III
Then did a sharped spyre of diamond bright,
Ten feete each way in square, appeare to mee, 30
Justly proportion’d up unto his hight,
So far as archer might his level see:
The top thereof a pot did seeme to beare,
Made of the mettall which we most do honour,
And in this golden vessell couched weare 35
The ashes of a mightie emperour:
Upon foure corners of the base were pight,
To beare the frame, foure great lyons of gold;
A worthy tombe for such a worthy wight.
Alas! this world doth nought but grievance hold. 40
I saw a tempest from the heavenn descend,
Which this brave monument with flash did rend.
IV
I saw raysde up on yvorie pillours tall,
Whose bases were of richest mettalls warke,
The chapters alabaster, the fryses christall, 45
The double front of a triumphall arke:
On each side purtraid was a Victorie,
Clad like a nimph, that wings of silver weares,
And in triumphant chayre was set on hie
The auncient glory of the Romaine peares. 50
No worke it seem’d of earthly craftsmans wit,
But rather wrought by his owne industry,
That thunder-dartes for Jove his syre doth fit.
Let me no more see faire thing under sky,
Sith that mine eyes have seene so faire a sight 55
With sodain fall to dust consumed quight.
V
Then was the faire Dodonian tree far seene
Upon seaven hills to spread his gladsome gleame,
And conquerours bedecked with his greene,
Along the bancks of the Ausonian streame: 60
There many an auncient trophee was addrest,
And many a spoyle, and many a goodly show,
Which that brave races greatnes did attest,
That whilome from the Troyan blood did flow.
Ravisht I was so rare a thing to vew; 65
When lo! a barbarous troupe of clownish fone
The honour of these noble boughs down threw:
Under the wedge I heard the tronck to grone;
And since, I saw the roote in great disdaine
A twinne of forked trees send forth againe. 70
VI
I saw a wolfe under a rockie cave
Noursing two whelpes; I saw her litle ones
In wanton dalliance the teate to crave,
While she her neck wreath’d from them for the nones.
I saw her raunge abroad to seeke her food, 75
And roming through the field with greedie rage
T’ embrew her teeth and clawes with lukewarm blood
Of the small heards, her thirst for to asswage.
I saw a thousand huntsmen, which descended
Downe from the mountaines bordring Lombardie, 80
That with an hundred speares her flank wide rended:
I saw her on the plaine outstretched lie,
Throwing out thousand throbs in her owne soyle:
Soone on a tree uphang’d I saw her spoyle.
VII
I saw the bird that can the sun endure 85
With feeble wings assay to mount on hight;
By more and more she gan her wings t’ assure,
Following th’ ensample of her mothers sight:
I saw her rise, and with a larger flight
To pierce the cloudes, and with wide pinneons 90
To measure the most haughtie mountaines hight,
Untill she raught the gods owne mansions:
There was she lost; when suddaine I behelde,
Where, tumbling through the ayre in firie fold,
All flaming downe she on the plaine was felde, 95
And soone her bodie turn’d to ashes colde.
I saw the foule that doth the light dispise
Out of her dust like to a worme arise.
VIII
I saw a river swift, whose fomy billowes
Did wash the ground work of an old great wall; 100
I saw it cover’d all with griesly shadowes,
That with black horror did the ayre appall:
Thereout a strange beast with seven heads arose,
That townes and castles under her brest did coure,
And seem’d both milder beasts and fiercer foes 105
Alike with equall ravine to devoure.
Much was I mazde, to see this monsters kinde
In hundred formes to change his fearefull hew;
When as at length I saw the wrathfull winde,
Which blows cold storms, burst out of Scithian mew, 110
That sperst these cloudes, and in so short as thought,
This dreadfull shape was vanished to nought.
IX
Then all astoined with this mighty ghoast,
An hideous bodie, big and strong, I sawe,
With side long beard, and locks down hanging loast, 115
Sterne face, and front full of Saturnlike awe;
Who, leaning on the belly of a pot,
Pourd foorth a water, whose out gushing flood
Ran bathing all the creakie shore aflot,
Whereon the Troyan prince spilt Turnus blood; 120
And at his feete a bitch wolfe suck did yeeld
To two young babes: his left the palme tree stout,
His right hand did the peacefull olive wield,
And head with lawrell garnisht was about.
Sudden both palme and olive fell away, 125
And faire greene lawrell branch did quite decay.
X
Hard by a rivers side a virgin faire,
Folding her armes to heaven with thousand throbs,
And outraging her cheekes and golden haire,
To falling rivers sound thus tun’d her sobs. 130
‘Where is,’ quoth she, ‘this whilom honoured face?
Where the great glorie and the auncient praise,
In which all worlds felicitie had place,
When gods and men my honour up did raise?
