And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object's sight;
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough rustleing,—
By a daisy whose leaves, spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed,-
Or a shady bush or tree,-
She could more infuse in me
Than all Nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man."

AMORETTI,

OR

SONNETS.

BY EDM, SPENSER.

NOTE BY PREVIOUS EDITORS.

The Amoretti, or Sonnets, describe the commencement and progress of Spenser's love for the lady whom he married, which event is made the subject of the Epithalamion which follows. All we know of her is, that her name was Elizabeth, as appears from the seventy-fourth Sonnet. In the sixtieth Sonnet, he informs us that he was then forty years old, and that a year had passed since the commencement of his passion. These Sonnets are interesting, as illustrating the biography of the poet; and they are also remarkable for that purity and delicacy of feeling so characteristic of Spenser, into the sanctuary of whose mind no coarse or unhandsome image ever intruded itself. But their literary merit is not more than respectable, and in no form of poetical composition is mediocrity less tolerable than the sonnet. They are not free from the cold conceits of his age, and their monotonous and languid flow of sentiment is seldom enlivened by rich poetry, or any uncommon beauty of language. They naturally provoke a comparison with Shakspeare's Sonnets, to which they are greatly inferior.

[The author of these remarks dissents from the opinion here expressed, and refers to his remarks for his reasons.]

G. W. SENIOR,*

TO THE AUTHOR.

DARKE is the day, when Phoebus face is shrouded,
And weaker sights may wander soone astray :
But, when they see his glorious rays unclouded,
With steddy steps they keep the perfect way:
So, while this Muse in forraine land doth stay,
Invention weeps, and pens are cast aside;
The time, like night, depriv'd of chearfull day;
And few do write, but (ah!) too soon may slide
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide,
And with thy wit illustrate England's fame,
Daunting thereby our neighbours ancient pride,
That do, for Poesie, challenge chiefest name :
So we that live, and ages that succeed,
With great applause thy learned works shall read.

АH! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine,
Piping to shepherds thy sweet roundelays;
Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine,
Heroicke deeds of past or present days;

* "Perhaps George Whetstone, a poetaster and dramatic writer, in the reign of Elizabeth."-TODD.

10

Or whether, in thy lovely Mistresse praise,
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill;

Thy Muse hath got such grace and power to please,
With rare invention, beautified by skill,

As who therein can ever ioy their fill!

O! therefore let that happy Muse proceed
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill,
Where endlesse honour shall be made thy meed:
Because no malice of succeeding daies

Can rase those records of thy lasting praise.

G. W. JUNE.