Idea 53: Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore

Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shoreMy soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea lies,O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adoreThy crystal stream, refined by her eyes,Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the springGently distils his nectar-dropping showers,Where nightingales in Arden sit and singAmongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers;Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen:Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years,And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears.Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,And thou, sweet Ancor, art my Helicon.