E'er long they came near to a baleful bow'r
Much like the mouth of the infernal cave,
Which gaping stood all comers to devour;
Dark, doleful, dreary, like a greedy grave,
That still for carrion carcases doth crave.
The ground no herbs but venomous did bear,
The trees all leafless stood,--and every where,
Dead bones and skulls were cast, and bodies hanged were

Upon the roof the bird of sorrow sat,

Elonging joyless day with her sad note;

And through the shady air the fluttering bat

Did wave her leathern sails and blindly float; While with her wings the fatal screech-owl smote Th' unblessed house :-there on a craggy stone Celano hung and made a dismal moan;

And all about the murder'd ghosts did shriek and groan.

Like cloudy moonshine in some shadowy grove,
Such was the light in which Despair did dwell;
But he himself with night for darkness strove:
His black uncombed locks dishevell'd fell

About his face, through which as brands of hell
Sunk in his skull, his staring eyes did glow,
Which made him deadly look,-their glimpses show
Like cockatrice's eyes, that sparks of poison throw!

His clothes were ragged clouts, with thorns pinn'd fast, And as he musing lay, into a fright

A thousand wild chimeras would him cast:

So when a fearful dream in midst of night Disturbs the mind, and to th' astonish'd sight Some phantom brings,-straight doth the hasty foot Assay to flee, but can't itself up-root,

The voice dies on the tongue, the mouth gapes without

boot!

From thence he is led to the residence of Presumption:

Here did Presumption her pavilion spread,
Over the temple the bright stars among;-
Ah! that her feet should trample on the head
Of that revered place;-and a lewd throng
Of wanton boys sung her a pleasant song
Of love, long life, of mercy, and of grace.

Her tent with sunny clouds was ceil'd aloft,
And so exceeding shone with a false light,
That heav'n itself it seemed to her oft,

Heav'n without clouds to her deluded sight;
But clouds without a heav'n it was aright:
And as her house was built, so would her brain
Build castles in the air with idle pain:
But heart she never had, in all her body vain.

The court and garden of Vain-Glory succeed, and here the poet had his master, Spenser, directly in his eye, who was himself little better than a copyist from Tasso. The descriptions of all these poets are overwrought, and not in the purest taste. The presiding genius is thus depicted:

High over all Panglory's blazing throne,

In her bright turret, all of chrystal wrought,
Like Phoebus' lamp in midst of heaven shone:
Whose starry top, with pride infernal fraught,
Self-arching columns to uphold were taught:
In which her image still reflected was

By the smooth chrystal, which like her own glass,
In beauty and in frailty, did all others pass.

A silver wand the sorceress did sway,

And for a crown of gold her hair she wore ; Only a garland of rose-buds did play

About her locks; and in her hand she bore

A hollow globe of glass, which long before With her own hand she wholely emptied; And all the world therein had pictured;

Whose colours, like the rainbow, ever vanished.

To enchant her sacred visitor, Panglory is made to sing the following lines:

'Tis love that makes the heav'ns to move;

And the sun doth burn in love!

Love the strong and weak doth yoke,

And makes the ivy climb the oak;
Under whose shadow, lions wild,
Soften❜d by love, grow tame and mild.
Love no med'cine can appease;

He burns the fishes in the seas;

Not the most skill'd his wounds can stench;
Not all the sea his fire can quench!

Love did make the bloody spear,

Once a leafy coat to wear;

Whilst in his leaves there shrouded lay

Sweet birds, for love that sing and play:
And of all love's joyful flame,

I the bud and blossom am.

Only bend thy knee to me;

Thy wooing shall thy winning be!

See, see the flowers that below,

Now as fresh as morning blow;

And of all, the virgin rose
Like to bright Aurora shows;
How they all do leafless die,
Losing their virginity :

Like unto a summer shade,

But now born, and now they fade.
Every thing doth pass away,
There is danger in delay.

Come, come, gather then the rose,
Gather it, or it you lose!

All the sand of Tagus' shore,
Into my bosom casts his ore.
All the valley's ripen'd corn,
To my house is yearly borne.
Every grape of every vine,

Is gladly bruis'd to make me wine.
Whilst ten thousand kings, as proud

Το

carry up my train have bow'd:
And the stars in heav'n that shine,
With ten thousand more, are mine!
Only bend thy knee to me;

Thy wooing shall thy winning be!

In this passage our poet has fairly drawn the bow of Spenser, and it will afford us a good opportunity to exhibit a comparison between them.

Lay, in the Bower of Bliss.

The whiles, some one did chant this lovely lay:-
"Ah, see!-whoso doth fain fair thing to see,—

In springing flow'r the image of thy day!

Ah see the virgin rose, how sweetly she
Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty,
That fairer seems the less ye see her may;

Lo, see soon after how more bold and free,
Her bared bosom she doth broad display;
Lo, see soon after, how she fades and falls away!

"So passeth in the passing of a day,

Of mortal life, the leaf, the bud, the flow'r ;
Nor more doth flourish after first decay,

That erst was sought to deck both bed and bow'r,
Of many a lady, many a paramour:-

Gather therefore the rose while yet is time,

-For soon comes age that will her pride deflow'r;
Gather the rose of love, whilst yet is prime,

Whilst loving, thou may'st loved be, with equal crime !”

(Faery Queen, Book 2, Canto 12.)

This part ends with the ministration of the angels, and the following stanza :

The birds' sweet notes, to sonnet out their joys,

Attemper'd to the lay angelical;

And to the birds the winds attune their noise;
And to the winds the waters softly call,
And echo back again returned all,

That the whole valley rung with victory:

But now our Lord to rest doth homeward fly;

For lo, the night comes hast'ning from the mountains nigh!

This passage is also copied from Spenser:

"The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shades,
Their notes unto the voice attemper'd sweet;
Th' angelical soft trembling voices made
To th' instruments divine respondence meet;
The silver sounding instruments did meet
With the base murmurs of the waterfall;
The waterfall with difference discreet,

Now soft, now loud, unto the winds did call;
The gently warbling winds, low answered to all!"

The third part of Fletcher's poem is called "Christ's Triumph over Death." From this part we have before selected some very fine stanzas, and it does not afford any detached passage of length.