Classic Poem

As (woo'd by May's delights) I have been borne
To take the kind air of a wistful morn
Near Tavy's voiceful stream (to whom I owe
More strains than from my pipe can ever flow),
Here have I heard a sweet bird never lin
To chide the river for his clam'rous din;
There seem'd another in his song to tell,
That what the fair stream did he liked well;
And going further heard another too,
All varying still in what the others do;
A little thence, a fourth with little pain
Conn'd all their lessons, and them sung again;
So numberless the songsters are that sing
In the sweet groves of the too-careless spring,
That I no sooner could the hearing lose
Of one of them, but straight another rose,
And perching deftly on a quaking spray,
Nigh tir'd herself to make her hearer stay;
Whilst in a bush two nightingales together
Show'd the best skill they had to draw me thither:
So (as bright Thetis pass'd our cleeves along)
This shepherd's lay pursu'd the others song,
And scarce one ended had his skilful stripe,
But straight another took him to his pipe.
By that the younger swain had fully done,
Thetis with her brave company had won
The mouth of Dart, and whilst the Tritons charm
The dancing waves, passing the crystal Earme,
Sweet Yealm and Plym, arriv'd where Tamar pays
Her daily tribute to the western seas.
Here sent she up her dolphins, and they plied
So busily their fares on every side,
They made a quick return, and brought her down
A many homagers to Tamar's crown,
Who in themselves were of as great command
As any meaner rivers of the land.
With every nymph the swain of most account
That fed his white sheep by her clearer fount:
And every one to Thetis sweetly sung.
Among the rest a shepherd (though but young,
Yet hearten'd to his pipe) with all the skill
His few years could, began to fit his quill.
By Tavy's speedy stream he fed his flock,
Where when he sat to sport him on a rock,
The water-nymphs would often come unto him,
And for a dance with many gay gifts woo him.
Now posies of this flower, and then of that;
Now with fine shells, then with a rushy hat,
With coral or red stones brought from the deep
To make him bracelets, or to mark his sheep:
Willy he hight. Who by the ocean's queen
More cheer'd to sing than such young lads had been,
Took his best framed pipe, and thus 'gan move
His voice of Walla, Tavy's fairest love:

Fair was the day, but fairer was the maid
Who that day's morn into the greenwoods stray'd.
Sweet was the air, but sweeter was her breathing,
Such rare perfumes the roses are bequeathing.
Bright shone the sun, but brighter were her eyes,
Such are the lamps that guide the deities;
Nay such the fire is, whence the Pythian knight
Borrows his beams, and lends his sister light.
Not Pelops' shoulder whiter than her hands,
Nor snowy swans that jet on Isca's sands.
Sweet Flora, as if ravish'd with their sight,
In emulation made all lilies white:
For as I oft have heard the wood-nymphs say,
The dancing fairies, when they left to play,
Then back did pull them, and in holes of trees
Stole the sweet honey from the painful bees;
Which in the flower to put they oft were seen,
And for a banquet brought it to their queen.
But she that is the goddess of the flowers
(Invited to their groves and shady bowers)
Mislik'd their choice. They said that all the field
No other flower did for that purpose yield;
But quoth a nimble fay that by did stand:
If you could give 't the colour of yond hand,
(Walla by chance was in a meadow by
Learning to sample earth's embroidery.)
It were a gift would Flora well befit,
And our great queen the more would honour it.
She gave consent; and by some other power
Made Venus' doves be equall'd by the flower,
But not her hand; for Nature this prefers:
All other whites but shadowings to hers.
Her hair was roll'd in many a curious fret,
Much like a rich and artful coronet,
Upon whose arches twenty Cupids lay,
And were or tied, or loath to fly away.
Upon her bright eyes Phœbus his inclin'd,
And by their radiance was the god struck blind,
That clean awry th' ecliptic then he stripp'd
And from the milky way his horses whipp'd;
So that the Eastern world to fear begun
Some stranger drove the chariot of the sun.
And never but that once did heaven's bright eye
Bestow one look on the Cimmerii.
A green silk frock her comely shoulders clad,
And took delight that such a seat it had,
Which at her middle gather'd up in pleats,
A love-knot girdle willing bondage threats.
Not Venus' ceston held a braver piece,
Nor that which girt the fairest flower of Greece.
Down from her waist her mantle loose did fall,
Which Zephyr (as afraid) still play'd withal,
And then tuck'd up somewhat below the knee
Show'd searching eyes where Cupid's columns be.
The inside lin'd with rich carnation silk,
And in the midst of both, lawn white as milk,
Which white beneath the red did seem to shroud,
As Cynthia's beauty through a blushing cloud.
About the edges curious to behold
A deep fringe hung of rich and twisted gold,
So on the green marge of a crystal brook
A thousand yellow flowers at fishes look;
And such the beams are of the glorious sun,
That through a tuft of grass dispersed run.
Upon her leg a pair of buskins white,
Studded with orient pearl and chrysolite,
And like her mantle stitch'd with gold and green,
(Fairer yet never wore the forest's queen)
Knit close with ribbons of a party hue,
A knot of crimson and a tuft of blue;
Nor can the peacock in his spotted train
So many pleasing colours show again;
Nor could there be a mixture with more grace,
Except the heav'nly roses in her face.
A silver quiver at her back she wore,
With darts and arrows for the stag and boar,
But in her eyes she had such darts again
Could conquer gods, and wound the hearts of men.
Her left hand held a knotty Brazil bow,
Whose strength with tears she made the red deer know.
So clad, so arm'd, so dress'd to win her will
Diana never trod on Latmus' hill.
Walla, the fairest nymph that haunts the woods,
Walla, belov'd of shepherds, fawns, and floods,
Walla, for whom the frolic satyrs pine,
Walla, with whose fine foot the flow'rets twine,
Walla, of whom sweet birds their ditties move,
Walla, the earth's delight, and Tavy's love.
This fairest nymph, when Tavy first prevail'd
And won affection where the sylvans fail'd,
Had promis'd (as a favour to his stream)
Each week to crown it with an anadem:
And now Hyperion from his glitt'ring throne
Sev'n times his quick'ning rays had bravely shown
Unto the other world, since Walla last
Had on her Tavy's head the garland plac'd;
And this day (as of right) she wends abroad
To case the meadows of their willing load.
Flora, as if to welcome her, those hours
Had been most lavish of her choicest flowers,
Spreading more beauties to entice that morn
Than she had done in many days beforn.