Classic Poem

O thou fair silver Thames, O clearest crystal flood!
Beta alone the phoenix is of all thy watery brood,
The Queen of virgins only she;
And thou the Queen of floods shalt be:
Let all thy nymphs be joyful then to see this happy day;
Thy Beta now alone shall be the subject of my lay.

With dainty and delightsome strains of sweetest virelays,
Come, lovely shepherds, sit we down and chant our Beta's praise;
And let us sing so rare a verse,
Our Beta's praises to rehearse,
That little birds shall silent be, to hear poor shepherds sing,
And rivers backward bend their course, and flow unto the spring.

Range all thy swans, fair Thames, together on a rank,
And place them duly one by one, upon thy stately bank;
Then set together all a-good,
Recording to the silver flood,
And crave the tuneful nightingale to help you with her lay,
The ousel and the throstlecock, chief music of our May.

O! see what troops of nymphs been sporting on the strands,
And they been blessed nymphs of peace, with olives in their hands.
How merrily the Muses sing,
That all the flowery meadows ring,
And Beta sits upon the bank, in purple and in pall,
And she the Queen of Muses is, and wears the coronal.

Trim up her golden tresses with Apollo's sacred tree.
O happy sight unto all those that love and honour thee,
The blessed angels have prepared
A glorious crown for thy reward,
Not such a golden crown as haughty Caesar wears,
But such a glittering starry crown as Ariadne bears.

Make her a goodly chapelet of azured columbine,
And wreath about her coronet with sweetest eglantine;
Bedeck our Beta all with lilies,
And the dainty daffodillies,
With roses damask, white, and red, and fairest flower delice,
With cowslips of Jerusalem, and cloves of Paradise.

O thou fair torch of heaven, the day's most dearest light,
And thou bright shining Cynthia, the glory of the night;
You stars the eyes of heaven,
And thou the gliding levin,
And thou, O gorgeous Iris, with all strange colours dyed,
When she streams forth her rays, then dashed is all your pride.

See how the day stands still, admiring of her face,
And Time, lo! stretcheth forth her arms, thy Beta to embrace;
The Sirens sing sweet lays,
The Tritons sound her praise.
Go pass on, Thames, and hie thee fast unto the ocean sea,
And let thy billows there proclaim thy Beta's holiday:

And water thou the blessed root of that green olive tree,
With whose sweet shadow all thy banks with peace preserved be,
Laurel for poets and conquerors,
And myrtle for love's paramours,
That fame may be thy fruit, the boughs preserved by peace;
And let the mournful cypress die, now storms and tempest cease.

We'll strew the shore with pearl where Beta walks alone,
And we will pave her princely bower with richest Indian stone.
Perfume the air and make it sweet,
For such a goddess it is meet,
For if her eyes for purity contend with Titan's light,
No marvel then although they so do dazzle human sight.

Sound out your trumpets then, from London's stately towers,
To beat the stormy winds aback and calm the raging showers;
Set too the cornet and the flute,
The orpharion and the lute,
And tune the tabor and the pipe, to the sweet violons,
And move the thunder in the air, with loudest clarions.

Beta, long may thine altars smoke, with yearly sacrifice,
And long thy sacred temples may their sabbaths solemnize,
Thy shepherds watch by day and night,
Thy maids attend the holy light,
And thy large empire stretch her arms from east unto the west;
And thou under thy feet mayst tread that foul seven-headed beast.