat enraged, soone he gan upstart,

  Grinding his teeth, and grating his great hart,

  And, rouzing up himselfe, for his rough hide 1335

  He gan to reach; but no where it espide.

  Therewith he gan full terribly to rore,

  And chafte at that indignitie right sore.

  But when his crowne and scepter both he wanted,

  Lord! how he fum’d, and sweld, and rag’d, and panted, 1340

  And threatned death and thousand deadly dolours

  To them that had purloyn’d his princely honours!

  With that in hast, disroabed as he was,

  He toward his owne pallace forth did pas;

  And all the way he roared as he went, 1345

  That all the forrest with astonishment

  Thereof did tremble, and the beasts therein

  Fled fast away from that so dreadfull din.

  At last he came unto his mansion,

  Where all the gates he found fast lockt anon, 1350

  And manie warders round about them stood:

  With that he roar’d alowd, as he were wood,

  That all the pallace quaked at the stound,

  As if it quite were riven from the ground,

  And all within were dead and hartles left; 1355

  And th’ Ape himselfe, as one whose wits were reft,

  Fled here and there, and everie corner sought,

  To hide himselfe from his owne feared thought.

  But the false Foxe, when he the Lion heard,

  Fled closely forth, streightway of death afeard, 1360

  And to the Lion came, full lowly creeping,

  With fained face, and watrie eyne halfe weeping,

  T’ excuse his former treason and abusion,

  And turning all unto the Apes confusion:

  Nath’les the royall beast forbore beleeving, 1365

  But bad him stay at ease till further preeving.

  Then when he saw no entrance to him graunted,

  Roaring yet lowder, that all harts it daunted,

  Upon those gates with force he fiercely flewe,

  And, rending them in pieces, felly slewe 1370

  Those warders strange, and all that els he met.

  But th’ Ape, still flying, he no where might get:

  From rowme to rowme, from beame to beame he fled,

  All breathles, and for feare now almost ded:

  Yet him at last the Lyon spide, and caught, 1375

  And forth with shame unto his judgement brought.

  Then all the beasts he causd’ assembled bee,

  To heare their doome, and sad ensample see:

  The Foxe, first author of that treacherie,

  He did uncase, and then away let flie. 1380

  But th’ Apes long taile (which then he had) he quight

  Cut off, and both eares pared of their hight;

  Since which, all apes but halfe their eares have left,

  And of their tailes are utterlie bereft.

  So Mother Hubberd her discourse did end: 1385

  Which pardon me, if I amisse have pend,

  For weake was my remembrance it to hold,

  And bad her tongue, that it so bluntly tolde.

  FINIS.

  Ruines of Rome: by Bellay

  [The Songe of Du Bellay, of which the ‘Visions of Bellay’ are a rendering, forms a kind of appendix to his Antiquitez de Rome. Spenser, having had his attention directed to the former, would naturally read also the latter: the result was this other translation, ‘Ruins of Rome.’ It is difficult to believe that this work is not also of his university days. In the ‘Envoy,’ to be sure, he refers to the Sepmaine of Du Bartas, first published in 1578, but the ‘Envoy,’ or that part of it, may very well be an afterthought. Both the weight of antecedent probability and the evidence of style would place the translation proper with the two earliest series of ‘visions,’ those of Bellay and of Petrarch. They are all three much of a piece. As translations in the larger sense, though often resourceful and apt, they can hardly be said to foretell the rare felicity of his later renderings from Tasso. As poetic exercises, however, they show at least the rudiments of that copious ease which is the mark of his maturer style.]

  I

  YE heavenly spirites, whose ashie cinders lie

  Under deep ruines, with huge walls opprest,

  But not your praise, the which shall never die,

  Through your faire verses, ne in ashes rest;

  If so be shrilling voyce of wight alive 5

  May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell,

  Then let those deep abysses open rive,

  That ye may understand my shreiking yell.

  Thrice having seene, under the heavens veale,

  Your toombs devoted compasse over all, 10

  Thrice unto you with lowd voyce I appeale,

  And for your antique furie here doo call,

  The whiles that I with sacred horror sing

  Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing.

  II

  Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise, 15

  And sharped steeples high shot up in ayre;

  Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze;

  And Nylus nurslings their pyramides faire;

  The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie

  Of Joves great image in Olympus placed; 20

  Mausolus worke will be the Carians glorie;

  And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced;

  The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth

  The great colosse, erect to Memorie;

  And what els in the world is of like worth, 25

  Some greater learned wit will magnifie.

  But I will sing above all moniments

  Seven Romane hils, the worlds seven wonderments.

  III

  Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome here seekest,

  And nought of Rome in Rome perceiv’st at all, 30

  These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest,

  Olde palaces, is that which Rome men call.

