The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
It needlesse was to bid the Flood pursue:
Anger gaue wings; waies that he neuer knew
Till now, he treads; through dels and hidden brakes
Flies through the Meadows, each where ouertakes
Streames swiftly gliding, and them brings along
To further iust reuenge for so great wrong,
His current till that day was neuer knowne,
But as a Meade in Iuly, which vnmowne
Beares in an equall height each bent and stem,
Vnlesse some gentle gale doe play with them.
Now runs it with such fury and such rage,
That mightie Rocks opposing vassalage,
Are from the firme earth rent and ouer-borne
In Fords where pibbles lay secure beforne.
Low'd Cataracts, and fearefull roarings now
Affright the Passenger; vpon his brow
Continuall bubbles like compelled drops,
And where (as now and then) he makes short stops
In little pooles drowning his voice too hie,
'Tis where he thinkes he heares his Walla cry.
Yet vaine was all his haste, bending a way,
Too much declining to the Southerne Sea,
Since she had turned thence, and now begun
To crosse the braue path of the glorious Sun.
Anger gaue wings; waies that he neuer knew
Till now, he treads; through dels and hidden brakes
Flies through the Meadows, each where ouertakes
57
To further iust reuenge for so great wrong,
His current till that day was neuer knowne,
But as a Meade in Iuly, which vnmowne
Beares in an equall height each bent and stem,
Vnlesse some gentle gale doe play with them.
Now runs it with such fury and such rage,
That mightie Rocks opposing vassalage,
Are from the firme earth rent and ouer-borne
In Fords where pibbles lay secure beforne.
Low'd Cataracts, and fearefull roarings now
Affright the Passenger; vpon his brow
Continuall bubbles like compelled drops,
And where (as now and then) he makes short stops
In little pooles drowning his voice too hie,
'Tis where he thinkes he heares his Walla cry.
Yet vaine was all his haste, bending a way,
Too much declining to the Southerne Sea,
Since she had turned thence, and now begun
To crosse the braue path of the glorious Sun.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |