Prothalamion

    CALM was the day, and through the trembling air

    Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play

    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 prince's 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 chanced 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, entrailed curiously,

  In which they gathered 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 gathered 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 strew,

  Did never whiter shew,

  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 bad 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 amazed still,

  Their wond'ring 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 Somers-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,

  Scatt'red 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 heart's content

  Of your love's 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 blessed 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, enranged 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 aged back do ride,

  Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers,

  There whilom wont the Templar Knights to bide,

  Till they decay'd through pride:

  Next whereunto there stands a stately place,

  Where oft I gained 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 through 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 triumph's 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 issuing,

  Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair

  In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair,

  Descended to the river's open viewing,

  With a great train ensuing.

  Above the rest were goodly to be seen

  Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature,

  Beseeming well the bower of any queen,

  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 deck the baldric of the heavens bright;

  They two, forth pacing to the river's side,

  Receiv'd those two fair brides, their love's delight;

  Which, at th' appointed tide,

  Each one did make his bride

  Against their bridal day, which is not long:

    Sweet Thames run softly, till I end my song.