  Behold what wreake, what ruine, and what wast,

  And how that she, which with her mightie powre

  Tam’d all the world, hath tam’d herselfe at last, 35

  The pray of Time, which all things doth devowre.

  Rome now of Rome is th’ onely funerall,

  And onely Rome of Rome hath victorie;

  Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall

  Remaines of all: O worlds inconstancie! 40

  That which is firme doth flit and fall away,

  And that is flitting doth abide and stay.

  IV

  She, whose high top above the starres did sore,

  One foote on Thetis, th’ other on the Morning,

  One hand on Scythia, th’ other on the More, 45

  Both heaven and earth in roundnesse compassing,

  Jove, fearing least, if she should greater growe,

  The old giants should once againe uprise,

  Her whelm’d with hills, these seven hils, which be nowe

  Tombes of her greatnes, which did threate the skies: 50

>   Upon her head he heapt Mount Saturnal,

  Upon her bellie th’ antique Palatine,

  Upon her stomacke laid Mount Quirinal,

  On her left hand the noysome Esquiline,

  And Cælian on the right; but both her feete 55

  Mount Viminal and Aventine doo meete.

  V

  Who lists to see what ever nature, arte,

  And heaven could doo, O Rome, thee let him see,

  In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte

  By that which but the picture is of thee. 60

  Rome is no more: but if the shade of Rome

  May of the bodie yeeld a seeming sight,

  It ‘s like a corse drawne forth out of the tombe

  By magicke skill out of eternall night:

  The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed, 65

  And her great spirite, rejoyned to the spirite

  Of this great masse, is in the same enwombed;

  But her brave writings, which her famous merite,

  In spight of Time, out of the dust doth reare,

  Doo make her idole through the world appeare. 70

  VI

  Such as the Berecynthian goddesse bright,

  In her swift charret with high turrets crownde,

  Proud that so manie gods she brought to light,

  Such was this citie in her good daies fownd:

  This citie, more than that great Phrygian mother 75

  Renowm’d for fruite of famous progenie,

  Whose greatnes by the greatnes of none other,

  But by her selfe, her equall match could see:

  Rome onely might to Rome compared bee,

  And onely Rome could make great Rome to tremble: 80

  So did the gods by heavenly doome deeree,

  That other earthlie power should not resemble

  Her that did match the whole earths puissaunce,

  And did her courage to the heavens advaunce.

  VII

  Ye sacred ruines, and ye tragick sights, 85

  Which onely doo the name of Rome retaine,

  Olde moniments, which of so famous sprights

  The honour yet in ashes doo maintaine,

  Triumphant arcks, spyres neighbours to the skie,

  That you to see doth th’ heaven it selfe appall, 90

  Alas! by little ye to nothing flie,

  The peoples fable, and the spoyle of all:

  And though your frames do for a time make warre

  Gainst Time, yet Time in time shall ruinate

  Your workes and names, and your last reliques marre. 95

  My sad desires, rest therefore moderate:

  For if that Time make ende of things so sure,

  It als will end the paine which I endure.

  VIII

  Through armes and vassals Rome the world subdu’d,

  That one would weene that one sole cities strength 100

  Both land and sea in roundnes had survew’d,

  To be the measure of her bredth and length:

  This peoples vertue yet so fruitfull was

  Of vertuous nephewes, that posteritie,

  Striving in power their grandfathers to passe, 105

  The lowest earth join’d to the heaven hie;

  To th’ end that, having all parts in their power,

  Nought from the Romane Empire might be quight;

  And that though Time doth commonwealths devowre,

  Yet no time should so low embase their hight, 110

  That her head, earth’d in her foundations deep,

  Should not her name and endles honour keep.

  IX

  Ye cruell starres, and eke ye gods unkinde,

  Heaven envious, and bitter stepdame Nature,

  Be it by fortune, or by course of kinde, 115

  That ye doo weld th’ affaires of earthlie creature;

  Why have your hands long sithence traveiled

  To frame this world, that doth endure so long?

  Or why were not these Romane palaces

  Made of some matter no lesse firme and strong? 120

  I say not, as the common voyce doth say,

  That all things which beneath the moone have being

  Are temporall, and subject to decay:

  But I say rather, though not all agreeing

  With some that weene the contrarie in thought, 125

  That all this whole shall one day come to nought.

