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Title: To The River Isca
Author: Henry Vaughan [
More Titles by Vaughan]
When Daphne's lover here first wore the bays,
Eurotas' secret streams heard all his lays,
And holy Orpheus, Nature's busy child,
By headlong Hebrus his deep hymns compil'd;
Soft Petrarch--thaw'd by Laura's flames--did weep
On Tiber's banks, when she--proud fair!--could sleep;
Mosella boasts Ausonius, and the Thames
Doth murmur Sidney's Stella to her streams;
While Severn, swoln with joy and sorrow, wears
Castara's smiles mix'd with fair Sabrin's tears.
Thus poets--like the nymphs, their pleasing themes--
Haunted the bubbling springs and gliding streams;
And happy banks! whence such fair flow'rs have sprung,
But happier those where they have sat and sung!
Poets--like angels--where they once appear
Hallow the place, and each succeeding year
Adds rev'rence to't, such as at length doth give
This aged faith, that there their genii live.
Hence th' ancients say, that from this sickly air
They pass to regions more refin'd and fair,
To meadows strew'd with lilies and the rose,
And shades whose youthful green no old age knows;
Where all in white they walk, discourse, and sing
Like bees' soft murmurs, or a chiding spring.
But Isca, whensoe'er those shades I see,
And thy lov'd arbours must no more know me,
When I am laid to rest hard by thy streams,
And my sun sets, where first it sprang in beams,
I'll leave behind me such a large, kind light,
As shall redeem thee from oblivious night,
And in these vows which--living yet--I pay,
Shed such a previous and enduring ray,
As shall from age to age thy fair name lead,
'Till rivers leave to run, and men to read.
First, may all bards born after me
--When I am ashes--sing of thee!
May thy green banks or streams,--or none--
Be both their hill and Helicon!
May vocal groves grow there, and all
The shades in them prophetical,
Where laid men shall more fair truths see
Than fictions were of Thessaly!
May thy gentle swains--like flow'rs--
Sweetly spend their youthful hours,
And thy beauteous nymphs--like doves--
Be kind and faithful to their loves!
Garlands, and songs, and roundelays,
Mild, dewy nights, and sunshine days,
The turtle's voice, joy without fear,
Dwell on thy bosom all the year!
May the evet and the toad
Within thy banks have no abode,
Nor the wily, winding snake
Her voyage through thy waters make!
In all thy journey to the main
No nitrous clay, nor brimstone-vein
Mix with thy streams, but may they pass
Fresh on the air, and clear as glass,
And where the wand'ring crystal treads
Roses shall kiss, and couple heads!
The factor-wind from far shall bring
The odours of the scatter'd Spring,
And loaden with the rich arrear,
Spend it in spicy whispers there.
No sullen heats, nor flames that are
Offensive, and canicular,
Shine on thy sands, nor pry to see
Thy scaly, shading family,
But noons as mild as Hesper's rays,
Or the first blushes of fair days!
What gifts more Heav'n or Earth can add,
With all those blessings be thou clad!
Honour, Beauty,
Faith and Duty,
Delight and Truth,
With Love and Youth,
Crown all about thee! and whatever Fate
Impose elsewhere, whether the graver state
Or some toy else, may those loud, anxious cares
For dead and dying things--the common wares
And shows of Time--ne'er break thy peace, nor make
Thy repos'd arms to a new war awake!
But freedom, safety, joy and bliss,
United in one loving kiss,
Surround thee quite, and style thy borders
The land redeem'd from all disorders!
[The end]
Henry Vaughan's poem: To The River Isca
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