Suffisd’ it not that civill warres me made 135
The whole worlds spoile, but that this Hydra new,
Of hundred Hercules to be assaide,
With seven heads, budding monstrous crimes anew,
So many Neroes and Caligulaes
Out of these crooked shores must dayly rayse?’ 140
XI
Upon an hill a bright flame I did see,
Waving aloft with triple point to skie,
Which, like incense of precious cedar tree,
With balmie odours fil’d th’ ayre farre and nie.
A bird all white, well feathered on each wing, 145
Hereout up to the throne of gods did flie,
And all the way most pleasant notes did sing,
Whilst in the smoake she unto heaven did stie.
Of this faire fire the scattered rayes forth threw
On everie side a thousand shining beames: 150
When sudden dropping of a silver dew
(O grievous chance!) gan quench those precious flames;
That it, which earst so pleasant sent did yeld,
Of nothing now but noyous sulphure smeld.
XII
I saw a spring out of a rocke forth rayle, 155
As cleare as christall gainst the sunnie beames,
The bottome yeallow, like the golden grayle
That bright Pactolus washeth with his streames:
It seem’d that Art and Nature had assembled
All pleasure there, for which mans hart could long; 160
And there a noyse alluring sleepe soft trembled,
Of manie accords, more sweete than mermaids song:
The seates and benches shone as yvorie,
And hundred nymphes sate side by side about:
&nb
sp; When from nigh hills, with hideous outcrie, 165
A troupe of satyres in the place did rout,
Which with their villeine feete the streame did ray,
Threw down the seats, and drove the nymphs away.
XIII
Much richer then that vessell seem’d to bee,
Which did to that sad Florentine appeare, 170
Casting mine eyes farre off, I chaunst to see
Upon the Latine coast herselfe to reare.
But suddenly arose a tempest great,
Bearing close envie to these riches rare,
Which gan assaile this ship with dreadfull threat, 175
This ship, to which none other might compare.
And finally the storme impetuous
Sunke up these riches, second unto none,
Within the gulfe of greedie Nereus.
I saw both ship and mariners each one, 180
And all that treasure, drowned in the maine:
But I the ship saw after raisd’ againe.
XIV
Long having deeply gron’d these visions sad,
I saw a citie like unto that same,
Which saw the messenger of tidings glad, 185
But that on sand was built the goodly frame:
It seem’d her top the firmament did rayse,
And no lesse rich than faire, right worthie sure
(If ought here worthie) of immortall dayes,
Or if ought under heaven might firme endure. 190
Much wondred I to see so faire a wall:
When from the Northerne coast a storme arose,
Which, breathing furie from his inward gall
On all which did against his course oppose,
Into a clowde of dust sperst in the aire 195
The weake foundations of this citie faire.
XV
At length, even at the time when Morpheus
Most trulie doth unto our eyes appeare,
Wearie to see the heavens still wavering thus,
I saw Typhæus sister comming neare; 200
Whose head, full bravely with a morion hidd,
Did seeme to match the gods in majestie.
She, by a rivers bancke that swift downe slidd,
Over all the world did raise a trophee hie;
An hundred vanquisht kings under her lay, 205
With armes bound at their backs in shamefull wize.
Whilst I thus mazed was with great affray,
I saw the heavens in warre against her rize:
Then downe she stricken fell with clap of thonder,
That with great noyse I wakte in sudden wonder.
FINIS.
The Visions of Petrarch
FORMERLY TRANSLATED
I
BEING one day at my window all alone,
So manie strange things happened me to see,
As much it grieveth me to thinke thereon.
At my right hand a hynde appear’d to mee,
So faire as mote the greatest god delite; 5
Two eager dogs did her pursue in chace,
Of which the one was blacke, the other white:
With deadly force so in their cruell race
They pincht the haunches of that gentle beast,
That at the last, and in short time, I spide, 10
Under a rocke, where she, alas! opprest,
Fell to the ground, and there untimely dide.
Cruell death vanquishing so noble beautie
Oft makes me wayle so hard a destenie.
II
After, at sea a tall ship did appeare, 15
Made all of heben and white yvorie;
The sailes of golde, of silke the tackle were:
Milde was the winde, calme seem’d the sea to bee,
The skie eachwhere did show full bright and faire:
With rich treasures this gay ship fraighted was: 20
But sudden storme did so turmoyle the aire,
And tumbled up the sea, that she (alas!)
Strake on a rock, that under water lay,
And perished past all recoverie.
O how great ruth, and sorrowfull assay, 25
Doth vex my spirite with perplexitie,
Thus in a moment to see lost and drown’d
So great riches as like cannot be found!
III
Then heavenly branches did I see arise
Out of the fresh and lustie lawrell tree, 30
Amidst the yong greene wood: of Paradise
Some noble plant I thought my selfe to see.
Such store of birds therein yshrowded were,
Chaunting in shade their sundrie melodie,
That with their sweetnes I was ravish’t nere. 35
While on this lawrell fixed was mine eie,
The skie gan everie where to overcast,
And darkned was the welkin all about:
When sudden flash of heavens fire out brast,
And rent this royall tree quite by the roote; 40
Which makes me much and ever to complaine;
For no such shadow shalbe had againe.
