Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Edmund Spenser. 1552–159981. Prothalamion
CALME was the day, and through the trembling ayre | |
Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play | |
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay | |
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre; | |
When I, (whom sullein care, | 5 |
Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay | |
In Princes Court, and expectation vayne | |
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away, | |
Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,) | |
Walkt forth to ease my payne | 10 |
Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes; | |
Whose rutty Bancke, the which his River hemmes, | |
Was paynted all with variable flowers, | |
And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes | |
Fit to decke maydens bowres, | 15 |
And crowne their Paramours | |
Against the Brydale day, which is not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | |
There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, | |
A Flocke of Nymphes I chauncèd to espy, | 20 |
All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby, | |
With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde, | |
As each had bene a Bryde; | |
And each one had a little wicker basket, | |
Made of fine twigs, entrayl`d curiously, | 25 |
In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, | |
And with fine Fingers cropt full feateously | |
The tender stalkes on hye. | |
Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew, | |
They gathered some; the Violet, pallid blew, | 30 |
The little Dazie, that at evening closes, | |
The virgin Lillie, and the Primrose trew, | |
With store of vermeil Roses, | |
To decke their Bridegromes posies | |
Against the Brydale day, which was not long: | 35 |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | |
With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe | |
Come softly swimming downe along the Lee; | |
Two fairer Birds I yet did never see; | |
The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, | 40 |
Did never whiter shew; | |
Nor Jove himselfe, when he a Swan would be, | |
For love of Leda, whiter did appeare; | |
Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, | |
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare; | 45 |
So purely white they were, | |
That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, | |
Seem’d foule to them, and bad his billowes spare | |
To wet their silken feathers, least they might | |
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, | 50 |
And marre their beauties bright, | |
That shone as heavens light, | |
Against their Brydale day, which was not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | |
Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill, | 55 |
Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, | |
As they came floating on the Christal Flood; | |
Whom when they sawe, they stood amazèd still, | |
Their wondring eyes to fill; | |
Them seem’d they never saw a sight so fayre, | 60 |
Of Fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme | |
Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre | |
Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme; | |
For sure they did not seeme | |
To be begot of any earthly Seede, | 65 |
But rather Angels, or of Angels breede; | |
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say, | |
In sweetest Season, when each Flower and weede | |
The earth did fresh aray; | |
So fresh they seem’d as day, | 70 |
Even as their Brydale day, which was not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | |
Then forth they all out of their baskets drew | |
Great store of Flowers, the honour of the field, | |
That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, | 75 |
All which upon those goodly Birds they threw | |
And all the Waves did strew, | |
That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme, | |
When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore, | |
Scattred with Flowres, through Thessaly they streeme, | 80 |
That they appeare, through Lillies plenteous store, | |
Like a Brydes Chamber flore. | |
Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound | |
Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead they found, | |
The which presenting all in trim Array, | 85 |
Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd, | |
Whil’st one did sing this Lay, | |
Prepar’d against that Day, | |
Against their Brydale day, which was not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | 90 |
‘Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament, | |
And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower | |
Doth leade unto your lovers blisfull bower, | |
Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content | |
Of your loves couplement; | 95 |
And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love, | |
With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile, | |
Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remove | |
All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile | |
For ever to assoile. | 100 |
Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord, | |
And blessèd Plentie wait upon your bord; | |
And let your bed with pleasures chast abound, | |
That fruitfull issue may to you afford, | |
Which may your foes confound, | 105 |
And make your joyes redound | |
Upon your Brydale day, which is not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softlie, till I end my Song.’ | |
So ended she; and all the rest around | |
To her redoubled that her undersong, | 110 |
Which said their brydale daye should not be long: | |
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground | |
Their accents did resound. | |
So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along, | |
Adowne the Lee, that to them murmurde low, | 115 |
As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong, | |
Yet did by signes his glad affection show, | |
Making his streame run slow. | |
And all the foule which in his flood did dwell | |
Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell | 120 |
The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend | |
The lesser starres. So they, enrangèd well, | |
Did on those two attend, | |
And their best service lend | |
Against their wedding day, which was not long: | 125 |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | |
At length they all to mery London came, | |
To mery London, my most kyndly Nurse, | |
That to me gave this Lifes first native sourse, | |
Though from another place I take my name, | 130 |
An house of auncient fame: | |
There when they came, whereas those bricky towres | |
The which on Themmes brode agèd backe doe ryde, | |
Where now the studious Lawyers have their bowers, | |
There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde, | 135 |
Till they decayd through pride: | |
Next whereunto there standes a stately place, | |
Where oft I gaynèd giftes and goodly grace | |
Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell, | |
Whose want too well now feeles my freendles case; | 140 |
But ah! here fits not well | |
Olde woes, but joyes, to tell | |
Against the Brydale daye, which is not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | |
Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer, | 145 |
Great Englands glory, and the Worlds wide wonder, | |
Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder, | |
And Hercules two pillors standing neere | |
Did make to quake and feare: | |
Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie! | 150 |
That fillest England with thy triumphes fame, | |
Joy have thou of thy noble victorie, | |
And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name | |
That promiseth the same; | |
That through thy prowesse, and victorious armes, | 155 |
Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes; | |
And great Elisaes glorious name may ring | |
Through al the world, fil’d with thy wide Alarmes, | |
Which some brave muse may sing | |
To ages following, | 160 |
Upon the Brydale day, which is not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly till I end my Song. | |
From those high Towers this noble Lord issuing, | |
Like Radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre | |
In th’ Ocean billowes he hath bathèd fayre, | 165 |
Descended to the Rivers open vewing, | |
With a great traine ensuing. | |
Above the rest were goodly to bee seene | |
Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature, | |
Beseeming well the bower of anie Queene, | 170 |
With gifts of wit, and ornaments of nature, | |
Fit for so goodly stature, | |
That like the twins of Jove they seem’d in sight, | |
Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heavens bright; | |
They two, forth pacing to the Rivers side, | 175 |
Received those two faire Brides, their Loves delight; | |
Which, at th’ appointed tyde, | |
Each one did make his Bryde | |
Against their Brydale day, which is not long: | |
Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song. | 180 |