LONGER ENGLISH POEMS. SPENSER. PROTHALAMION. CALME was the day, and through the trembling ayre A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre, Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,) Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes; And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes Fit to decke maydens bowres 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 Riuers side, A Flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy, And each one had a little wicker basket, In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, B 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 And with fine Fingers cropt full feateously Of euery sort, which in that Meadow grew To decke their Bridegromes posies 30 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; The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, 40 Nor Joue himselfe, when he a Swan would be, For loue 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 euen the gentle streame, the which them bare, Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, 50 That shone as heavens light, Against their Brydale day, which was not long. Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song. Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill, 55 As they came floating on the Christal Flood; Their wondring eyes to fill; Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre, Co Of Fowles so louely, that they sure did deeme Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme ; 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 So fresh they seem'd as day, 70 Euen 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 That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme, 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, Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd, Prepar'd against that Day, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: (Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.) "Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament, "And let faire Venus, that is Queene of loue, "Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord, "And make your joyes redound "Vpon your Brydale day, which is not long." Sweet Themmes ! runne softlie, till I end my Song. |