But that fair lamp, from whose celestial ray That light proceeds, which kindleth lovers' fire, Shall never be extinguished nor decay; But, when the vital spirits do expire, Unto her native planet shall retire; For it is heavenly born and cannot die, Being a parcel of the purest sky! At a late period of Spenser's life, the remembrance of this cruel piece of excellence,--his Rosalind, was effaced by a second and a happier love. His sonnets are addressed to a beautiful Irish girl, the daughter of a rich merchant of Cork. She it was who healed the wound inflicted by disdain and levity, and taught him the truth he has expressed in one charming line-- Sweet is that love alone, that comes with willingnesse! Her name was Elizabeth, and her family (as Spenser tells us himself,) obscure; but, in spite of her plebeian origin, the lady seems to have been a very peremptory and Juno-like beauty. Spenser continually dwells upon her pride of sex, and has placed it before us in many charming turns of thought, now deprecating it as a fault, but oftener celebrating it as a virtue. For instance,-- Rudely thou wrongest my dear heart's desire, In finding fault with her too portly pride: The thing which I do most in her admire, Is of the world unworthy most envied; For in those lofty looks is close implied, Scorn of base things, disdain of foul dishonour; Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide, That loosely they ne dare to look upon her. Such pride is praise; such portliness is honour.[89] And again, in the thirteenth sonnet,-- In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth, Whiles her fair face she rears up to the sky, And to the ground, her eyelids low embaseth, Most goodly temperature ye may descry; Mild humblesse, mixt with awful majesty! This picture of the deportment erect with conscious dignity, and the eyelids veiled with feminine modesty, is very beautiful. We have the figure of his Elizabeth before us in all her maidenly dignity and proud humility. The next is a softened repetition of the same characteristic portrait: Was it the work of Nature or of Art, Which temper'd so the features of her face, That pride and meekness, mixt by equal part, Do both appear to adorn her beauty's grace![90] He rebukes her with a charming mixture of reproof and flattery, in the lines-- Fair Proud! now tell me, why should fair be proud? &c. This imperious and high-souled beauty at length gives some sign of relenting; and pursuing the train of thought and feeling through the latter part of the collection, we can trace the vicissitudes of the lady's temper, and how the lover sped in his wooing. First, she grants a smile, and it is hailed with rapture--