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imitation from his brethren than all the rest put together. The old undramatic poets, Drayton, Browne, Drummond, Giles and Phineas Fletcher, were as full of him as the dramatic were of Shakspeare. Milton studied and used him, calling him the "sage and serious Spenser;" and adding, that he "dared be known to think him a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas." Cowley said that he became a poet by reading him. Dryden claimed him for a master. Pope said he read him with as much pleasure when he was old, as young. Collins and Gray loved him; Thomson, Shenstone, and a host of inferior writers, expressly imitated him; Burns, Byron, Shelley, and Keats made use of his stanza; Coleridge eulogized him; and he is as dear to the best living poets as he was to their predecessors. Spenser has stood all the changes in critical opinion; all the logical and formal conclusions of the understanding, as opposed to imagination and lasting sympathy. Hobbes in vain attempted to depose him in favor of Davenant's Gondibert. Locke and his friend Molyneux to no purpose preferred Blackmore! Hume, acute and encroaching philosopher as he was, but not so universal in his philosophy as great poets, hurt Spenser's reputation with none but the French (who did not know him); and, by way of involuntary amends for the endeavor, he set up for poets such men as Wilkie and Blacklock! In vain, in vain. "In spite of philosophy and fashion," says a better critic of that day (Bishop Hurd), '"Faerie Spenser' still ranks highest amongst the poets; I mean with all those who are either of that house, or have any kindness for it. Earth-born critics may blaspheme;
But all the gods are ravish'd with delight Of his celestial song and music's wondrous might." Remarks on the Plan and Conduct of the Faerie Queene (inTodiTs edition of Spenser, vol.
H, p. 183).
"In reading Spenser," says Warton, " if the critic is not satisfied, yet the reader is transported." (Id., p. 65.)
"Spenser," observes Coleridge, "has the wit of the southern, with the deeper inwardness of the northern genius. Take especial note of the marvellous independence and true imaginative absence of all particular space or time in the Faerie Queene. It is in the domains neither of history nor geography: it is ignorant of all artificial boundary, all material obstacles; it is truly in land of Faerie, that is, of mental space. The poet has placed you in a dream, a charmed sleep: and you neither wish nor have the power to inquire, where you are, or how you got there." Literary Remains, vol. i., p. 94.
"In reading the Faerie Queene," says Hazlitt, "you see a little withered old man by a wood-side opening a wicket, a giant, and a dwarf lagging far behind, a damsel in a boat upon an enchanted lake, wood-nymphs and satyrs: and all of a sudden you are transported into a lofty palace, with tapers burning, amidst knights and ladies, with dance and revelry, and song,' and mask and antique pageantry.'—But some people will say that all this may be very fine, but they cannot understand it on account of the allegory. They are afraid of the allegory, as if they thought it would bite them ; they look at it as a child looks at a painted dragon, and think that it will strangle them in its shining folds. This is very idle. If they do not meddle with the allegory, the allegory will not meddle with them. Without minding it at all the whole is as plain as a pike-stafF. It might as well be pretended, that we cannot see Poussin's pictures for the allegory, as that the allegory prevents us from understanding Spenser." Lectures on the English Poets (Templeman's Edition, 12mo., p. 67).
THE HOUSE OF MORPHEUS.
Archimago, a hypocritical magician, lures Una and the Red-cross Knight into his abode; and while they are asleep, sends to Morpheus, the god ot sleep, for a false dream, to produce discord between them.
A little lowly hermitage it was
Arrived there the little house they fill,*
The drooping night thus creepeth on them fast;
And the sad humor, loading their eye-lids,
As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast
Sweet slumbering dew; the which to sleep them bids.
Unto their lodgings then his guests he rids;
Where, when all drown'd in deadly sleep he finds,
He to his study goes, and their amids'
His magic books and arts of sundry kinds,
He seeks out mighty charms to trouble sleepy minds.
Then choosing out few words most horrible
And forth he calPd out of deep darkness dread
He maketh speedy way through spersed air,
Whose double gates he findeth locked fast;
And more to lull him in his slumber soft,
A trickling stream, from high rock tumbling down,
And ever drizzling rain upon the loft,
Mix'd with a murmuring wind, much like the soun'
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swoun:
JVo other noise, nor people's troublous cries,
The messenger approaching to him spake
But his waste words return'd to him in vain
So sound he slept, that naught might him awake.
Then rudely he him thrust, and push'd with pain,
Whereat he 'gan to stretch: but he again
Shook him so hard, that forced him to speak
As one then in a dream, whose drier brain
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weak,
He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence break.
The sprite then 'gan more boldly him to wake,
The god obeyed; and calling forth straightway
1 Welled forth alway.
The modulation of this charming stanza is exquisite. Let us divide it into its pauses, and see what we have been hearing :—
A little lowly hermitage it was |