The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. August
ON THE THAMES
The river Thames has many a dear delight
In summer days for souls which know not guile,
Or souls too careless of the vain world's spite
To heed its frowning while the heavens smile.
In boyhood all our pleasure was in toil,
As with bent backs we laboured at the oar;
We loved to spend our strength in the turmoil
Of speed disputed, conquered, conqueror.
But other years brought other joys. Alas!
Where is fair Rosamund, our heart's first queen,
Whose foot so lightly trod with us the grass,
Though burdened with the hundred loves of men,
At Kew, at Skindle's? But no more of this.
We still have joys, and still old Thames is green.
Still on his back we float awhile and press
His hand in hope, and call it happiness.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Related quotes
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
Thames River arises at Gloucestershire,
flows thro' London, the capital of U.K;
Thames River is tidal in London
With a rise and fall of 7 meters,
The river is fed by more than 20 tributaries;
The Thames River which flows alongside
several other towns and cities -
Oxford, Reading, Henley-on-Thames,
Windsor, Kingston upon Thames and Richmond -
is beautiful;
Thames River has a total length of 215 mile,
River banks on either side are beautiful,
Pavement strolling stretch on either side
is beautiful;
Boats sailing in Thames river are beautiful,
Young women who sail in the boats are beautiful,
White swan pairs' which swim in the river are beautiful;
Watching swans from the bridge,
- which spans Reading and Caversham -
somersaulting to catch the fish
is still more exciting and beautiful!
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Watching Swans From Caversham Bridge
Thames! Beautiful Thames! !
Thames flows through London
Thames is tidal With a rise and fall
of 7 meters in London;
Thames flows through 'Reading'
And its banks are beautiful,
Pavement strolling stretch on either side
is beautiful;
Boats sailing in Thames
Young women who sail in the boats
White swan pairs' which swim in the river
are beautiful;
Watching from Caversham bridge,
somersaulting swans catching the fish
is still more exciting!
Thames! Beautiful Thames! !
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Moon Shining Over The London Bridge
The sky is dark now
And the night is here again
But there is a moon shining over the London Bridge right over the sky
And I keep watching that moon while I rest for a while at the Thames River
But I can't take my eyes of the moon that is shining over the London Bridge right over the sky because it is beautiful to see
And at the same time it is getting late now but I don't mind at all because I Rather stay all night at The Thames river watching the moon shining over The London Bridge right over the sky
Yes the Big Ben chined midnight now and London is going to sleep
But I am falling asleep now at The Thames river below the naked three That is there at the Thanes River
Also all the buildings near The Thames river have their lights out
And I am sleeping in totall darkness and at the same time enjoying the Peace and quiet of the Thames river during the night
But near the Thames River is always cold and I don't mind at all Because I am dressed for this kind of weather
But this night at the Thames River I will always remember because it Will be the best sleep I ever had in years
poem by Aldo Kraas
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English Names on Canadian Thames
England hath given us the names
To adorn Canadian Thames,
And charms to them she hath lent,
In Oxford, Middlesex and Kent.
She Essex kisseth in her mouth,
And Scottish names, one north, one south ;
And London now she justly claims
She's capital of vale of Thames,
And her strong castellated tower .
Doth on the river frowning lower ;
And Chatham is the river's port,
There slaves for freedom did resort,
And they did industrious toil
And now many own the soil.
Stratford, now, shall be our theme,
On Avon, tributary stream,
And its clear waters it doth launch
Into the Thames, northern branch.
Near that substantial stone town,
St. Mary's, with mills of renown.
Some imagine the Thames is too insignificant a stream
to be sung in verse.' Distance lends enchantment to
the view. and they fancy the old Scottish rivers are
more worthy of song ; but many of them are polluted of
late years with vile odors from factories ; and, as the
county of Oxford is agreeably diversified with hills
and dales, the clear, sparkling stream, flowing over a
pebbly bottom, is indeed 'a thing of beauty and a joy forever.'
poem by James McIntyre
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Remembrance of Collins
Composed upon the Thames near Richmond
Glide gently, thus for ever glide,
O Thames! that other bards may see
As lovely visions by thy side
As now, fair river! come to me.
O glide, fair stream! for ever so,
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
Till all our minds for ever flow
As thy deep waters now are flowing.
Vain thought!--Yet be as now thou art,
That in thy waters may be seen
The image of a poet's heart,
How bright, how solemn, how serene!
Such as did once the Poet bless,
Who murmuring here a later ditty,
Could find no refuge from distress
But in the milder grief of pity.
