EDMUND SPENSER, the author of “The Faery Queen,” was born somewhere in the shadow of the Tower of London, in the year 1553, when Queen Elizabeth was mistress of the English throne. Whether he was of “good blood,” as the genealogists would call it, we do not know. His veins ran blood refined by pure poetic fires, and that is enough for us who love him.
Like most poets, he was poor. And he lived in days when his verses would not bring him an income. Then the poet was forced to seek some wealthy patron, who would keep him, as he kept a fine horse or a rare breed of dog, and throw him some crumbs of preferment, or a purse of gold, now and then, so that the poor verse-maker might not starve over his work.
Fortunately, when young Edmund Spenser came to court to seek its favor, he was introduced first to that rare gentleman, himself a poet, Sir Philip Sidney, the very sound of whose name is as music in the ears of those who honor chivalrous manhood
