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; Was paynted all with variable flowers, 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 And with fine Fingers cropt full feateously Of euery sort, which in that Meadow grew To decke their Bridegromes posies 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 The snow, 40 Nor Joue himselfe, when he a Swan would be, 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, 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 Of Fowles so louely, that they sure did deeme Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre 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 75 That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme, Scattred with Flowers, through Thessaly they streeme, 80 That they appeare, through Lillies plenteous store, Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead they found, 85 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 Sweet Themmes ! runne softlie, till I end my Song. 95 100 105 So ended she and all the rest around To her redoubled that her vndersong, So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along, And all the foule which in his flood did dwell And their best seruice lend Against their wedding day, which was not long. 125 Sweete Themmes! run softly, till I end my Song. At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kyndly Nurse, 130 There when they came, whereas those bricky towres 135 Next whereunto there standes a stately place, Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feeles my freendles case; 140 Olde woes, but joyes, to tell Against the bridale daye, which is not long. Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song. Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer, 145 Great Englands glory, and the Worlds wide wonder, Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder, Did make to quake and feare. Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie! And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name That through thy prowesse and victorious armes To ages following Vpon the Brydale day, which is not long. Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song. From those high Towers this noble Lord issuing, Like Radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre In th' Ocean billowes he hath bathed fayre, Aboue the rest were goodly to bee seene Two gentle Knights of louely face and feature, That like the twins of Joue they seem'd in sight, Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heauens bright. They two, forth pacing to the Riuers side, 175 Receiued those two faire Brides, their Loues delight; Each one did make his Bryde Against their Brydale day, which is not long. Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song. 180 |