XX.

Guyon was loath to leave his guide behind,
Yet being entred might not backe retyre;
For the flitt barke, obaying to her mind,
Forth launchéd quickly as she did desire,
Ne gave him leave to bid that aged sire
Adieu; but nimbly ran her wonted course
Through the dull billowes thicke as troubled mire,
Whom nether wind out of their seat could forse

Nor timely tides did drive out of their sluggish sourse.

Guyon was now parted from his black Palmer, as the Red Cross Knight had been parted from Una. He was ferried across the Idle Lake by Phædria, whose name is derived from the Greek paidpá, gay or joyous; but in her island of joys, still

he was wise, and wary of her will, And ever held his hand upon his heart.

Meanwhile Cymochles awoke, marched to the shore to require passage, met Phædria with Sir Guyon, raged and attacked him. Phædria stayed their fight by pleasing words, and as Guyon was not to be won by her allurements, she gladly carried him in her boat across the water to the further shore. There he was gladly landed, and found Atin where he had been left by Cymochles. Atin railed at Sir Guyon and shook his steel-head dart; but Guyon mastered with reason his own passion of resentment and passed on, But then came running on foot an armed and bleeding knight, who dashed into the water, battling fiercely with its waves. Atin saw that it was his master Pyrochles, who burnt in flames of unseen fire, and sought in vain to drown himself in the thick waves of the sluggish lake. While Atin plunged into the lake and struggled for the rescue of Pyrochles, Archimago came to the shore one in an ancient gown,

as

In the next canto, the seventh, we read how Sir Guyon travelled on until he found the home of Mammon, and here the Knight of Temperance was tried by a new form of temptation to excess. Mountains of wealth were his if he would serve Mammon. The elfin knight reasoned with Mammon against the intemperance of Covetise. Then he was taken by a darksome way under the ground, and among the evil spirits of the underworld, to a little gate hard by the gate of hell. The door closed behind him as he entered with Mammon, and an ugly fiend starting from behind it, a covetous spirit, followed with overhanging claws to seize him if he coveted. Guyon saw the world of the Money God, and still resisted all his offers.

They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward, And their bright Squadrons round about us plant; And all for love, and nothing for reward.

"Suffice it then, thou Money God," quoth he,
"That all thine idle offers I refuse.

All that I need I have; what needeth me

To covet more than I have cause to use?
With such vain shows thy worldings vile abuse;
But give me leave to follow mine emprise."

But Mammon led "him further to entise," and brought him to a door by which was a golden monster called Disdain, who bore an iron club in his right hand, and brandished his club for attack. But Mammon pacified Disdain, and led Guyon into a massive temple, wherein every golden pillar

Guyon courteously avoided the offer of the fair Philotimé to be his mate. Then Mammon took him to the golden apples in the garden of Proserpina. The branches of this tree overhung the dark river of Cocytus, where Tantalus, plunged to the chin, sought vainly to drink of the water below, or reach to the fruit above, and Pilate sought in vain to wash his hands clean. But three days of trial in this underworld had wasted Guyon's strength, and when he returned to upper air he fell into a deadly

swoon.

This brings the allegory to its eighth canto, the place of the intervention of divine Grace, and again the opening of the canto shows distinctly the purpose of the poet.

[CANTO VIII.]

I.

And is there care in heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures bace, That may compassion of their evilles move? There is: else much more wretched were the cace Of men then beasts. But O! th' exceeding grace Of highest God that loves his creatures so, And all his workes with mercy doth embrace, That blesséd Angels he sends to and fro,

To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.

II.

How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us that succour want! How oft do they with golden pineons cleave The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant, Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant!

O! why should hevenly God to men have such regard?

III.

During the while that Guyon did abide

In Mamons house, the Palmer, whom whyleare
That wanton Mayd of passage had denide,
By further search had passage found elsewhere;
And, being on his way, approchéd neare
Where Guyon lay in traunce; when suddenly
He heard a voyce that calléd lowd and cleare,
"Come hither! hither! O, come hastily!"
That all the fields resounded with the ruefull cry.

IV.

The Palmer lent his eare unto the noyce, To weet who called so importunely: Againe he heard a more efforcéd voyce, That bad him come in haste. He by and by His feeble feet directed to the cry; Which to that shady delve him brought at last, Where Mammon earst did sunne his threasury; There the good Guyon he found slumbring fast In senceles dreame; which sight at first him sore aghast.

V.

Beside his head there satt a faire young man, Of wondrous beauty and of freshest yeares, Whose tender bud to blossome new began, And florish faire above his equall peares : His snowy front, curléd with golden heares, Like Phoebus face adornd with sunny rayes, Divinely shone; and two sharpe wingéd sheares, Deckéd with diverse plumes, like painted Jayes, Were fixéd at his backe to cut his ayery wayes.

VI.

Like as Cupido on Idæan hill, When having laid his cruell bow away And mortall arrowes, wherewith he doth fill The world with murdrous spoiles and bloody pray, With his faire mother he him dights to play, And with his goodly sisters, Graces three: The Goddesse, pleaséd with his wanton play, Suffers her selfe through sleepe beguild to bee, The whiles the other Ladies mind theyr mery glee.

VII.

Whom when the Palmer saw, abasht he was Through fear and wonder that he nought could say, Till him the childe bespoke; "Long lackt, alas! Hath bene thy faithfull aide in hard assay, Whiles deadly fitt thy pupill doth dismay. Behold this heavy sight, thou reverend Sire! But dread of death and dolor doe away; For life ere long shall to her home retire, And he that breathlesse seems shal corage both respire.

VIII.

