Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.

Edmund Spenser

LIII. 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 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 chancèd 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, entrailèd 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 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,

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 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, enrangèd 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 whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide,

Till they decay’d through pride;

Next whereunto there stands a stately place,

Where oft I gainèd 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 triumphs’ 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 Elisa’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 issúing

Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair

In th’ ocean billows he hath bathèd 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,

Received 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.