The misty reek, the clouds of rain, From tops of mountains skails, Clear are the highest hills and plain, The vapours take the vales. The ample heaven of fabrick sure In cleanness does surpass The crystal and the silver pure, Or clearest polisht glass. The time so tranquil is and still That nowhere shall ye find, Save on a high and barren hill, An air of peeping wind. All trees and simples, great and small, That balmy leaf do bear, Than they were painted on a wall No more they move or steir. Calm is the deep and purple sea, Yea, smoother than the sand; The waves that weltering wont to be Are stable like the land. So silent is the cessile air That every cry and call The hills and dales and forest fair Again repeats them all. The flourishes and fragrant flowers, Through Phoebus' fostering heat, Refresht with dew and silver showers Cast up an odour sweet. The cloggit busy humming bees, That never think to drone, On flowers and flourishes of trees Collect their liquor brown. The Sun, most like a speedy post With ardent course ascends; The beauty of the heavenly host Up to our zenith tends. The burning beams down from his face So fervently can beat, That man and beast now seek a place To save them from the heat. The herds beneath some leafy tree Amidst the flowers they lie; The stable ships upon the sea Tend up their sails to dry. With gilded eyes and open wings The cock his courage shows; With claps of joy his breast he dings, And twenty times he crows. The dove with whistling wings so blue The winds can fast collect; Her purple pens turn many a hue Against the sun direct. Now noon is went; gone is midday, The heat doth slake at last; The sun descends down West away, For three of clock is past. The rayons of the sun we see Diminish in their strength; The shade of every tower and tree Extendit is in length. Great is the calm, for everywhere The wind is setting down; The reek throws right up in the air From every tower and town. The gloming comes; the day is spent; The sun goes out of sight; And painted is the occident With purple sanguine bright. Our west horizon circular From time the sun be set Is all with rubies, as it were, Or roses red o'erfret. What pleasure were to walk and see, Endlong a river clear, The perfect form of every tree Within the deep appear. O then it were a seemly thing, While all is still and calm, The praise of God to play and sing With cornet and with shalm! All labourers draw home at even, And can to other say, Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, Which sent this summer day. shaid] parted. stripe] rill. offuskit] darkened. boulden] swollen. sheen] bright. skails] clears. simples] herbs. cessile] yielding, ceasing. flourishes] blossoms. George Chapman. 1560-1634 107. Bridal Song