‘This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world ...
... England bound in by the triumphant sea.’
It is good to think that Shakespeare is living in London now, and has been for many years a Londoner.”
“I do wish we could see him!” sighed Betty.
It was growing dusk. Lights were already twinkling from the windows of the great houses on the Strand, but the last glow of sunset lingered on the river, where the swans floated between the stately barges that passed to and fro.
“‘Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,’” quoted Godmother, after a long silence.
“What is that?” Betty asked.
“It’s the line with which each verse of a beautiful poem ends. It was written not long ago by Edmund Spenser, who is one of the great poets of this marvellous time, and he composed it in honour of the marriage of two girls, the ladies Elizabeth and Katherine Somerset. We are passing their home,” replied Godmother, pointing to Somerset House.
“The Thames is running softly,” said Betty, as they drew near to a landing-stage on the Southwark side of London Bridge. “Isn’t it all quiet?”