平静的一天,通过空气颤抖的西南eet-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