Corona Reginarum
Containing
The Legend of the Veritable Queene of Faerie,
or
Of Clemency

I.
I that the praise of Gloriana long
have sung—th'abundance of her gracious reign,
the sanctuary where the Muses throng
her hall, her crown restoring peace again—
these notes have built the chords of my refrain,
plucked forth from heart-strings tuned by gratitude
to her wise power—may it never wane
but ever shine, divine beatitude!—
E'en I, upon my pillow as I lay,
perchance in sleep, I saw a courtly host
of brightly 'tired lords and ladies gay
a-maying in a merry wood long lost
to human footfalls. And their voices sang
the praises of their Queene 'til woodlands rang.

II.
The praises of their Queene 'til woodlands rang
(the birches swayed in time and beeches' leaves
harmonious murmurs made—a piercing pang
of joy it was to hear and those bright greaves
fire-flashing in the sun and tippet sleeves
grass-green to see) sang forth this company
full heartily with one accord as sheaves
of lilies wild and daffodils with glee
they gathered. Snowdrops laced the ladies' hair
and crocus peeped from out their girdles bright.
Few earthly folk there ever were so fair,
no earthly music e'er brought such delight.
It trembled in the air at undrentide—
methought the vision could not long abide.

III.
Methought the vision could not long abide,
for by its woodsome thrill their melody
and by their maenad eyes I soon descried
this was a festal faerie company—
not such as wishes grant for ha'penny,
but wild, wild men and maids of gladsome pride
and temper quick, who for honour many
wounds would inflict on those who dared deride
their nation or their monarch's majesty.
I trembling watche'd then and eke did pray
that in their maying they would soon pass by
the spot at bay-tree's roots whereat I lay.
But scarce had my heart's lips uttered this cry
when one fair faerie knight me keenly spied.

IV.
When one fair faerie knight me keenly spied,
"Hola!" he called. "What have we here? Come, come!"
From out the brush he drew me forth. I tried
to meet his curious gaze, but faerie drums'
and faerie harps' enchanting, pulsing thrums
proclaiming royalty's approachment nigh
at once captured my eyes and struck me dumb.
For there, upon a white mare seated high,
arrayed in emerald robes and crowned with stars,
the Faerie Queene appeared, and in her eyes
I read the histories of coming wars
and my own doom in their quick-dark'ning skies.
"Fyrsil," said she, "is this the man, say you?"
"'Tis he," was the reply. "He has betrayed you."

V.
"'Tis he," was the reply. "He has betrayed you."
The music ceased. A silence filled the glade.
My tongue was lead, for mercy could not sue.
The faerie knights round us a circle made,
fing'ring the hilts of adamantine blades,
while faerie maidens back their skirts they drew.
All stared with bright inhuman eyes. Afraid
I was, unknowing what or how to do.
At length my'accuser spoke: "From what is true
this man, this mortal 'poet' far has strayed—
but how shall we his vanity subdue?
His death a price too little is to pay
for thy dishonour, thy just fame now marred."
"Peace, Fyrsil," quoth the Queene. "Ye are my bard—"

VI.
"Peace, Fyrsil," quoth the Queene. "Ye are my bard,
not yet my counsellor. Speak not to me
of my disgrace—it pricks me all too hard.
Dost think thy ragged envy I not see?
Since that thou canst indite, far better he,
a monarch's praise, must thou him here abjure,
e'en sentence him ere I have heard his plea?
I shall mete justice here, thou may'st be sure."
On me she fixed her fiery eyes and spoke:
"Thou spew'st forth books of sulph'rous lies no whit
less black than those thy books condemn. Hast broke
the law of truthfastness. Vain mortal! Sit
I here in judgement. If in ignorance
hast done me wrong, not in maleficence—"

VII.
"—hast done me wrong, not in maleficence
aforethought, but in error mere, I say,
I shall release you in beneficence
on trial for one year and yet a day,
that in that time your goodwill to me may
ye prove, not praising Gloriana then
as she the Queene of Faerie were, a Fay
of royal Morgan's line—vile falsehood!—when
I, Sylvania, such a lineage boast
that her and Arthur both my forebears call,
a regal ancestry no swagg'ring host
of Tudors—only mortals!—match withal.
If in this time you praise me as you should,
I shall relinquish my claim to your blood."

Envoy
'Tis by her gracious gift I now record
past wrongs, and praise her mercy as my skill affords.
And now I beg thee, reader, pray for me
that I be spared the wrath of th'other royal she,
whose livery in verse I wore so long
and but of late necessity have changed my song.

 

Felicity Maxwell says,
"I've been writing poetry for ten years. Although I've tried a few other forms and write in blank verse most often, I'm drawn to the sonnet like the climber to the tree, excited by the challenge of its intricacies and restraints. Since first reading the works of the Elizabethan sonneteers, I've wanted to write a crown of interlocking sonnets--and what better occasion than this contest? I've tried to give these sonnets a rhyme pattern suggestive of Spenser's while treating his position as a court poet from a new perspective. Unfortunately, I've made rather free with his character in the process, for which I beg his pardon.

As a side note, my favourite fruits are kiwis, pomegranates, and the black raspberries from the backyard. But pumpkins have the prettiest flowers."

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