Immediately on leaving college, Spenser retired to the north of England, where he first became enamoured of the fair being to whom, according to the fashion of the day, he gave the fanciful appellation of Rosalind. We are told that the letters which form this word being "well ordered," (that is, _transposed_) comprehend her real name; but it has hitherto escaped the penetration of his biographers. Two of his friends were entrusted with the secret, and they, with a discretion more to be regretted than blamed, have kept it. One of these, who speaks from personal knowledge, tells us, in a note on the Eclogues, that she was the daughter of a widow; that she was a gentlewoman, and one "that for her rare and singular gifts of person and mind, Spenser need not have been ashamed to love." We can believe this of a poet, whose delicate perception of female worth breathes in almost every page of his works; but after having, as he hoped, made some progress in her heart, a rival stept in, whom Spenser accuses expressly of having supplanted him by treacherous arts;[87] and on this obscure and nameless wight, Rosalind bestowed the hand which had been coveted,--the charms which had been sung by Spenser! He suffered long and deeply, wounded both in his pride and in his love: but her beauty and virtue had made a stronger impression than her cruelty; and her lover, with a generous tenderness, not only pardoned, but found excuses for her disdain. "I have often heard, Fair Rosalind of divers foully blam'd, For being to that swain too cruel hard; But who can tell what cause had that fair maid To use him so, that loved her so well? Or who with blame can justly her upbraid, For loving not; for who can love compel? And (sooth to say) it is full handy thing Rashly to censure creatures so divine; For demi-gods they be; and first did spring From heaven, though graft in frailness feminine."[88] The exquisite sentiment of these lines is worthy of him who sung of "heavenly Una and her milk-white lamb." To the memory of Rosalind,--to the long felt influence of this first passion, and to the melancholy shade which his early disappointment cast over a mind naturally cheerful, we owe some of the most tender and beautiful passages scattered through his later poems:--for instance--the bitter sense of recollected suffering, seems to have suggested that fine description of a lover's life, which may almost rank as a _pendant_ to the miseries of the courtier, so well known and often quoted. Full little know'st thou that hast not tied, &c. It occurs in the "Hymn to Love." The gnawing envy, the heart-fretting fear, The vain surmises, the distrustful shows, The false reports that flying tales do bear, The doubts, the dangers, the delays, the woes, The feigned friends, the unassured foes, With thousands more than any tongue can tell-- Do make a lover's life, a wretch's hell!