Imágenes de página

Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower,
Joy may you have and gentle hearts con-
Of your loves couplement: 95 And let faire Venus, that is Queene of Love,
With her heart-quelling sonne upon you smile,
Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to

• remove
All loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile
For ever to assoile. 100 Let endlesse peace your steadfast hearts accord,
And blessed plentie wait upon your bord;
And let your bed with pleasures chast abound,
That fruitfull issue may to you afford,
Which may your foes confound, 105 And make your joyes redound,
Upon your brydale day, which is not long:
Sweete Themmes, run softlie, till I end my song."

So ended she; and all the rest around To her redoubled that her undersong, 11 o Which said, their bridale daye should not be long. And gentle Eccho from the neighbour

ground Their accents did resound. So forth those joyous birdes did passe

along, Adowne the lee, that to them murmurde low, 115

As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong,
Yeat did by signes his glad affection show,
Making his streame run slow.
And all the foule which in his flood did dwell
Gan flock about these twaine, that did ex-
cell 120
The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend1
The lesser starres. So they, enranged well,
Did on those two attend,
And their best service lend,
Against their wedding day, which was not long: 125 Sweete Themmes, run softly, till I end my song.

1 shame.

At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kyndly nurse,
That to me gave this lifes first native sourse:
Though from another place I take my name, 130

An house of auncient fame.
There when they came, whereas those bricky towres,
The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe ryde,
Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers,
There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde, 135 Till they decayd through pride:
Next whereunto there standes a stately place,
Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace
Of that great lord which therein wont to

'dwell, Whose want too well now feeles my freendles case: 140

But ah! here fits not well
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, And Hercules two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare. Faire branch of honor, flower of chevalrie, That fillest England with thy triumphes

fame, 151 Joy have thou of thy noble victorie, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne

name That promiseth the same: That through thy prowesse and victorious

armes 155 Thy country may be freed from forraine

harmes; And great Elisaes glorious name may ring Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide alarmes,

Which some brave Muse may sing
To ages following, 160

I'pon 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 billows he hath bathed fayre,
Descended to the rivers open vewing, 166
With a great traine ensuing.
Above the rest were goodly to bee seene
Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature,
Beseeming well the bower of anie queene,
With gifts of wit and ornaments of na-
ture, 171
Fit for so goodly stature:
That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight,
Which decke the bauldricke of the heavens bright.
They two, forth pacing to the rivers side,
Received those two faire brides, their loves

delight, 176

Which, at th' appointed tyde,
Each one did make his bryde,
Against their brydale day, which is not

long: Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end my song. 180



My galley, charged with forgetfulness, Thorough sharp seas, in winter nights

'doth pass, Tween rock and rock; and eke mine

enemy, alas, That is my lord, steereth with cruelness; And every oar, a thought in readiness, 5 As though that death were light in such a

case; An endless wind doth tear the sail apace Of forced sighs and trusty tearfulness;

A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain, Hath done the wearied cords great hinderance; 10 Wreathed with error and eke with ignorance,

The stars be hid that led me to this pain; Drowned is Reason, that should me comfort; And I remain, despairing of the port.

SURREY (1617P-1647)


The soote1 season that bud and bloom

forth brings, With green hath clad the hill and eke the

vale; The nightingale with feathers new she sings; The turtle to her make2 hath told her tale: Summer is come, for every spray now

springs; 5 The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes flete3 with new repaired scale; The adder all her slough away she slings; The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; The busy bee her honey now she mings.4 n Winter is worn, that was the flowers' bale: And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays, and yet my sorrow



Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,—

1 sweet, 'float.

* mate.

* mixes.

Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,—

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, 5

Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,

Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay; Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows; 10 And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way. Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself

for spite; "Fool," said my Muse to me, " look in thy heart, and write!"


With how sad steps, O Moon, thou

climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a

face! What, may it be that even in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries! Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted

eyes 5 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's

case; I read it in thy looks: thy languished grace To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? 10

Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?


Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot <

peace, .i

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th' indifferent judge between the high and low; With shield of proof shield me from out the prease1 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw:

O make in me those civil wars to cease

I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest

bed, A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, A rosy garland and a weary head: 11

And if these things, as being thine in right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.


Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance Guided so well that I obtained the prize, Both by the judgment of the English

eyes And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance, 5

Town folks my strength; a daintier judge applies His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise; Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; Others, because of both sides I do take My blood from them who did excel in

this, 10 Think Nature me a man-at-arms did

make. How far they shot awry! the true cause is, Stella looked on, and from her heavenly face Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.

'press, throng.

EDMUND SPENSER (1662?-1699)


When I behold that beauty's wonderment,
And rare perfection of each goodly part,
Of nature's skill the only complement,
I honor and admire the Maker's art.
But when I feel the bitter, baleful smart 5
Which her fair eyes unwares do work in me,
That death out of their shiny beams do dart,
I think that I a new Pandora see:
Whom all the gods in council did agree
Into this sinful world from heaven to send,
That she to wicked men a scourge should

be, 11 For all their faults with which they did

offend. But since ye are my scourge, I will intreat That for my faults ye will me gently



Like as a ship, that through the ocean wide By conduct of some star doth make her way, Whenas a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide, Out of her course doth wander far astray; So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray 5 Me to direct, with clouds is overcast, Do wander now in darkness and dismay, Through hidden perils round about me

placed. Yet hope I well, that when this storm is past, My Helice, the lodestar of my life, 10 Will shine again, and look on me at last, With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief; Till then I wander careful, comfortless, In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.


After long storms and tempests' sad assay,
Which hardly I endured heretofore,
In dread of death, and dangerous dis-

With which my silly bark was tossed sore,
I do at length descry the happy shore, 5
In which I hope ere long for to arrive:
Fair soil it seems from far, and fraught

with store Of all that dear and dainty is alive. Most happy he that can at last achieve The joyous safety of so sweet a rest; 1 o Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive Remembrance of all pains which him oppressed. All pains are nothing in respect of this, All sorrows short that gain eternal bliss.

LXX Fresh Spring, the herald of love's mighty

king, • In whose coat-armor richly are displayed All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring, In goodly colors gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid,5 Yet in her winter's bower not well awake; Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed, Unless she do him by the forelock take; Bid her therefore herself soon ready make To wait on Love amongst his lovely

crew; 10 Where everyone that misseth then her

make1 Shall be by him amerced2 with penance due. Make haste, therefore, sweet love, whilst

it is prime; For none can call again the passed



One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away; Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey. "Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain assay 5 A mortal thing so to immortalize: For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wiped out likewise." "Not so," quoth I, "let baser things devise

1 mate. * punished.

To die in dust, but you shall live by fame: 10

My verse your virtues rare shall eternize,

And in the heavens write your glorious name. Where, whenas death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew."


Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that yourself ye daily such do see;
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit
And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me:
For all the rest, however fair it be, 5 Shall turn to nought and lose that glorious hue;
But only that is permanent and free
From frail corruption that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty; that doth argue you
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed; 10
Derived from that fair Spirit from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed:
He only fair, and what he fair hath made;
All other fair, like flowers, untimely fade.


Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born:
Relieve my languish, and restore the light;
With dark forgetting of my care, return!
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured
youth: 6 Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night's un-
Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires,
To model forth the passions of the morrow;
Never let rising sun approve you liars, 11
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;And never wake to feel the day's dis-


Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part! Nay, I have done, you get no more of

me; And I am glad, yea, glad, with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever, cancel all our

vows; 5 And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows, That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest

breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies; 10

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes,— Now, if thou wouldst, when all have

given him over, From death to life thou might'st him

yet recover!



Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 5

And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair1 from fair sometime de-
By chance or nature's changing course un- trimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou

ow'st;2 10 Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in

his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

1 beauty. * ownest.

« AnteriorContinuar »