The Golden Treasury. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare

       To wet their silken feathers, lest they might

       Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair,

       And mar their beauties bright

       That shone as Heaven's light

       Against their bridal day, which was not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

       Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill,

       Ran all in haste to see that silver brood

       As they came floating on the crystal flood;

       Whom when they saw, they stood amazéd still

       Their wondering eyes to fill;

       Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair

       Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem

       Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair

       Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team;

       For sure they did not seem

       To be begot of any earthly seed,

       But rather angels, or of angels' breed;

       Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say,

       In sweetest season, when each flower and weed

       The earth did fresh array;

       So fresh they seem'd as day,

       Even as their bridal day, which was not long:

       Sweet Thames! run 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,

       All which upon those goodly birds they threw

       And all the waves did strew,

       That like old Peneus' waters they did seem

       When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore

       Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream,

       That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store,

       Like a bride's chamber-floor.

       Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound

       Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found,

       The which presenting all in trim array,

       Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown'd

       Whilst one did sing this lay

       Prepar'd against that day,

       Against their bridal day, which was not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

       "Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament,

       And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour

       Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower,

       Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content

       Of your loves complement;

       And let fair Venus, that is queen of love,

       With her heart-quelling son upon you smile,

       Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove

       All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile

       For ever to assoil.

       Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord,

       And blesséd plenty wait upon your board;

       And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound,

       That fruitful issue may to you afford

       Which may your foes confound,

       And make your joys redound

       Upon your bridal day, which is not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song."

       So ended she; and all the rest around

       To her redoubled that her undersong,

       Which said their bridal day should not be long:

       And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground

       Their accents did resound.

       So forth those joyous birds did pass along

       Adown the lee that to them murmur'd low,

       As he would speak but that he lack'd a tongue,

       Yet did by signs his glad affection show,

       Making his stream run slow.

       And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell

       'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel

       The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend

       The lesser stars. So they, enrangéd well,

       Did on those two attend,

       And their best service lend

       Against their wedding day, which was not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

       At length they all to merry London came,

       To merry London, my most kindly nurse,

       That to me gave this life's first native source,

       Though from another place I take my name,

       An house of ancient fame:

       There when they came whereas those bricky towers

       The which on Thames' broad agéd back do ride,

       Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers,

       There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide,

       Till they decay'd through pride:

       Next whereunto there stands a stately place,

       Where oft I gainéd gifts and goodly grace

       Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell,

       Whose want too well now feels my friendless case;

       But ah! here fits not well

       Old woes, but joys to tell

       Against the bridal day, which is not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

       Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer,

       Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder,

       Whose dreadful name late thro' all Spain did thunder,

       And Hercules' two pillars standing near

       Did make to quake and fear:

       Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry!

       That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame

       Joy have thou of thy noble victory,

       And endless happiness of thine own name

       That promiseth the same;

       That through thy prowess and victorious arms,

       Thy country may be freed from foreign harms,

       And great Eliza's glorious name may ring

       Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms

       Which some brave Muse may sing

       To ages following,

       Upon the bridal day, which is not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly till I end my song.

       From those high towers this noble lord issúing,

       Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair

       In th' ocean billows he hath bathéd fair,