[This series of original 'visions' is manifestly of kin to those translated from Petrarch and Du Bellay and, more distantly, to 'Ruins of Rome.' It is unquestionably of later composition, but how much later has been disputed. Some critics, observing that, whereas the sonnets of the three earlier series are in the common Elizabethan form, the sonnets of this are in the special form that Spenser devised for himself, have argued that the interval of time must be considerable. In the first place, however, we have no proof that Spenser may not have devised his own sonnet-form early (we meet it in the dedication to Virgil's Gnat,' of Calendar days); in the second place, for the three series that were translations he might naturally choose the looser and therefore easier Elizabethan form, when, for original sonnets, he would adopt his own more complicated scheme. This point set aside, there is nothing in the series to denote a much later period: the style is, indeed, distinctly immature. One may plausibly conclude that 'Visions of the World's Vanity' was suggested by the earlier 'Visions' and executed not long after them.

The noteworthy fact about these various early poems is that they show Spenser, at the outset of his career, driving full on allegory. Partly by accident and partly by choice, he has committed himself to a special form of the art, from which he later progresses to others more comprehensive. This form is the literary counterpart of a mixed type, in which poetry and the graphic arts are combined, the so-called ' emblem.' The essence of both consists in the expression of an idea by means of a complete image or picture. Thus Du Bellay, having

composed in his Antiquitez de Rome (Ruins of Rome') a series of meditations upon the transitoriness of human grandeur, went on, in his supplementary Songe (Visions of Bellay '), to express those same ideas in a series of poetic pictures. These, when borrowed by Van der Noot for the Théâtre of 1568, were made into emblems proper by the addition of engravings that rendered them to the eye. Such emblem books, of engravings and poetry combined, were enormously popular through most of the sixteenth century. They affected the imagination of that period incalculably. Book followed book, edition edition. Mythology, fable, natural history, history were ransacked for themes and illustrations, which were repeated in a dozen forms. Poetry, which, as the 'Visions of Petrarch' show, had long since practised a variety of this art, was stimulated to it afresh. Spenser, in his turn, wrote ' Visions of the World's Vanity,' among which the sonnets on the Scarabee and the Remora, adapted from the first great emblem-writer Alciati, sufficiently declare his indebtedness. The influence may be thought to extend even to the allegory of the Faery Queen; for the figures in the procession at the House of Pride and in the Masque of Cupid, with others of their kind, are in a way but figures from the emblem books glorified by a larger art. At this point, however, the emblem as a special type merges in the more common forms of allegory.]

II

In summers day, when Phoebus fairly shone, I saw a bull as white as driven snowe, With gilden hornes embowed like the

moone,

In a fresh flowring meadow lying lowe: Up to his eares the verdant grasse did growe,

And the gay floures did offer to be eaten; But he with fatnes so did overflowe,

That he all wallowed in the weedes downe beaten,

Ne car'd with them his daintie lips to

sweeten:

Till that a brize, a scorned little creature, Through his faire hide his angrie sting did threaten,

And vext so sore, that all his goodly feature And all his plenteous pasture nought him pleased:

So by the small the great is oft diseased.

III

Beside the fruitfull shore of muddie Nile,
Upon a sunnie banke outstretched lay,
In monstrous length, a mightie crocodile,
That, cram'd with guiltles blood and greedie
pray

Of wretched people travailing that way, Thought all things lesse than his disdainfull pride.

I saw a little bird, cal'd Tedula,

The least of thousands which on earth abide, That forst this hideous beast to open wide The greisly gates of his devouring hell, And let him feede, as Nature doth provide, Upon his jawes, that with blacke venime swell.

Why then should greatest things the least disdaine,

Sith that so small so mightie can constraine?

Ne suffred him in anie place to rest, But drove in Joves owne lap his egs to lay;

Where gathering also filth him to infest, Forst with the filth his egs to fling away: For which when as the foule was wroth, said Jove,

'Lo! how the least the greatest may reprove.'

V

Toward the sea turning my troubled eye,
I saw the fish (if fish I may it cleepe)
That makes the sea before his face to flye,
And with his flaggie finnes doth seeme to

sweepe

The fomie waves out of the dreadfull deep, The huge Leviathan, Dame Natures wonder, Making his sport, that manie makes to weep: A sword-fish small him from the rest did sunder,

That, in his throat him pricking softly under,

His wide abysse him forced forth to spewe, That all the sea did roare like heavens

thunder,

And all the waves were stain'd with filthie hewe.

Hereby I learned have, not to despise What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.

