EDMUND SPENSER.

1552-1598.

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 gather'd flowers to fill their flasket,
And with fine fingers cropp'd full featously
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 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 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 amazèd 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,

Tell Schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming!
If Arts and Schools reply

Give Arts and Schools the lie!

Tell Faith, it's fled the City!

Tell how the Country erreth!
Tell, Manhood shakes off pity!
Tell, Virtue least preferreth!
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie!

So when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing,

Stab at thee he that will!

No stab the soul can kill.

A VISION

Upon the Conceit of the Faery Queen.

Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Within that temple where the Vestal flame
Was wont to burn; and, passing by that way
To see that buried dust of living fame
Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept,
All suddenly I saw the Faery Queen :

At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept;
And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen,
For they this Queen attended in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse.
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,
Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief,
And cursed the access of that celestial thief.

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 Tempè'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 these 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 heavens' glory, whom this happy hour
Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower,
Joy may you have and gentle hearts' 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!