circumstances
correspond with those ascribed to the lady by her worshipper, may we
not most reasonably conclude that we have at length discovered the
long-lost secret?

To begin with the beginning,--the "Amoretti." Here she is an _Angel_,
in all moods and tenses, the "leaves," "lines," and "rhymes" are
taught, that, "when they behold that _Angel's_ blessed look," they
shall "seek her to please alone." [15] In a subsequent sonnet, she is
an:

"_Angel_ come to lead frail minds to rest
In chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound." [16]

Again, the poet denies that

"The glorious portrait of that _Angel's_ face"

can be expressed by any art, by pen or pencil. [17]

Again, she is

"Of the brood of _Angels_ heavenly born." [18]

And yet again, she is

"Divine and born of heavenly seed." [19]

Once more we are bid

"Go visit her in her chaste bower of rest,
Accompanied with _Angel-like_ delights." [20]

Turn we next to the "Epithalamion." And here the same cuckoo-note is
repeated _usque ad nauseam_. We are told, that, to look upon her,

"we should ween
Some _Angel_ she had been." [21]

Even her bridesmaids (her sisters, probably) are thought to be
_Angels_, and, addressing them, the bridegroom says,

"Sing, ye sweet _Angels_, Alleluya sing!" [22]

Finally, in "Colin Clout's come home again," the poet very
dexterously evades the royal anger of Elizabeth, sure to be aroused
by the preference of any beauty to her own. To deceive the Queen,--to
whom, in gratitude for past favors, and, mayhap, with a lively
appreciation of others yet to come, he is offering up homage,--he
describes her Majesty by the very same imagery he had elsewhere
employed to depict his lady-love; and ostensibly applies to the
royal Elizabeth the amatory terms which are covertly meant for an
Elizabeth of his own,--between whom and her royal type he either saw
or affected to see a personal resemblance. Here we find her placed
by the poet:

"Amongst the seats of _Angels_ heavenly wrought,
Much like an _Angel_ in all form and fashion."

The metaphoric 'Angel' of enamored swains is at once so trite and
obvious, that both the invention and vocabulary of the lover who
abides by it so perpetually must have been poor and narrow beyond
anything we can conceive of Spenser's fecundity of language and
imagery, if we sit down content to imagine that no more is meant by
its recurrence than meets the eye. We are s