Now let us, as we float along,
For 'him' suspend the dashing oar;
And pray that never child of song
May know that Poet's sorrows more.
How calm! how still! the only sound,
The dripping of the oar suspended!
--The evening darkness gathers round
By virtue's holiest Powers attended.
poem by William Wordsworth
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A Tried Friend, A True Friend
A friend for you and a friend for me,
A friend to understand;
To cheer the way and help the day
With heart as well as hand:
With heart as well as hand, my dear,
And share the things we 've planned
A tried friend, a true friend,
A friend to understand!
A friend for you and a friend for me,
A friend to hear our call,
When, wrong or right, we wage the fight
With backs against the wall!
With backs against the wall, my dear,
When hope is like to fall
A tried friend, a true friend,
A friend to hear our call!
A friend for you and a friend for me,
To share with us that day
When our ship comes back and naught we lack
Of all for which men pray!
Of all for which men pray, my dear,
That long has gone astray
A tried friend, a true friend,
To share with us that day!
Oh, side by side, on roads untried,
Two souls may better speed
Than one who goes the road he knows
With none to give him heed!
With none to give him heed, my dear,
And help when there is need
A tried friend, a true friend,
A friend, a friend indeed!
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet V
The physical world itself is a fair thing
For who has eyes to see or ears to hear.
To--day I fled on my new freedom's wind,
With the first swallows of the parting year,
Southwards from England. At the Folkestone pier
I left the burden of my sins behind,
Noting how gay the noon was, and how clear
The tide's fresh laughter rising to no wind.
A hundred souls of men there with my own
Smiled in that sunshine. 'Tis a little measure
Makes glad the heart at sea, and not alone
Do wise men kindle to its pulse of pleasure
Here all alike, peers, pedlars, squires, and dames
Forswore their griefs fog--born of Father Thames.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Hymn IV: Ho! Everyone That Thirsts, Draw Nigh
Ho! every one that thirsts, draw nigh!
('Tis God invites the fallen race)
Mercy and free salvation buy;
Buy wine, and milk, and gospel grace.
Come to the living waters, come!
Sinners, obey your Maker's call;
Return, ye weary wanderers, home,
And find my grace is free for all.
See from the Rock a fountain rise!
For you in healing streams it rolls;
Money ye need not bring, nor price,
Ye labouring, burdened, sin-sick souls.
Nothing ye in exchange shall give,
Leave all you have and are behind,
Frankly the gift of God receive,
Pardon and peace in Jesus find.
Why seek ye that which is not bread,
Nor can your hungry souls sustain?
On ashes, husks, and air ye feed;
Ye spend your little all in vain.
In search of empty joys below,
Ye toil with unavailing strife;
Whither, ah! whither would ye go?
I have the words of endless life.
Hearken to me with earnest care,
And freely eat substantial food,
The sweetness of my mercy share,
And taste that I alone am good.
I bid you all my goodness prove,
My promises for all are free,
Come, taste the manna of my love,
And let your souls delight in me.
Your willing ear and heart incline,
My words believingly receive;
Quickened your souls by faith divine
An everlasting life shall live.
poem by John Wesley
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Ho! Everyone That Thirsts, Draw Nigh
Ho! every one that thirsts, draw nigh!
('Tis God invites the fallen race)
Mercy and free salvation buy;
Buy wine, and milk, and gospel grace.
Come to the living waters, come!
Sinners, obey your Maker's call;
Return, ye weary wanderers, home,
And find my grace is free for all.
See from the Rock a fountain rise!
For you in healing streams it rolls;
Money ye need not bring, nor price,
Ye labouring, burdened, sin-sick souls.
Nothing ye in exchange shall give,
Leave all you have and are behind,
Frankly the gift of God receive,
Pardon and peace in Jesus find.
Why seek ye that which is not bread,
Nor can your hungry souls sustain?
On ashes, husks, and air ye feed;
Ye spend your little all in vain.
In search of empty joys below,
Ye toil with unavailing strife;
Whither, ah! whither would ye go?
I have the words of endless life.
Hearken to me with earnest care,
And freely eat substantial food,
The sweetness of my mercy share,
And taste that I alone am good.
I bid you all my goodness prove,
My promises for all are free,
Come, taste the manna of my love,
And let your souls delight in me.
Your willing ear and heart incline,
My words believingly receive;
Quickened your souls by faith divine
An everlasting life shall live.
poem by Charles Wesley
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Western Camps
THREE men stood with their glasses lifted,
Night was around them and flaring lamps:
'Here's to the tried and true and sifted;
Here's to the flotsam tossed and drifted;
Here's to the men in the Outcast-camps,
'Stars that fall are their lot for ever;
Lights that perish and stars that fall;
Fighting Fate with a brave heart ever —
Drifting leaves on a wayward river —
Men for ever in spite of all.