IV
Within this wood, out of a rocke did rise
A spring of water, mildly rumbling downe,
Whereto approched not in anie wise 45
The homely shepheard, nor the ruder clowne;
But manie Muses, and the nymphes withall,
That sweetly in accord did tune their voyce
To the soft sounding of the waters fall,
That my glad hart thereat did much rejoyce. 50
But while herein I tooke my chiefe delight,
I saw (alas!) the gaping earth devoure
The spring, the place, and all cleane out of sight:
Which yet aggreeves my hart even to this houre,
And wounds my soule with rufull memorie, 55
To see such pleasures gon so suddenly.
V
I saw a phœnix in the wood alone,
With purple wings, and crest of golden hewe;
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anone,
That of some heavenly wight I had the vewe; 60
Until he came unto the broken tree,
And to the spring, that late devoured was.
What say I more? Each thing at last we see
Doth passe away: the phœnix there, alas!
Spying the tree destroid, the water dride, 65
Himselfe smote with his beake, as in disdaine,
And so foorthwith in great despight he dide:
That yet my heart burnes in exceeding paine,
For ruth and pitie of so haples plight.
O, let mine eyes no more see such a sight! 70
VI
At last, so faire a ladie did I spie,
That thinking yet on her I burne and quake:
On hearbs and flowres she walked pensively,
Milde, but yet love she proudly did forsake:
White seem’d her robes, yet woven so they were 75
As snow and golde together had been wrought:
Above the wast a darke clowde shrouded her,
A stinging serpent by the heele her caught;
Wherewith she languisht as the gathered floure,
And well assur’d she mounted up to joy. 80
Alas! on earth so nothing doth endure,
But bitter griefe and sorrowfull annoy:
Which make this life wretched and miserable,
Tossed with stormes of fortune variable.
VII
When I behold this tickle trustles state 85
Of vaine worlds glorie, flitting too and fro,
And mortall men tossed by troublous fate
In restles seas of wretchednes and woe,
I wish I might this wearie life forgoe,
And shortly turne unto my happie rest, 90
Where my free spirite might not anie moe
Be vext with sights, that doo her peace molest.
And ye, faire Ladie, in w
hose bounteous brest
All heavenly grace and vertue shrined is,
When ye these rythmes doo read, and vew the rest, 95
Loath this base world, and thinke of heavens blis:
And though ye be the fairest of Gods creatures,
Yet thinke, that death shall spoyle your goodly features.
FINIS.
Daphnaïda
AN ELEGIE UPON THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE AND VERTUOUS DOUGLAS HOWARD, DAUGHTER AND HEIRE OF HENRY LORD HOWARD, VISCOUNT BYNDON, AND WIFE OF ARTHURE GORGES ESQUIER
DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LADY HELENA, MARQUESSE OF NORTHAMPTON
BY ED. SP.
AT LONDON
PRINTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBY, DWELLING IN PAULES CHURCHYARD AT THE SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD
1591
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VERTUOUS LADY HELENA MARQUESSE OF NORTH-HAMPTON
I HAVE the rather presumed humbly to offer unto your Honour the dedication of this little poëme, for that the noble and vertuous gentlewoman of whom it is written was by match neere alied, and in affection greatly devoted unto your Ladiship. The occasion why I wrote the same was aswell the great good fame which I heard of her deceassed, as the particular goodwill which I beare unto her husband Master Arthur Gorges, a lover of learning and vertue, whose house, as your Ladiship by mariage hath honoured, so doe I find the name of them by many notable records, to be of great antiquitie in this realme, and such as have ever borne themselves with honourable reputation to the world, and unspotted loyaltie to their prince and countrey: besides, so lineally are they descended from the Howards, as that the Lady Anne Howard, eldest daughter to John Duke of Norfolke, was wife to Sir Edmund, mother to Sir Edward, and grandmother to Sir William and Sir Thomas Gorges, Knightes. And therefore I doe assure my selfe that no due honour done to the White Lyon, but will be most gratefull to your Ladiship, whose husband and children do so neerely participate with the bloud of that noble family. So in all dutie I recommende this pamphlet, and the good acceptance thereof, to your honourable favour and protection. London, this first of Januarie, 1591.
Your Honours humbly ever,
Ed. Sp.
DAPHNAÏDA
WHAT ever man he be, whose heavie minde,
With griefe of mournefull great mishap opprest,
Fit matter for his cares increase would finde:
Let reade the rufull plaint herein exprest
Of one (I weene) the wofulst man alive, 5
Even sad Alcyon, whose empierced brest
Sharpe sorrowe did in thousand peeces rive.
But who so else in pleasure findeth sense,
Or in this wretched life dooth take delight,
Let him be banisht farre away from hence: 10
Ne let the Sacred Sisters here be hight,
Though they of sorrowe heavilie can sing;
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 142