VI

An hideous dragon, dreadfull to behold, Whose backe was arm'd against the dint of

speare

With shields of brasse, that shone like burnisht golde,

And forkhed sting, that death in it did beare,

Strove with a spider, his unequall peare,
And bad defiance to his enemie.

The subtill vermin, creeping closely neare,
Did in his drinke shed poyson privilie;
Which, through his entrailes spredding
diversly,

Made him to swell, that nigh his bowells brust,

And him enforst to yeeld the victorie, That did so much in his owne greatnesse trust.

O how great vainnesse is it then to

scorne

The weake, that hath the strong so oft forlorne !

VII

High on a hill a goodly cedar grewe,
Of wondrous length and streight proportion,
That farre abroad her daintie odours

threwe;

Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon, Her match in beautie was not anie one. Shortly within her inmost pith there bred A litle wicked worme, perceiv'd of none, That on her sap and vitall moysture fed: Thenceforth her garland so much honoured Began to die, (O great ruth for the same!) And her faire lockes fell from her loftie head,

That shortly balde and bared she became. I, which this sight beheld, was much dismayed,

To see so goodly thing so soone decayed.

VIII

Soone after this I saw an elephant,
Adorn'd with bells and bosses gorgeouslie,
That on his backe did beare (as batteilant)
A gilden towre, which shone exceedinglie;
That he himselfe through foolish vanitie,
Both for his rich attire and goodly forme,
Was puffed up with passing surquedrie,
And shortly gan all other beasts to scorne:
Till that a little ant, a silly worme,
Into his nosthrils creeping, so him pained,
That, casting downe his towres, he did de-
forme

Both borrowed pride, and native beautie stained.

Let therefore nought, that great is, therein glorie,

Sith so small thing his happines may varie.

IX

Looking far foorth into the ocean wide,
A goodly ship with banners bravely dight,
And flag in her top-gallant, I espide,
Through the maine sea making her merry
flight:

Faire blew the winde into her bosome right,
And th' heavens looked lovely all the while,
That she did seeme to daunce, as in delight,
And at her owne felicitie did smile.
All sodainely there clove unto her keele
A little fish, that men call Remora,
Which stopt her course, and held her by
the heele,

That winde nor tide could move her thence

away.

A mighty lyon, lord of all the wood, Having his hunger throughly satisfide With pray of beasts and spoyle of living blood,

Safe in his dreadles den him thought to hide:

His sternesse was his prayse, his strength his pride,

And all his glory in his cruell clawes.
I saw a wasp, that fiercely him defide,
And bad him battaile even to his jawes;
Sore he him stong, that it the blood forth
drawes,

And his proude heart is fild with fretting ire:

In vaine he threats his teeth, his tayle, his pawes,

And from his bloodie eyes doth sparkle fire; That dead himselfe he wisheth for de

Thenceforth I gan in my engrieved brest
To scorne all difference of great and small,
Sith that the greatest often are opprest,
And unawares doe into daunger fall.
And ye, that read these ruines tragicall,
Learne by their losse to love the low de-
gree,

And if that Fortune chaunce you up to call
To honours seat, forget not what you be:

For he that of himselfe is most secure Shall finde his state most fickle and unsure. FINIS.

THE VISIONS OF BELLAY

['The Visions of Bellay' and 'The Visions of Petrarch,' which belong together, are presumably the earliest poems of the volume. They are but a remodelling of Spenser's first known literary work, the translation done in 1569 for Van der Noot's Théâtre: it is more than likely, therefore, that they were executed while that work was still of interest to him, during his early days at Cambridge. The object of the youthful poet in these rifacimenti was apparently not to better his translation, but, for merely artistic effect, to turn the irregular stanzas of the Petrarch group and the blank verse poems of the Bellay group into formal sonnets. He does not seem to have consulted his foreign originals afresh, except that he here renders for the first time four sonnets out of Du Bellay which Van der Noot, in transferring the Frenchman's series to his book, had dropped. The version of 9 will be found in the Appendix.]

I

was

1568 date Dutch.

And in this golden vessell couched weare
The ashes of a mightie emperour:
Upon foure corners of the base were pight,
To beare the frame, foure great lyons of

gold;

A worthy tombe for such a worthy wight. Alas! this world doth nought but grievance

hold.

I saw a tempest from the heaven descend, Which this brave monument with flash

did rend.

IV

I saw raysde up on yvorie pillours tall, Whose bases were of richest mettalls warke, The chapters alablaster, the fryses christall, The double front of a triumphall arke: