The Golden Treasury. Various

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       A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay

       Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair;

       When I, (whom sullen care,

       Through discontent of my long fruitless stay

       In princes' court, and expectation vain

       Of idle hopes, which still do fly away

       Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain)

       Walk'd forth to ease my pain

       Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames; Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, Was painted all with variable flowers, And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems Fit to deck maidens' bowers, And crown their paramours Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

      There in a meadow by the river's side

       A flock of nymphs I chancéd to espy,

       All lovely daughters of the flood thereby,

       With goodly greenish locks all loose untied

       As each had been a bride;

       And each one had a little wicker basket

       Made of fine twigs, entrailéd curiously.

       In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket,

       And with fine fingers cropt full feateously

       The tender stalks on high.

       Of every sort which in that meadow grew

       They gather'd some; the violet, pallid blue,

       The little daisy that at evening closes,

       The virgin lily and the primrose true,

       With store of vermeil roses,

       To deck their bridegrooms' posies

       Against the bridal day, which was not long:

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

      With that I saw two Swans of goodly hue

       Come softly swimming down along the Lee;

       Two fairer birds I yet did never see;

       The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow

       Did never whiter show,

       Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be

       For love of Leda, whiter did appear;

       Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he,

       Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near;

       So purely white they were

       That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,

       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,

       Ev'n 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

       Prepared 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 heart's content

       Of your love's couplement;

       And let fair Venus, that is queen of love,

       With her heart-quelling son upon you smile,

       Whose smile, they say, hath СКАЧАТЬ