An English meadow, early in the morning.
The Thames has whispered through another night
And now the sun is coming out and touching
The water and the grass with summer light.
The river rises in a shallow valley
And flows across our green and pleasant land
Two hundred miles and more until fresh water
Turns salt, and muddy banks give way to sand.
In Gloucestershire a stream, it meets the ocean
A mighty thoroughfare, deep, wide and strong.
It knew our forebears. It will know our children.
Sweet Thames run softly till I end my song.
And who is this, who sits beside the river
Day after day and gazes at the sky
With searching eyes and gazes at the water
And frowns and shakes his head with many a sigh?
A would-be poet, seeking inspiration.
He has a notebook. Every page is white
And blank. He sits and sits and dreams of greatness.
He dreams of greatness but he cannot write.
And yet the merest glance tells the observer
That here's a man devoted to his art -
Long hair, pale face and crumpled corduroy trousers.
He knows a thing or two. He looks the part.
Beneath the river's smooth and quiet surface,
Where fishes play and water-weeds unfurl
In dappled sunlight, lives the lovely Isis,
Giver of dreams, enchantress, river girl.
As soon as Isis sees the handsome poet,
She breaks the surface. Floating in a dress
Of purest white, she's graceful as a lily
(Where most of us, of course, would look a mess).
The handsome poet sees the lovely Isis
And gasps and cannot take his eyes away.
He smiles. She smiles. It is an old, old story.
Love at first sight. It happens every day.
Oh, love's a powerful, fast-moving current
That seizes us before we've time to think.
And some of us it carries on to safety
Upon a happy shore, while others sink.
And these two? We shall see. She floats towards him
As, silently, he stretches out his hand.
She takes it and he tries to pull her to him.
She shakes her head. He doesn't understand.
'Oh come and walk with me, enchanting maiden.
Climb up this bank. Enjoy the summer weather.
Like young lambs, we will frolic in the meadows.
Oh come, let us be lyrical together.
'Your hair will dry and gleam like finest satin.
I'll gather flowers and make a little crown
And place it on your head and call you "Princess" -
Good heavens. Hang on. I must write this down.'
He lets her go and scribbles in his notebook.
A miracle! He is in love and writing.
When he looks up and smiles, his eyes are blazing -
'My love. My Muse. Oh, this is so exciting.'
She smiles as well. And, since she has a secret,
She looks a little bit like La Gioconda,
Which does no harm at all. His heart turns over.
With every passing second he grows fonder.
'My love is like a young and tender sapling.
My love is like a rose without a thorn.
Coming to banish misery and darkness,
My love is like the first light of the dawn.
'These words! Where are they coming from, my darling?'
She knows, says nothing, looks down at the river.
For if he guesses, or if she should tell him,
So much the worse for her. Fear makes her shiver.
'You're cold, my love. Please come and sit beside me.
I want to keep you warm and safe and never
Let go of you. You're beautiful. You're magic.
Come here, come now, and stay with me for ever.
'Your eyes are saying yes, though you are silent.'
He grasps her hand again. He grasps her shoulder
And kisses her, and kissing gives such pleasure,
He cannot help but grow a little bolder.
She breaks away. 'My love, I have to go now.
Be here tomorrow and we'll meet again.
The night will seem too long. I'll count the minutes
And think about you all the time till then.'
'Don't go. Don't go. I beg you, do not leave me
Alone, to suffer passionate distress.
Look, are you on the phone? Give me your number.'
'There's no phone where I'm going.' 'Your address?'
But as he speaks, she's vanished underwater
And, surfacing a hundred yards downstream,
She calls to him. 'My darling. Do not follow.
We'll meet tomorrow. Now go home and dream.'
'Go home and dream.' He turns away and murmurs
Like one bewitched, and walks towards the town.
'Go home and dream.' He is already dreaming
Of kisses and . No. Best not write it down -
This is for families. Let's say he's happy.
He is in love, he's lost, on fire, possessed.
We'll leave him wandering dreamily to Oxford,
His notebook clasped to his impassioned breast.
We'll leave the world we know and follow Isis
Into her world, the kingdom underwater
That's ruled by Father Thames. And she must find him -
Our heroine is Father Thames's daughter,
Adopted by him when she was a baby
But that was many centuries ago.
You wonder who she is and where she came from
And why? Ask Father Thames. I do not know.
But I can tell you that he loves her dearly -
Though he can be forbidding, angry, cold,
He loves his daughter. She's his joy, his treasure.
He'd like to keep her with him, now he's old.
But he is wise, too wise to think a daughter
Can be contented with a father's love.
He dreads the day some other love will beckon
And call his...
