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Behind her, far away, a Dwarf did lag; That lazy seemed in being ever last,

Or wearièd with bearing of her bag

Of needments at his back. Thus as they passed,
The day with clouds was sudden overcast,
And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain

Did pour into his leman's1 lap, so fast

That every wight to shroud2 it did constrain ;

And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.

Enforced to seek some covert nigh at hand,
A shady grove not far away they spied,
That promised aid the tempest to withstand;
Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride,
Did spread so broad that heaven's light did hide;
Not pierceable with power of any star;

And all within were paths and alleys, wide

With footing worn, and leading inward far.

Fair harbour that them seems; so in they entered are.

Book I. Canto I.

UNA AND THE LION.

One day, nigh weary of the irksome way,
From her unhasty beast she did alight;
And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay
In secret shadow, far from all men's sight:
From her fair head her fillet she undight,3
And laid her stole aside. Her angel's face,
As the great eye of heaven, shined bright,
And made a sunshine in the shady place;
Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace.

It fortunèd, out of the thickest wood A rampant Lion rushèd suddenly, Hunting full greedy after salvage blood. Soon as the royal virgin he did spy,

With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,

To have at once devoured her tender corse ;4
But, to the prey whenas he drew more nigh,
His bloody rage assuagèd with remorse,

And, with the sight amazed, forgat his furious force.

1 Lady-love's (the Earth's).

2 Every creature to shelter itself. 3 Unloosed.

Instead thereof, he kissed her weary feet,
And licked her lily hands with fawning tongue,
As he her wrongèd innocence did weet.1
O, how can beauty maister the most strong,
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong!
Whose yielded pride and proud submission,
Still dreading death, when she had markèd long,
Her heart gan melt in great compassion;
And drizzling tears did shed for pure affection.

"The Lion, Lord of every beast in field,"
Quoth she, "his princely puissance doth abate,
And mighty proud to humble weak does yield,
Forgetful of the hungry rage, which late
Him pricked, in pity of my sad estate :
But he, my Lion, and my noble Lord,
How does he find in cruel heart to hate

Her that him loved, and ever most adored

As the God of my life? Why hath he me abhorred?"

Redounding tears did choke the end of her plaint, Which softly echoed from the neighbour wood; And, sad to see her sorrowful constraint, The kingly Beast upon her gazing stood : With pity calmed, down fell his angry mood. At last, in close heart shutting up her pain, Arose the virgin, born of heavenly brood, And to her snowy palfrey got again,

To seek her strayèd Champion if she might attain.

The Lion would not leave her desolate, But with her went along, as a strong guard Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard : Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward; And, when she waked, he waited diligent, With humble service to her will prepared : From her fair eyes he took commandèment, And ever by her looks conceivèd her intent.

Book I. Canto III.

THE VISIT OF DUESSA TO NIGHT.

As, when a weary traveller, that strays
By muddy shore of broad seven-mouthed Nile,
Unweeting of the perilous wandering ways,
Doth meet a cruel crafty Crocodile,

Which, in false grief hiding his harmful guile,
Doth weep full sore, and sheddeth tender tears,
The foolish man, that pities all this while
His mournful plight, is swallowed up unwares,
Forgetful of his own that minds another's cares :

So wept Duessa until eventide,

That shining lamps in Jove's high house were light.
Then forth she rose, ne longer would abide,

But comes unto the place where the Heathen knight,
In slumbering swowned, nigh void of vital spright,1
Lay covered with enchaunted cloud all day:
Whom when she found, as she him left in plight,
To wail his woful case she would not stay,

But to the Eastern coast of heaven makes speedy way:

Where griesly Night, with visage deadly sad,
That Phoebus' cheerful face durst never view,
And in a foul black pitchy mantle clad,

She finds forth coming from her darksome mew,
Where she all day did hide her hated hue.
Before the door her iron chariot stood,

Already harnessèd for journey new,

And coal black steeds yborn of hellish brood,

That on their rusty bits did champ as they were wood.?

