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Spenser. ist, und dessen Unternehmungen dahin abzielen, die Göttin der Ehre, Gloriana, aufzusuchen und zu gewinnen.

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dieses Gedicht zu studiren, und aus dem richtigen Gesichtspunkte seine Schönheiten sowohl, als seine Mängel, zu be urtheilen, sind die Obfervations on the Fairy Queen of Spenser, by Tho. Warton sehr lehrreich, deren zweite, verz mehrte Ausgabe zu London, 1762, in zwei Oktavbånden, heraus kam. Es wird darin zuerst der Plan des Dichters, und dessen Behandlung entwickelt, dann von seinen Nachahmungen alter Ritterromane, von seinem Gebrauch und Mißbrauch der alten Geschichte und Fabellehre, von seinem Stanzénbau, feiner Versifikation und Sprache, feinen Nachbildungen Chaucer's und Ariost's, gehandelt. Im zweiten Bande werden seine Nachläßigkeiten, die Nachahmungen feiner selbst, einige von Upton beurtheilte Stellen feines Ges dichts, sein allegorischer Charakter, und noch manche andre hicher gehörige Gegenstände mit tief eindringender Kritik geprüft.

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That moves more dear Compaffion of Mind,
Than Beauty brought t'unworthy Wretchedness
Through Envy's Snares or Fortune's Freaks un-
kind:

I, whether lately through her Brightness blind,
Or through Allegiance and faft Fealty,
Which I do owe unto all Woman - Kind,
Feel my Heart pierc'd with fo great Agony,
When fuch I fee, that all for pity I could die.

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And now it is empaffioned fo deep,

For faireft Una's fake, of whom I fing,

That my frail Eyes thefe Lines with Tears do
steep,

To think how the through guileful handeling,
Though true as touch, though Daughter of a
King,

Though fair as ever living Wight was fair,
Though nor in Word nor Deed ill meriting,
Is from her Knight divorced in Despair,

And her due Loves deriv'd to that vile Witch's

fhare.

III.

Yet the, most faithful Lady, all this while
Forfaken, woful, folitary Maid,

Far from all People's prefs, as in exile,
In Wilderness and waftful Deferts stray'd,
To feek her Knight; who fubtilly betray'd,
Through that late Vision, which th' Enchaunter
wrought,

Had her abandon'd. She of nought afraid,
Through Woods and Waftness wide him daily
fought;

Yet wifhed Tydings none of him unto her brought.

IV.

One day, nigh weary of the irkfome way,
From her unhafty Beaft fhe did alight
And on the Grals her dainty Limbs did lay
In fecret Shadow; far from all Mens fight:
From her fair Head her Fillet fhe undight,
And laid her Stole afide. Her Angel's Face,
As the great Eye of Heaven fhined bright,
And made a Sun-fhine in the fhady place;
Did never mortal Eye behold fuch heavenly Grace.

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It fortuned out of the thick eft Wood
A ramping Lion rushed fuddenly,
Hunting full greedy after falvage Blood.
Soon as the Royal Virgin he did spy,
With gaping Mouth at her ran greedily,
To have at once devour'd her tender Corfe :
But to the Prey when as he drew more nigh,
His bloody Ruge affuaged with Remorse,
And with the fight amaz'd, forgat his furious force.

VI.

Instead thereof he kifs'd her weary Feet,
And lick'd her lilly Hands with fauning Tongue,
As he her wronged Innocence did weet.
O! how can Beauty mafter the most strong,
And fimple Truth fubdue avenging Wrong!
Whofe yielded Pride, and proud Submiffion,
Still dreading Death, when she had marked long,
Her Heart 'gan melt in great Compaffion,
And drizling Tears did fhed fore pure Affection.

VII.

The Lion, Lord of every Beaft in Field,
Quoth fhe, his princely Puiffance doth abate,
And mighty Proud to humble Weak does yield,
Forgetful of the hungry Rage, which late
Him prick'd, in pity of my fad Estate:
But he my Lion, and my noble Lord,
How does he find in cruel Heart to hate

Her that him lov'd, and ever most ador'd

As the God of my Life? Why hath he me abhor'd?

Spenser.

VIII.

Redounding Tears did choke th' end of her

Plaint,

Which foftly echoed from the neighbour Wood;
And fad to fee her forrowful Constraint,
The kingly Beaft upon her gazing stood;
With pity calm'd, down fell his angry Mood.
At laft, in clofe Heart fhutting up her Pain,
Arofe the Virgin born of heavenly Brood,
And to her fnowy Palfrey got again.,
To feek her ftrayed Champion, if she might attain.

IX.

The Lion would not leave her defolate,
But with her went along, as a strong guard
Of her chafte Person, and a faithful Mate
Of her fad Troubles and Misfortunes hard:
Still when the wak'd, he waited diligent,
With humble Service to her Will prepar'd:
From her fair Eyes he took Commandement
And ever by her Looks conceived her Intent.

X.

Long the thus travelled through Defarts wide, By which the thought her wandring Knight fhould pafs,

Yet never fhew of living Wight espy'd;

Till that at lenght fhe found the trodden Grafs,
In which the Track of People's Footing was,
Under the steep foot of a Mountain hore:
The fame the follows, till at last she has
A Damfel fpy'd, flow footing her before,
That on her Shoulders fad a Pot of Water bore.

XI.

To whom approaching, fhe to her 'gan call,
To weet, if Dwelling-place were nigh at hand;

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Spenser.

But the rude Wench her anfwer'd nought at all,
She could not hear, nor speak, nor understand;
Till feeing by her fide the Lion ftand,

With fuddain fear her Pitcher down fhe threw,
And fled away: For never in that Land

Face of fair Lady the before did view,

And that dread Lion's Look her caft in deadly hew.

XII.

Full faft fhe fled, ne ever look'd behind,
As if her Life upon the Wager lay;

And home fhe came, whereas her Mother blind
Sate in eternal Night: nought could the fay;
Bud fuddain catching hold, did her difmay
With quaking Hands, and other figns of Fear:
Who full of ghaftly Fright and cold Affray,
'Gan fhut the Door. By this arrived there
Dame Una, weary Dame, and entrance did requere.

XIII.

Which when none yielded, her unruly Page
With his rude Claws the Wicket open rent,
And let her in; where of his cruel Rage
Nigh dead with Fear, and faint Aftonishment,
She found them both in darkfome Corner pent;
Where that old Woman day and night did pray
Upon her Beads devoutly penitent;

Nine hundred Pater-Nofters every day,

And thrice nine hundred Ave's fhe was wont to fay.

XIV.

And to augment her painful Penance more,
Thrice every Week in Afbes fhe did fit,

And next her wrinkled Skin rough Sackcloth

wore,

And thrice three times did faft from any bit:

But

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