Spenser's The Faerie Queene Part 6

In stead thereof he kist her wearie feet, And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong, As he her wronged innocence did weet.

O how can beautie maister the most strong, 50 And simple truth subdue avenging wrong?

Whose yeelded pride and proud submission, Still dreading death, when she had marked long, Her hart gan melt in great compa.s.sion, And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.

VII

55 The Lyon Lord of every beast in field, Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate, And mightie proud to humble weake does yield, Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late Him p.r.i.c.kt, in pittie of my sad estate: 60 But he my Lyon, and my n.o.ble Lord, How does he find in cruell hart to hate, Her that him lov'd, and ever most adord, As the G.o.d of my life? why hath he me abhord?

VIII

Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint, 65 Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; And sad to see her sorrowfull constraint The kingly beast upon her gazing stood; With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood.

At last in close hart shutting up her paine, 70 Arose the virgin borne of heavenly brood, And to her snowy Palfrey got againe, To seeke her strayed Champion, if she might attaine.

IX

The Lyon would not leave her desolate, But with her went along, as a strong gard 75 Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward, And when she wakt, he waited diligent, With humble service to her will prepard: 80 From her faire eyes he tooke commaundement, And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.

X

Long she thus traveiled through deserts wyde, By which she thought her wandring knight shold pas, Yet never shew of living wight espyde; 85 Till that at length she found the troden gras, In which the tract of peoples footing was, Under the steepe foot of a mountaine h.o.r.e; The same she followes, till at last she has A damzell spyde slow footing her before, 90 That on her shoulders sad a pot of water bore.

XI

To whom approching she to her gan call, To weet, if dwelling place were nigh at hand; But the rude wench her answerd nought at all; She could not heare, nor speake, nor understand; 95 Till seeing by her side the Lyon stand, With suddaine feare her pitcher downe she threw, And fled away: for never in that land Face of faire Ladie she before did vew, And that dread Lyons looke her cast in deadly hew.

XII

100 Full fast she fled, ne never lookt behynd, As if her life upon the wager lay, And home she came, whereas her mother blynd Sate in eternall night: nought could she say, But suddaine catching hold, did her dismay 105 With quaking hands, and other signes of feare; Who full of ghastly fright and cold affray, Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there Dame Una, wearie Dame, and entrance did requere.

XIII

Which when none yeelded, her unruly Page 110 With his rude claws the wicket open rent, And let her in; where of his cruell rage Nigh dead with feare, and faint astonishment, She found them both in darkesome corner pent; Where that old woman day and night did pray 115 Upon her beads devoutly penitent; Nine hundred Pater nosters every day, And thrise nine hundred Aves she was wont to say.

XIV

And to augment her painefull pennance more, Thrise every weeke in ashes she did sit, 120 And next her wrinkled skin rough sackcloth wore, And thrise three times did fast from any bit: But now for feare her beads she did forget.

Whose needlesse dread for to remove away, Faire Una framed words and count'nance fit: 125 Which hardly doen, at length she gan them pray, That in their cotage small that night she rest her may.

XV

The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night, When every creature shrowded is in sleepe; Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight, 130 And at her feete the Lyon watch doth keepe: In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe For the late losse of her deare loved knight, And sighes, and grones, and ever more does steepe Her tender brest in bitter teares all night, 135 All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light.

XVI

Now when Aldeboran was mounted hie Above the shynie Ca.s.siopeias chaire, And all in deadly sleepe did drowned lie, One knocked at the dore, and in would fare; 140 He knocked fast, and often curst, and sware, That readie entrance was not at his call: For on his backe a heavy load he bare Of nightly stelths, and pillage severall, Which he had got abroad by purchase criminall.

XVII

145 He was, to weete, a stout and st.u.r.dy thiefe, Wont to robbe Churches of their ornaments, And poore mens boxes of their due reliefe, Which given was to them for good intents; The holy Saints of their rich vestiments 150 He did disrobe, when all men carelesse slept, And spoild the Priests of their habiliments, Whiles none the holy things in safety kept; Then he by conning sleights in at the window crept.

XVIII

And all that he by right or wrong could find, 155 Unto this house he brought, and did bestow Upon the daughter of this woman blind, Abessa, daughter of Corceca slow, With whom he wh.o.r.edome usd, that few did know, And fed her fat with feast of offerings, 160 And plentie, which in all the land did grow; Ne spared he to give her gold and rings: And now he to her brought part of his stolen things.

XIX

Thus long the dore with rage and threats he bet, Yet of those fearfull women none durst rize, 165 The Lyon frayed them, him in to let: He would no longer stay him to advize, But open breakes the dore in furious wize, And entring is; when that disdainfull beast Encountring fierce, him suddaine doth surprize, 170 And seizing cruell clawes on trembling brest, Under his Lordly foot him proudly hath supprest.

XX

Him booteth not resist, nor succour call, His bleeding hart is in the vengers hand, Who streight him rent in thousand peeces small, 175 And quite dismembred hath: the thirsty land Drunke up his life; his corse left on the strand.

His fearefull friends weare out the wofull night, Ne dare to weepe, nor seeme to understand The heavie hap, which on them is alight, 180 Affraid, least to themselves the like mishappen might.

XXI

Now when broad day the world discovered has, Up Una rose, up rose the Lyon eke, And on their former journey forward pas, In wayes unknowne, her wandring knight to seeke, 185 With paines farre pa.s.sing that long wandring Greeke, That for his love refused deitie; Such were the labours of his Lady meeke, Still seeking him, that from her still did flie; Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nie.

