Michael Drayton (1563-1631). Sirena. William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. 1907. The Book of Elizabethan Verse

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William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.

Sirena

By Michael Drayton (1563–1631)


NEAR to the silver Trent
Sirena dwelleth;
She to whom Nature lent
All that excelleth;
By which the Muses late	5
And the neat Graces
Have for their greater state
Taken their places;
Twisting an anadem
Wherewith to crown her,	10
As it belonged to them
Most to renown her.
On thy bank,
In a rank,
Let thy swans sing her,	15
And with their music
Along let them bring her.

Tagus and Pactolus
Are to thee debtor,
Nor for their gold to us	20
Are they the better:
Henceforth of all the rest
Be thou the River
Which, as the daintiest,
Puts them down ever.	25
For as my precious one
O’er thee doth travel,
She to pearl paragon
Turneth thy gravel. On thy bank …

Our mournful Philomel,	30
That rarest tuner,
Henceforth in Aperil
Shall wake the sooner,
And to her shall complain
From the thick cover,	35
Redoubling every strain
Over and over:
For when my Love too long
Her chamber keepeth,
As though it suffered wrong,	40
The Morning weepeth. On thy bank …

Oft have I seen the Sun,
To do her honour,
Fix himself at his noon
To look upon her;	45
And hath gilt every grove,
Every hill near her,
With his flames from above
Striving to cheer her:
And when she from his sight	50
Hath herself turnèd,
He, as it had been night,
In clouds hath mournèd. On thy bank …

The verdant meads are seen,
When she doth view them,	55
In fresh and gallant green
Straight to renew them;
And every little grass
Broad itself spreadeth,
Proud that this bonny lass	60
Upon it treadeth:
Nor flower, is so sweet
In this large cincture,
But it upon her feet
Leaveth some tincture. On thy bank …	65

The fishes in the flood,
When she doth angle,
For the hook strive a-good
Them to entangle;
And leaping on the land,	70
From the clear water,
Their scales upon the sand
Lavishly scatter;
—Therewith to pave the mould
Whereon she passes,	75
So herself to behold
As in her glasses. On thy bank …

When she looks out by night,
The stars stand gazing,
Like comets to our sight	80
Fearfully blazing;
As wond’ring at her eyes
With their much brightness,
Which so amaze the skies,
Dimming their lightness.	85
The raging tempests are calm
When she speaketh,
Such most delightsome balm
From her lips breaketh. On thy bank …

In all our Brittany	90
There’s not a fairer,
Nor can you fit any
Should you compare her.
Angels her eyelids keep,
All hearts surprising;	95
Which look whilst she doth sleep
Like the sun’s rising:
She alone of her kind
Knoweth true measure,
And her unmatchèd mind	100
Is heaven’s treasure. On thy bank …

Fair Dove and Derwent clear,
Boast ye your beauties,
To Trent your mistress here
Yet pay your duties:	105
My Love was higher born
Tow’rds the full fountains,
Yet she doth moorland scorn
And the Peak mountains;
Nor would she none should dream	110
Where she abideth,
Humble as is the stream
Which by her slideth. On thy bank …

Yet my poor rustic Muse
Nothing can move her,	115
Nor the means I can use
Though her true lover:
Many a long winter’s night
Have I waked for her,
Yet this my piteous plight	120
Nothing can stir her.
All thy sands, silver Trent,
Down to the Humber,
The sighs that I have spent
Never can number.	125
On thy bank,
In a rank,
Let thy swans sing her,
And with their music
Along let them bring her.	130

CONTENTS · GLOSSARY · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

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