Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty,
When the fire flashes from a warrior's eye, And his tremendous hand is grasping it, And his dark brow for very wrath is knit? Or when his spirit, with more calm intent, Leaps to the honors of a tournament, And makes the gazers round about the ring Stare at the grandeur of the ballancing? No, no! this is far off:-then how shall I Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy, Which linger yet about lone gothic arches, In dark green ivy, and among wild larches? How sing the splendour of the revelries, When but[t]s of wine are drunk off to the lees? And that bright lance, against the fretted wall, Beneath the shade of stately banneral,
Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield? Where ye may see a spur in bloody field. Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces; Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens: Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens. Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry:
Or wherefore comes that knight so proudly by? Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight, Rein in the swelling of his ample might?
Spenser thy brows are arched, open, kind, And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind; And always does my heart with pleasure dance, When I think on thy noble countenance : Where never yet was ought more earthly seen Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green. Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh My daring steps: or if thy tender care, Thus startled unaware,
Be jealous that the foot of other wight Should madly follow that bright path of light Trac'd by thy lov'd Libertas; he will speak, And tell thee that my prayer is very meek; That I will follow with due reverence,
And start with awe at mine own strange pretence. Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope
To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope : The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers; Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers.
YOUNG Calidore is paddling o'er the lake; His healthful spirit eager and awake
To feel the beauty of a silent eve,
Which seem'd full loath this happy world to leave; The light dwelt o'er the scene so lingeringly. He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky, And smiles at the far clearness all around, Until his heart is well nigh over wound, And turns for calmness to the pleasant green Of easy slopes, and shadowy trees that lean So elegantly o'er the waters' brim
And show their blossoms trim.
Scarce can his clear and nimble eye-sight follow The freaks, and dartings of the black-wing'd swallow, Delighting much, to see it half at rest,
Dip so refreshingly its wings, and breast
'Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anon,
The widening circles into nothing gone.
And now the sharp keel of his little boat Comes up with ripple, and with easy float, And glides into a bed of water lillies : Broad leav'd are they and their white canopies Are upward turn'd to catch the heavens' dew. Near to a little island's point they grew; Whence Calidore might have the goodliest view Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore Went off in gentle windings to the hoar And light blue mountains: but no breathing man With a warm heart, and eye prepared to scan
Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by Objects that look'd out so invitingly On either side. These, gentle Calidore Greeted, as he had known them long before.
The sidelong view of swelling leafiness, Which the glad setting sun, in gold doth dress Whence ever, and anon the jay outsprings, And scales upon the beauty of its wings.
The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn, Stands venerably proud; too proud to mourn Its long lost grandeur: fir trees grow around, Aye dropping their hard fruit upon the ground.
The little chapel with the cross above Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove, That on the windows spreads his feathers light, And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight.
Green tufted islands casting their soft shades Across the lake; sequester'd leafy glades, That through the dimness of their twilight show Large dock leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow Of the wild cat's eyes, or the silvery stems Of delicate birch trees, or long grass which hems A little brook. The youth had long been viewing These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught With many joys for him : the warder's ken Had found white coursers prancing in the glen : Friends very dear to him he soon will see ; So pushes off his boat most eagerly,
And soon upon the lake he skims along, Deaf to the nightingale's first under-song;
Nor minds he the white swans that dream so sweetly: His spirit flies before him so completely.
And now he turns a jutting point of land,
Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand : Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches, Before the point of his light shallop reaches
Those marble steps that through the water dip: Now over them he goes with hasty trip,
And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors: Anon he leaps along the oaken floors Of halls and corridors.
Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things That float about the air on azure wings, Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang Of clattering hoofs; into the court he sprang, Just as two noble steeds, and palfreys twain, Were slanting out their necks with loosened rein; While from beneath the threat'ning portcullis They brought their happy burthens. What a kiss, What gentle squeeze he gave each lady's hand! How tremblingly their delicate ancles spann'd! Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone, While whisperings of affection
Made him delay to let their tender feet Come to the earth; with an incline so sweet From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent: And whether there were tears of languishment, Or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses, He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye All the soft luxury
That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand, Fair as some wonder out of fairy land,
Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer showers: And this he fondled with his happy cheek As if for joy he would no further seek; When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond Came to his ear, like something from beyond His present being so he gently drew
His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new, From their sweet thrall, and forward gently bending, Thank'd heaven that his joy was never ending; While 'gainst his forehead he devoutly press'd A hand heaven made to succour the distress'd; A hand that from the world's bleak promontory Had lifted Calidore for deeds of glory.
Amid the pages, and the torches' glare, There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair Of his proud horse's mane: he was withal A man of elegance, and stature tall :
So that the waving of his plumes would be High as the berries of a wild ash tree, Or as the winged cap of Mercury.
His armour was so dexterously wrought In shape, that sure no living man had thought It hard, and heavy steel: but that indeed It was some glorious form, some splendid weed, In which a spirit new come from the skies Might live, and show itself to human eyes. 'Tis the far-fam'd, the brave Sir Gondibert, Said the good man to Calidore alert ; While the young warrior with a step of grace Came up, a courtly smile upon his face, And mailed hand held out, ready to greet The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat Of the aspiring boy; who as he led
Those smiling ladies, often turned his head To admire the visor arched so gracefully Over a knightly brow; while they went by
The lamps that from the high-roof'd hall were pendent,
And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent.
Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated; The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted
All the green leaves that round the window clamber, To show their purple stars, and bells of amber. Sir Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel, Gladdening in the free, and airy feel Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond Is looking round about him with a fond, And placid eye, young Calidore is burning To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of arm Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm From lovely woman: while brimful of this, He gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss,
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