XXII

190 Soone as she parted thence, the fearfull twaine, That blind old woman and her daughter deare, Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slaine, For anguish great they gan to rend their heare, And beat their brests, and naked flesh to teare.

195 And when they both had wept and wayld their fill, Then forth they ran like two amazed deare, Halfe mad through malice, and revenging will, To follow her, that was the causer of their ill.

XXIII

Whom overtaking, they gan loudly bray, 200 With hollow howling, and lamenting cry, Shamefully at her rayling all the way, And her accusing of dishonesty, That was the flowre of faith and chast.i.ty; And still amidst her rayling, she did pray, 205 That plagues, and mischiefs, and long misery Might fall on her, and follow all the way, And that in endlesse error she might ever stray.

XXIV

But when she saw her prayers nought prevaile, She backe returned with some labour lost; 210 And in the way as shee did weepe and waile, A knight her met in mighty armes embost, Yet knight was not for all his bragging bost, But subtill Archimag, that Una sought By traynes into new troubles to have tost: 215 Of that old woman tidings he besought, If that of such a Ladie she could tellen ought.

XXV

Therewith she gan her pa.s.sion to renew, And cry, and curse, and raile, and rend her heare, Saying, that harlot she too lately knew, 220 That caused her shed so many a bitter teare, And so forth told the story of her feare: Much seemed he to mone her haplesse chaunce, And after for that Ladie did inquere; Which being taught, he forward gan advaunce 225 His fair enchaunted steed, and eke his charmed launce.

XXVI

Ere long he came where Una traveild slow, And that wilde Champion wayting her besyde: Whom seeing such, for dread he durst not show Himselfe too nigh at hand, but turned wyde 230 Unto an hill; from whence when she him spyde, By his like seeming shield, her knight by name She weend it was, and towards him gan ryde: Approaching nigh, she wist it was the same, And with faire fearefull humblesse towards him shee came: XXVII

235 And weeping said, Ah my long lacked Lord, Where have ye bene thus long out of my sight?

Much feared I to have bene quite abhord, Or ought have done, that ye displeasen might, That should as death unto my deare heart light: 240 For since mine eye your joyous sight did mis, My chearefull day is turnd to chearelesse night, And eke my night of death the shadow is; But welcome now my light, and shining lampe of blis.

XXVIII

He thereto meeting said, My dearest Dame, 245 Farre be it from your thought, and fro my will, To thinke that knighthood I so much should shame, As you to leave, that have me loved still, And chose in Faery court of meere goodwill, Where n.o.blest knights were to be found on earth: 250 The earth shall sooner leave her kindly skill, To bring forth fruit, and make eternall derth, Then I leave you, my liefe, yborne of heavenly berth.

XXIX

And sooth to say, why I left you so long, Was for to seeke adventure in strange place, 255 Where Archimago said a felon strong To many knights did daily worke disgrace; But knight he now shall never more deface: Good cause of mine excuse; that mote ye please Well to accept, and evermore embrace 260 My faithfull service, that by land and seas Have vowd you to defend: now then your plaint appease.

x.x.x

His lovely words her seemd due recompence Of all her pa.s.sed paines: one loving howre For many yeares of sorrow can dispence: 265 A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre: She has forgot, how many a woful stowre For him she late endurd; she speakes no more Of past: true is, that true love hath no powre To looken backe; his eyes be fixt before.

270 Before her stands her knight, for whom she toyld so sore.

x.x.xI

Much like, as when the beaten marinere, That long hath wandred in the Ocean wide, Oft soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare, And long time having tand his tawney hide 275 With bl.u.s.tring breath of heaven, that none can bide, And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound, Soone as the port from farre he has espide, His chearefull whistle merrily doth sound, And Nereus crownes with cups; his mates him pledg around.

x.x.xII

280 Such joy made Una, when her knight she found; And eke th' enchaunter joyous seemd no lesse, Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground His ship farre come from watrie wildernesse, He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse: 285 So forth they past, and all the way they spent Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse, In which he askt her, what the Lyon ment: Who told her all that fell in journey as she went.

x.x.xIII

They had not ridden farre, when they might see 290 One p.r.i.c.king towards them with hastie heat, Full strongly armd, and on a courser free, That through his fiercenesse fomed all with sweat, And the sharpe yron did for anger eat, When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side; 295 His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde, And on his shield Sans loy in bloudie lines was dyde.

x.x.xIV

When nigh he drew unto this gentle payre And saw the Red-crosse, which the knight did beare, 300 He burnt in fire, and gan eftsoones prepare Himselfe to battell with his couched speare.

Loth was that other, and did faint through feare, To taste th' untryed dint of deadly steele; But yet his Lady did so well him cheare, 305 That hope of new goodhap he gan to feele; So bent his speare, and spurd his horse with yron heele.

x.x.xV

But that proud Paynim forward came so fierce, And full of wrath, that with his sharp-head speare, Through vainly crossed shield he quite did pierce, 310 And had his staggering steede not shrunke for feare, Through shield and bodie eke he should him beare: Yet so great was the puissance of his push, That from his saddle quite he did him beare: He tombling rudely downe to ground did rush, 315 And from his gored wound a well of bloud did gush.

x.x.xVI

Dismounting lightly from his loftie steed, He to him lept, in mind to reave his life, And proudly said, Lo there the worthie meed Of him that slew Sansfoy with bloudie knife; 320 Henceforth his ghost freed from repining strife, In peace may pa.s.sen over Lethe lake, When mourning altars purgd with enemies life, The blacke infernall Furies doen aslake: Life from Sansfoy thou tookst, Sansloy shall from thee take.