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 let fair Venus, that is queen of love, Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, 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 Which said their bridal day should not be long, So forth those joyous birds did pass along And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 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, There when they came, whereas those bricky towers Next whereunto there stands a stately place, Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, 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 honor, 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 through thy prowess and victorious arms 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 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, That like the twins of Jove they seemed in sight, Each one did make his bride Against their bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. Edmund Spenser. * 107 * INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. You know, we French stormed Ratisbon : On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow, Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans Let once my army-leader, Lannes, Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew Full-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. Then off there flung in smiling joy, By just his horse's mane, a boy: "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace. And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire. The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes : "You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, sire!" and, his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead. * 108* Robert Browning TO A SKY-LARK. Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 3 In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 2 All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not; |