The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume 5 | Page 3

this small Northerne world was princesse.
"To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre, 85 Adornd with purest golde and precious stone, To tell my riches and endowments rare, That by my foes are now all spent and gone, To tell my forces, matchable to none, Were but lost labour that few would beleeve, 90 And with rehearsing would me more agreeve.
"High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters, Strong walls, rich porches, princelie pallaces, Large streetes, brave houses, sacred sepulchers, Sure gates, sweete gardens, stately galleries 95 Wrought with faire pillours and fine imageries,-- All those, O pitie! now are turnd to dust, And overgrowen with blacke oblivions rust.
"Theretoo, for warlike power and peoples store In Britannie was none to match with mee, 100 That manie often did abie full sore: Ne Troynovant*, though elder sister shee, With my great forces might compared bee; That stout Pendragon to his perill felt, Who in a siege seaven yeres about me dwelt. 105 [* _Troynovant_, London]
"But long ere this, Bunduca, Britonnesse, Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes brought; Bunduca! that victorious conqueresse, That, lifting up her brave heroick thought Bove womens weaknes, with the Romanes fought, 110 Fought, and in field against them thrice prevailed: Yet was she foyld, when as she me assailed.
"And though at last by force I conquered were Of hardie Saxons, and became their thrall, Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full deere, 115 And prizde with slaughter of their generall, The moniment of whose sad funerall, For wonder of the world, long in me lasted, But now to nought, through spoyle of time, is wasted.
"Wasted it is, as if it never were; 120 And all the rest that me so honord made, And of the world admired ev'rie where, Is turnd to smoake that doth to nothing fade; And of that brightnes now appeares no shade, But greislie shades, such as doo haunt in hell 125 With fearfull fiends that in deep darknes dwell.
"Where my high steeples whilom usde to stand, On which the lordly faulcon wont to towre, There now is but an heap of lyme and sand For the shriche-owle to build her balefull bowre: 130 And where the nightingale wont forth to powre Her restles plaints, to comfort wakefull lovers, There now haunt yelling mewes and whining plovers.
"And where the christall Thamis wont to slide In silver channell downe along the lee, 135 About whose flowrie bankes on either side A thousand nymphes, with mirthfull iollitee, Were wont to play, from all annoyance free, There now no rivers course is to be seene, But moorish fennes, and marshes ever greene. 140
"Seemes that that gentle river, for great griefe Of my mishaps which oft I to him plained, Or for to shunne the horrible mischiefe With which he saw my cruell foes me pained, And his pure streames with guiltles blood oft stained, From my unhappie neighborhood farre fled, 145 And his sweete waters away with him led.
"There also where the winged ships were seene In liquid waves to cut their fomie waie, And thousand fishers numbred to have been, 150 In that wide lake looking for plenteous praie Of fish, which they with baits usde to betraie, Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store, Nor ever ship shall saile there anie more.
"They all are gone, and all with them is gone! 155 Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament My long decay, which no man els doth mone, And mourne my fall with dolefull dreriment: Yet it is comfort in great languishment, To be bemoned with compassion kinde, 160 And mitigates the anguish of the minde.
"But me no man bewaileth, but in game Ne sheddeth teares from lamentable eie; Nor anie lives that mentioneth my name To be remembred of posteritie, 165 Save one, that maugre Fortunes iniurie, And Times decay, and Envies cruell tort*, Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort. [* _Tort_, wrong]
"CAMBDEN! the nourice* of antiquitie, And lanterne unto late succeding age 170 To see the light of simple veritie Buried in ruines, through the great outrage Of her owne people led with warlike rage, CAMBDEN! though Time all moniments obscure, Yet thy iust labours ever shall endure. 175 [* _Nourice_, nurse]
"But whie, unhappie wight! doo I thus crie, And grieve that my remembrance quite is raced* Out of the knowledge of posteritie, And all my antique moniments defaced? Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed, 180 So soone as Fates their vitall thred have shorne, Forgotten quite as they were never borne [* _Raced_, razed.]
"It is not long, since these two eyes beheld A mightie Prince*, of most renowmed race, Whom England high in count of honour held, 185 And greatest ones did sue to game his grace; Of greatest ones he, greatest in his place, Sate in