  X

  As that brave sonne of Aeson, which by charmes

  Atcheiv’d the golden fleece in Colchid land,

  Out of the earth engendred men of armes

  Of dragons teeth, sowne in the sacred sand; 130

  So this brave towne, that in her youthlie daies

  An hydra was of warriours glorious,

  Did fill with her renowmed nourslings praise

  The firie sunnes both one and other hous:

  But they at last, there being then not living 135

  An Hercules, so ranke seed to represse,

  Emongst themselves with cruell furie striving,

  Mow’d downe themselves with slaughter mercilesse;

  Renewing in themselves that rage unkinde,

  Which whilom did those earthborn brethren blinde. 140

  XI

  Mars, shaming to have given so great head

  To his off-spring, that mortall puissaunce,

  Puft up with pride of Romane hardie-head,

  Seem’d above heavens powre it selfe to advaunce,

  Cooling againe his former kindled heate, 145

  With which he had those Romane spirits fild,

  Did blowe new fire, and with enflamed breath

  Into the Gothicke colde hot rage instil’d:

  Then gan that nation, th’ earths new giant brood,

  To dart abroad the thunder bolts of warre, 150

  And, beating downe these walls with furious mood

  Into her mothers bosome, all did marre;

  To th’ end that none, all were it Jove his sire,

  Should boast himselfe of the Romane Empire.

  XII

  Like as whilome the children of the earth 155

  Heapt hils on hils, to scale the starrie skie,

  And fight against the gods of heavenly berth,

  Whiles Jove at them his thunderbolts let flie;

  All suddenly with lightning overthrowne,

  The furious squadrons downe to ground did fall, 160

  That th’ earth under her childrens weight did grone,

  And th’ heavens in glorie triumpht over all:

  So did that haughtie front, which heaped was

  On these seven Romane hils, it selfe upreare

  Over the world, and lift her loftie face 165

  Against the heaven, that gan her force to feare.

  But now these scorned fields bemone her fall,

  And gods secure feare not her force at all.

  XIII

  Nor the swift furie of the flames aspiring,

  Nor the deep wounds of victours raging blade, 170

  Nor ruthlesse spoyle of souldiers blood-desiring,

  The which so oft thee (Rome) their conquest made;

  Ne stroke on stroke of fortune variable,

  Ne rust of age hating continuance,

  Nor wrath of gods, nor spight of men unstable, 175

  Nor thou opposd’ against thine owne puissance;

  Nor th’ horrible uprore of windes high blowing,

  Nor swelling streames of that god snakie-paced,

  Which hath so often with his overflowing

  Thee drenched, have thy pride so much abaced, 180

  But that this nothing, which they have thee left,

  Makes the world wonder what they from thee reft.

  XIV

  As men in summer fearles passe the foord,

  Which is in winter lord of all the plaine,

  And with his tumbling streames doth beare aboord 185

  The ploughmans hope and
shepheards labour vaine:

  And as the coward beasts use to despise

  The noble lion after his lives end,

  Whetting their teeth, and with vaine foolhardise

  Daring the foe, that cannot him defend: 190

  And as at Troy most dastards of the Greekes

  Did brave about the corpes of Hector colde;

  So those which whilome wont with pallid cheekes

  The Romane triumphs glorie to behold,

  Now on these ashie tombes shew boldnesse vaine, 195

  And, conquer’d, dare the conquerour disdaine.

  XV

  Ye pallid spirits, and ye ashie ghoasts,

  Which, joying in the brightnes of your day,

  Brought foorth those signes of your presumptuous boasts

  Which now their dusty reliques do bewray; 200

  Tell me, ye spirits (sith the darksome river

  Of Styx, not passable to soules returning,

  Enclosing you in thrice three wards for ever,

  Doo not restraine your images still mourning)

  Tell me then (for perhaps some one of you 205

  Yet here above him secretly doth hide)

  Doo ye not feele your torments to accrewe,

  When ye sometimes behold the ruin’d pride

  Of these old Romane works, built with your hands,

  To have become nought els but heaped sands? 210

  XVI

  Like as ye see the wrathfull sea from farre,

  In a great mountaine heap’t with hideous noyse,

  Eftsoones of thousand billowes shouldred narre,

  Against a rocke to breake with dreadfull poyse:

  Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharpe blast, 215

  Tossing huge tempests through the troubled skie,

  Eftsoones having his wide wings spent in wast,

  To stop his wearie cariere suddenly:

  And as ye see huge flames spred diverslie,

  Gathered in one up to the heavens to spyre, 220

  Eftsoones consum’d to fall downe feebily:

  So whilom did this monarchie aspyre

  As waves, as winde, as fire spred over all,

  Till it by fatall doome adowne did fall.

  XVII

  So long as Joves great bird did make his flight, 225

  Bearing the fire with which heaven doth us fray,

  Heaven had not feare of that presumptuous might,

  With which the giaunts did the gods assay.

  But all so soone as scortching sunne had brent

  His wings, which wont the earth to overspredd, 230

  The earth out of her massie wombe forth sent

  That antique horror, which made heaven adredd.

  Then was the Germane raven in disguise

  That Romane eagle seene to cleave asunder,

  And towards heaven freshly to arise 235