THE BOWER OF BLISS
(The "daintie Paradise of the Enchauntresse" whereinto the Palmer brought Sir Guyon.)
... And in the midst of all, a fountaine stood,
Of richest substaunce that on earth might bee,
So pure and shiny, that the silver flood
Through every channell running, one might see;
Most goodly it with pure imageree
Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes,
Of which some seemed with lively jollitee
To fly about, playing their wanton toyes,
Whiles others did them selves embay in liquid joyes.
And over all, of purest gold was spred
A trayle of yvie in his native hew:
For the rich mettall was so colouréd,
That wight, who did not well-advised it vew,
Would surely deeme it to be yvie treu.
Lowe his lascivious arms adown did creepe,
That themselves dipping in the silver dew,
Their fleecy flowres they tenderly did steepe,
Which drops of Cristall seemd for wantonnes to weepe.
Infinit streames continually did well
Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see,
The which into an ample laver fell,
And shortly grew to so great quantitie,
That like a little lake it seemed to bee;
Whose depth exceeded not three cubits hight,
That through the waves one might the bottom see,
All paved beneath with Jaspar shining bright
That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle upright.
And all the margent round about was set
With shady lawrell-trees, thence to defend
The sunny beames, which on the billows bet,
And those which therein bathèd, mote[87] offend....
Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound,
Of all that mote delight a daintie eare,
Such as att once might not on living ground,
Save in this Paradise, be heard elswhere:
Right hard it was, for wight, which did it heare,
To read, what manner musicke that mote bee:
For all that pleasing is to living care,
Was there consorted in one harmonie,
Birdes, voyces, instruments, windes, waters, all agree.
The joyous birdes, shrouded in cheareful shade,
Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet;
Th' Angelicall soft trembling voyces made
To th' instruments divine respondence meet:
The silver sounding instruments did meet
With the base murmure of the waters fall:
The waters fall with difference discreet,
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call:
The gentle warbling wind low answerèd to all.
Edmund Spenser
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