Who when she saw Duessa, sunny bright,
Adorned with gold and jewels shining clear,
She greatly grew amazèd at the sight,
And the unacquainted light began to fear,
For never did such brightness there appear;
And would have back retirèd to her cave,
Until the witch's speech she gan to hear,
Saying; "Yet, O thou dreaded Dame! I crave
Abide, till I have told the message which I have.”

She stayed; and forth Duessa gan proceed ;-
"O! thou most auncient Grandmother of all ;
More old than Jove, whom thou at first didst breed,
Or that great house of God's celestial;

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Which wast begot in Demogorgon's hall,
And sawst the secrets of the world unmade;
Why sufferedst thou thy Nephews dear to fall,
With Elfin sword most shamefully betrayed?
Lo! where the stout Sansjoy doth sleep in deadly shade.

"And, him before, I saw with bitter eyes
The bold Sansfoy shrink underneath his spear:
And now the prey of fowls in field he lies,
Nor wailed of friends, nor laid on groaning bier,
That whilom was to me too dearly dear.
O! what of gods then boots it to be born,
If old Aveugle's sons so evil hear?

Or who shall not great Nightès children scorn,
When two of three her Nephews are so foul forlorn ?1

"Up, then! up, dreary Dame, of darkness Queen! Go, gather up the relics of thy race:

Or else go them avenge, and let be seen

That dreaded Night in brightest day hath place,
And can the children of fair light deface."
Her feeling speeches some compassion moved
In heart, and change in that great mother's face :
Yet pity in her heart was never proved

Till then; for evermore she hated, never loved :

And said, "Dear daughter, rightly may I rue
The fall of famous children born of me,
And good successes which their foes ensue :
But who can turn the stream of destiny,
Or break the chain of strong necessity,
Which fast is tied to Jove's eternal seat?
The sons of Day he favoureth, I see,

And by my ruins thinks to make them great :
To make one great by others' loss is bad excheat.2

"Yet they shall not escape so freely all,
For some shall pay the price of others' guilt;
And he, the man that made Sansfoy to fall,
Shall with his own blood price3 that he hath spilt.
But what art thou, that tellst of Nephews kilt ? "4
"I, that do seem not I, Duessa, am,"
Quoth she, "however now, in garments gilt
And gorgeous gold arrayed, I to thee came;
Duessa I, the daughter of Deceit and Shame."

Then, bowing down her aged back, she kissed The wicked witch, saying, "In that fair face The false resemblaunce of Deceit, I wist,1 Did closely lurk; yet so true-seeming grace It carried that I scarce in darksome place Could it discern, though I the mother be Of Falsehood, and root of Duessa's race. O welcome, child, whom I have longed to see, And now have seen unwares! Lo! now I go with thee.”

Then to her iron waggon she betakes,

And with her bears the foul well-favoured witch.
Through mirksome air her ready way she makes :
Her twyfold team, of which two black as pitch,
And two were brown, yet each to each unlich,2
Did softly swim away, ne ever stamp,

Unless she chaunced their stubborn mouths to twitch;
Then, foaming tar, their bridles they would champ,
And, trampling the fine element, would fiercely ramp.

So well they sped that they be come at length
Unto the place whereas3 the Paynim lay,*
Devoid of outward sense and native strength,
Covered with charmèd cloud from view of day,
And sight of men, since his late luckless fray.
His cruel wounds, with cruddy blood congealed,
They binden up so wisely as they may,
And handle softly, till they can be healed:

So lay him in her chariot, close in night concealed.

And, all the while she stood upon the ground,
The wakeful dogs did never cease to bay,

As giving warning of the unwonted sound
With which her iron wheels did them affray,

And her dark griesly look them much dismay :
The messenger of death, the ghastly owl,
With dreary shrieks did also her bewray,5
And hungry wolves continually did howl
At her abhorred face, so filthy and so fowl.

Thence, turning back in silence soft, they stole;
And brought the heavy corse with easy pace
To yawning gulf of deep Avernus' hole.
By that same hole, an entrance dark and base,
With smoke and sulphur hiding all the place,

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