'Here's to the gallant souls defeated;
Here's to the strong souls under-trod,
Hope-abandoned and mirage-cheated —
And yet, by right of their failure, seated
Somewhere close to the feet of God.
'Here's to the heart that braves undaunted
Toil and trouble for home and wife;
Here's to the spirit mocked and taunted;
Here's to the memory, sorrow-haunted;
Here's to the soul grown sick of life.
'Drink to the man at the camp-fire sitting;
Drink to his mistress of long ago;
Well — 'twere well — and the time were fitting,
If, in the shades of the firelight flitting,
She should come with her eyes aglow.
'Drink to the purpose, iron, oaken,
Brought to nought by a wanton's guile;
Drink to men with an old love-token
Somewhere close to their brave hearts broken;
Drink to the martyred souls that smile.
'Drink to courage and all fine daring —
Spirit trampling the flesh beneath;
Drink to the reckless heart uncaring;
Drink to mates at the last pinch sharing
Their little all in the face of death.
'Last toast this . . . may their hearts discover,
On every track that the outcast tramps,
A friend in need, and at need a lover,
Green grass around them and kind stars over,
And dreams of peace in their Western Camps.'
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Star-Gazers
WHAT crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by;
A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky:
Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat,
Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float.
The Showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square;
And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair;
Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands ready with the fee,
And envies him that's looking;--what an insight must it be!
Yet, Showman, where can lie the cause? Shall thy Implement have blame,
A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame?
Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault?
Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is yon resplendent vault?
Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here?
Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear?
The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of mightiest fame,
Doth she betray us when they're seen? or are they but a name?
Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong,
And bounty never yields so much but it seems to do her wrong?
Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had
And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad?
Or must we be constrained to think that these Spectators rude,
Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude,
Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie?
No, no, this cannot be;--men thirst for power and majesty!
Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind employ
Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy,
That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign,
Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine!
Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry and pore
Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before:
One after One they take their turn, nor have I one espied
That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Not A Child
'Not a child: I call myself a boy,'
Says my king, with accent stern yet mild,
Now nine years have brought him change of joy;
'Not a child.'
How could reason be so far beguiled,
Err so far from sense's safe employ,
Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild?
Seeing his face bent over book or toy,
Child I called him, smiling: but he smiled
Back, as one too high for vain annoy -
Not a child.
II.
Not a child? alack the year!
What should ail an undefiled
Heart, that he would fain appear
Not a child?
Men, with years and memories piled
Each on other, far and near,
Fain again would so be styled:
Fain would cast off hope and fear,
Rest, forget, be reconciled:
Why would you so fain be, dear,
Not a child?
III.
Child or boy, my darling, which you will,
Still your praise finds heart and song employ,
Heart and song both yearning toward you still,
Child or boy.
All joys else might sooner pall or cloy
Love than this which inly takes its fill,
Dear, of sight of your more perfect joy.
Nay, be aught you please, let all fulfil
All your pleasure; be your world your toy:
Mild or wild we love you, loud or still,
Child or boy.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Why Should I Care for the Men of Thames
Why should I care for the men of thames
Or the cheating waves of charter'd streams
Or shrink at the little blasts of fear
That the hireling blows into my ear
Tho born on the cheating banks of Thames
Tho his waters bathed my infant limbs
The Ohio shall wash his stains from me
I was born a slave but I go to be free.
poem by William Blake
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Bottle-nosed whale of river Thames
Bottle-nosed whale of river Thames
It seems at last you have found fame
In your pitiful plight
Spectators can't wait to catch a glimpse
Of your pitiful sight
But bottle-nosed whale is trapped
Lying low as his last energy is sapped
Frightened by surrounding noises
Disturbed by speculating voices
After swimming miles and miles upstream
Curosity has rewarded him with only broken dreams
Unlike a cat, you have but only one life it seems
Bottle-nosed whale of river Thames
I feel for you all the same
Hope you have found your peace at last
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Despairing Mary
Mary why thus waste thy youth-time in sorrow?
See, a' around you the flowers sweetly blaw;
Blithe sets the sun o'er the wild cliffs of Jura,
Blithe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw.
How can this heart ever mair think of pleasure,
Summer may smile, but delight I ha'e nane;
Cauld in the grave lies my heart's only treasure,
Nature seems dead since my Jamie is gane.
This 'kerchief he gave me, a true lover's token,
Dear, dear to me was the gift for his sake!
