Home

THE MUSES THRENODIE.

SECOND MUSE.

Furthwith we dress’d us in our archer grath, 
And to the fields we came, like men in wrath: 
When we our nerves and tendons had extended, 
Incontinent our bowes were bravely bended: 
The skie was wondrous cleer, Apollo fair, 
Greatly delighted to behold us there: 
And did disperse the clouds, that he might see 
What matchless skill we prov’d in archerie. 
The cristal river Phœbus beams reflected, 
As glad of us, them in our face directed: 
The flowerie plains, and mountains all the while 
That we were shooting merrilie did smile. 
Mean while, for honours praise, as we were swelting 
The sweat from off our brows and temples melting, 
Phœbus, as seeming to envie our skill, 
His quiver with some fierie shafts did fill, 
And from his silver bow, at us he darted 
These shafts, to make us faint and feeble-hearted: 
Whose mighty force we could not well oppose, 
Under a shade we therefore did repose 
A pretty while hard by a silver streame, 
Which did appeare some melodie to frame, 
Running alongst the snow-white pibble stones 
Mourning, did murmure joys, commix’t with moanes. 
A cup I had with woodbind of the wall, 
And drinking said, this to you Mr Gall, 
Quoth he, Monsier, since that we have no better, 
With all mine heart, I will you pledge in water. 
This brook alongst the flowerie plain meanders, 
And in a thousand compasses it wanders; 
And as it softly slides so many wayes, 
It sweetly sings as many roundelayes, 
And harmonie to keep, the honie bees 
Their trumpets sound amongst the flowers and trees.
Henry Adamson [1581–1637]