Enforst to seek some cover nigh at hand, Did spread so broad, that heaven's light did hide, With footing worn, and leading inward far. Fair harbour that them seems, so in they entered are. And forth they pass, with pleasure forward led, Joying to hear the birds' sweet harmony, Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The Laurel, meed of mighty conquerors Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, But wander to and fro in ways unknown. Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween, That makes them doubt their wits be not their own: So many paths, so many turnings seen, That which of them to take, in divers doubt they been. The Faerie Queen, Book I. THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS. ND is there care in heaven? And is there love AN In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is else much more wretched were the case To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! How oft do they their silver bowers leave, Against foul fiends to aid us militant! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant; And all for love, and nothing for reward. O! why should heavenly God to men have such regard? The Faerie Queen, Book II. THE BOWER OF BLISS. EFTSOONES they heard a most melodious sound Of all that might delight a dainty ear, Such as at once might not on mortal ground, Right hard it was for wight which did it hear, Was there consorted in one harmony; Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree. The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade, W EPITHALAMION. AKE now, my love, awake! for it is time; The rosy morn long since left Tithone's bed, All ready to her silver coach to climb: And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head. The merry lark her matins sings aloft; The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays; Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long, For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. My love is now awake out of her dreams, And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were But first come ye fair hours, which were begot, Do make and still repair. And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen Help to adorn my beautifullest bride : And as ye her array, still throw between Some graces to be seen; And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shall answer and your echo ring. Lo! where she comes along with portly pace, Like Phoebe, from her chamber in the East, Arising forth to run her mighty race, Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. So well it her beseems, that ye would ween Some angel she had been. Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire, And, being crowned with a garland green, Seem like some maiden queen. Her modest eyes abashed to behold, Nor dare lift up her countenance too bold, |