I wear't near my heart, but this poor heart is broken,
Hope died with Jamie, and left it to break
Sighing for him, I lie down in the e'ening,
Sighing for him, I awake in the morn;
Spent are my days a' in secret repining,
Peace to this bosom can never return.
Oft have we wander'd in sweetest retirement,
Telling our loves 'neath the moon's silent beam,
Sweet were our meetings of tender endearment,
But fled are these joys like a fleet-passing dream.
Cruel Remembrance, ah! why wilt thou wreck me,
Brooding o er joys that for ever are flown!
Cruel Remembrance, in pity forsake me,
Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown!
poem by Robert Tannahill
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Why should I care for the men of thames...
Why should I care for the men of thames
Or the cheating waves of charterd streams
Or shrink at the little blasts of fear
That the hireling blows into my ear
Tho born on the cheating banks of Thames
Tho his waters bathed my infant limbs
The Ohio shall wash his stains from me
I was born a slave but I go to be free
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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London West
While the Thames meanders gently through the green pasture
fields of Ingersoll, a pleasing picture to behold, how dif-
ferent, alas, is the feeling in London West, where the
river is an object of dread and terror, neither pleasing to
the eye or nostrils. As we have been living for the last
quarter of a century on the edge of one of the tributary
streams of the Thames and were once o'erwhelmed with
ruin dire by a number of the dams giving way, we can
sympathise with them. They are now built strong and
substantial, and the ponds are an ornament to the town,
as well as a source of wealth. The Caledonian Society,
of Ingersoll, donated $50 to the flood sufferers.
The citizens of London West
Their patience oft is put to test
When they behold the various dams
Do cause the floods and the ice jams.
'Tis true that fiercer rages floods
Since country it was stript of woods,
Acid river it doth broader spread
With numerous tile drains quicker fed.
If they did raise embankment high
They might the raging floods defy.
Shall they with sadness gaze ever,
Or with gladness on the river?
River with dams it will not wed,
It wants no strangers in its bed,
And 'gainst them it will rage and fret
for 'tis no gentle rivulet.
poem by James McIntyre
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Farewell To England (A Ballad For The Emigrant)
England, farewell! - not lightly, nor gladly,
Now, at the last, do I bid thee farewell!
Hope may be smiling, but Memory sadly
Weeps for awhile in the penitent's cell:
Yet, O my country! I dare not regret thee;
Providence calls me to come from thy shore;
And, though my spirit shall never forget thee,
England, farewell! - I return nevermore!
'Go to replenish the earth, and subdue it,-
Seek a new country,- seek a new home;'
Never shall doubtfulness make my heart rue it;
God will be with me, wherever I roam!
Duty, and zeal, and need, and ambition,
Drove and persuaded my faith to go forth,-
And, if I fail in my emigrant mission,
Lo! I will fail at the ends of the earth!
England, farewell! With Goodness to guide me,
Pilgrim and stranger, I sail for the South,-
Trusting in Covenant Love to provide me
Food for the spirit, as food for the mouth:
Hope be my beacon, and Hope be my anchor,
Fixing my way-weary steps on a soil
Kind, and uncurst by poverty's canker,
Fresh to my foot, and free to my toil!
There, for the Thames is my clear Yarra-Yarra;
There, in bright Melbourne my London shall be;
There, far away, shall the wild Illawarra
Smile as the Devonshire valleys for me!
There shall my flocks -
my
flocks, not another's,-
Pasture on hills that are sprinkled with gold;
There, among neighbours, all freemen and brothers,
May I grow better, and live to grow old!
There, in the midst of plentiful blessing,
Let me be gratefully zealous, and win
Souls to the Lord, from the lust of possessing,
Sons to be free, from the servants of sin;-
There, though I came a poor pilgrim and stranger,
Round the rich patriarch children shall dwell,-
Therefore, to poverty, trouble, and danger,
To these, as to thee, dear old England, farewell!
poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper
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Sonnet LVIII: None Other Fame
None other fame mine unambitious Muse
Affected ever but t'eternize thee;
All other honors do my hopes refuse,
Which meaner priz'd and momentary be.
For God forbid I should my papers blot
With mercenary lines, with servile pen,
Praising virtues in them that have them not,
Basely attending on the hopes of men.
No, no, my verse respects nor Thames nor theaters,
Nor seeks it to be known unto the great;
But Avon rich in fame, though poor in waters,
Shall have my song, where Delia hath her seat.
Avon shall be my Thames, and she my song;
I'll sound her name the river all along.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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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.
poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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