"The charge, which God doth unto me arrett, Of his deare safety, I to thee commend; Yet will I not forgoe, ne yet forgett The care thereof my selfe unto the end, But evermore him succour, and defend

Against his foe and mine: watch thou, I pray;

For evill is at hand him to offend."

So having said, eftsoones he gan display

His painted nimble wings, and vanisht quite away.

Archimago now appears again with Atin, the swiftfooted page, flying in front, and the two sons of Acrates, Pyrochles and Cymochles. Still Guyon lies in his swoon with the black Palmer by his side. Archimago points to Guyon as their enemy, and they are about to strip him of his arms as he lies helpless, when Prince Arthur comes. Archimago knows him, and cries to the brethren that they must rise quickly and address themselves to battle,

"For yonder comes the prowest knight alive, Prince Arthur, flower of grace and nobiless,"

The fierce Pyrochles, lacking his own sword, asked
for the sword in Archimago's hand. When told that
it was made by Merlin with magic power for Arthur,
that neither steel nor stone could defend from its
stroke, but that it would not strike against its
rightful owner, Pyrochles rudely snatched it from
him and bound Guyon's shield about his wrist.
Arthur learnt from the Palmer Guyon's condition
and his present danger. "But you, fair sir," said the
Palmer,
"whose honourable sight

Doth promise hope of help and timely grace,
Mote I beseech to succour his sad plight,
And by your power protect his feeble case!

But of thing like to that Ægyptian slime,
Whereof king Nine whilome built Babell towre.
But O great pitty! that no lenger time

So goodly workemanship should not endure:
Soone it must turne to earth; no earthly thing is sure.

XXII.

The frame thereof seemd partly circulare,

And part triangulare; O worke divine!
Those two the first and last proportions are;
The one imperfect, mortall, fœminine,
Th' other immortall, perfect, masculine;
And twixt them both a quadrate was the base,
Proportiond equally by seven and nine;
Nine was the circle sett in heavens place:
All which compacted made a goodly Diapase.1

XXIII.

Therein two gates were placéd seemly well: The one before, by which all in did pas, Did th' other far in workmanship excell; For not of wood, nor of enduring bras, But of more worthy substance fram'd it was: Doubly disparted, it did locke and close, That when it lockéd none might thorough pas, And when it opened, no man might it close; Still open to their friendes, and closed to their foes.

XXIV.

Of hewen stone the porch was fayrely wrought, Stone more of valew, and more smooth and fine, Then jett or marble far from Ireland brought; Over the which was cast a wandring vine, Enchaced with a wanton yvie twine; And over it a fayre portcullis hong, Which to the gate directly did incline With comely compasse and compacture strong, Nether unseemly short, nor yet exceeding long.

1 This twenty-second stanza gives a general sketch of the building before particular details are dwelt upon. In that general sketch the head and legs are first suggested, the trunk then placed between them. Mystical proportions, which actually accord with proportions of the body, are suggested, and the stanza closes with admiration of the harmony of workmanship in all. The circular part is the head. The triangle is formed by the legs when parted. The last proportion imperfect, a triangle that needs to be completed by the ground; mortal; and feminine, because thence the continuance of the race. The first proportion, the circle, perfect; immortal, because the seat of intellect; masculine, because that sex was associated by men with intellectual power. Betwixt head and legs the trunk, with the arms hanging by its side, "a quadrate, was the base." A piece of tape will show that the proportion of a quadrate so formed is in a man of natural figure as seven to nine. "Nine was the circle set in heaven's place." The same piece of tape that reaches from the shoulders to the knuckles as the arm hangs by the side forming the longer side of the quadrate, exactly measures the circle of the head, the most exalted part of the human frame, "the circle set in heaven's place." This explanation of the stanza, which has been the subject of much waste erudition, was first given by me in the Athenæum for the 12th of August, 1848, in a short paper signed only by my initials. It will be seen that the reference to seven and nine takes away all doubt, if there could be any, as to the accuracy of the interpretation, which is only to be questioned by the learned upon the ground of its being ridiculously simple. It is not simpler than the necessary interpretation in the following stanzas of a moustache as the wandering vine, the nose as a fair portcullis, the tongue as a porter with a larum bell, the teeth as twice sixteen warders, and so forth. It is true that the simplicity of the right reading contrasts ludicrously with the sackload of erudition under which Sir Kenelm Digby buried the poor unoffending lines,

Lond." Then follows, in the tenth canto, an ingenious record of the romance of old British history from Geoffrey of Monmouth, which, leading up to Prince Arthur, breaks off abruptly, so as to leave Arthur's origin still mystical. Then it passes to the roll of Elfin Emperors till the time of Gloriana, and folds a double allegory in the sequence, which may be read as shadowing Elizabeth's succession from the preceding English kings, and also the succession of a pure and reformed Christianity from preceding religions-heathen, Greek, and so forthin the spiritual world. Returning then to Guyon and Arthur in the Dwelling Place of Temperance, the human body, the eleventh canto represents the war of the affections that seek to bring Alma, the soul, into captivity. Here again it is Prince Arthur who saves. And now the Knight of Temperance, well trained for the last conflict, proceeds alone to the achievement of his crowning adventure. Over the dangerous waves, with the black Palmer for steersman, Guyon passes, avoiding the Gulf of Greediness, the Rock of Vile Reproach, Phædria's enticements, the quicksand of Unthriftyhead, with many perils more, until they reached the Bower of Bliss,

When thus the Palmer: "Now, sir, well avise;
For here the end of all our travel is:

Here wones Acrasia, whom we must surprise,
Else she will slip away, and all our drift despise."

Then they heard melodies, with sound of falling waters and the song of birds, and saw where the Witch hung over a new lover.