Classic Poem

O DIVINE Urania's son,
Haunter of Mount Helicon,
Thou that mak'st the virgin go
To the man, for all her no,
Hymen, Hymenaeus O;
Slip thy snowy feet in socks
Yellow-tinged, and girt thy locks
With sweet-flowered margerum,
And in saffron veil, O come;
Meet the day with dancing pleasure,
Singing out a nuptial measure,
And with fine hand at the air
Shake the pine-torch with a flare.
For to-day (so Beauty's Queen
Came to Paris to be seen)
Julia will her Manlius wed,
Good with good, a blessed bed:
Like a myrtle tree in flower,
Taken from an Asian bower,
Where with many a dewy cup
Nymphs in play had nursed it up.

Come then, quit the Thespian steep
With Aonian caverns deep,
Over which, like glass, and chill,
Aganippe's wells distil.
Call the bride home to her spouse,
Doubly bound by cordial vows,
As the ivy folds the tree
All about, tenaciously.
You, sweet virgins, in your prime,
So to fare another time
Let the song to Hymen flow,
Hymen, Hymenaeus O!

For when he is called so, he
Will come to us willingly,
All that 's wanting to confer,
Venus's right harbinger.
Who is he, ah tell me, who,
Lovers make more prayers unto?
Who is worshipped more by men,
Till his own skies ring again?
Let the song to Hymen flow,
Hymen, Hymenaeus O!

Thee the anxious parent blesses,
Thee the maid when she undresses,
Thee the bridegroom at the wall
Listening for the wished foot-fall
'Tis by thee the mother's breast
Of the maid is dispossessed,
And the blushing, budding thing
To the fierce youth made to cling

Venus without thee can plan
No right pleasure; but she can,
Thou consenting. Who shall dare
Then with this God to compare?
Parents without thee can plan
House nor offspring; but they can,
Thou consenting. Who shall dare
Then with this God to compare
Without thee, none born can play
Parts of rulers; but they may,
Thou consenting. Who shall dare
Then with this God to compare?

But the doors set open wide,
For she comes, — the bride, the bride!
Don't you see the torches there,
How they shake their shining hair?
Come, the day is almost done,
Haste, thou newly married one.
'Tis but sweet ingenuous shame;
Nay, she weeps to hear her name.
Come, the day is almost done;
Haste, thou newly married one.
Weep no more. What fear can be
Thine, than whom a fairer she
Shall not have beheld this day
Clearing from the seas away.
In a fine, rich garden so
You may see the hyacinth blow.
But the day is almost done;
Haste, thou newly married one

Haste, thou newly married, haste:
Yes, she hears our call at last
Don't you see the torches there,
How they shake their golden hair?
Come then, come: thy husband shall
Into no wrong courses fall,
Nor for once, to lie apart,
Take him from thy tender heart.
As the soft vine folds the tree,
Folded shall he live with thee
But the day is almost done;
Haste, thou newly married one.

Lift the torches: — ' tis the veil
This way coming. Hail it, hail!
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing.
Soon the nuts will now be flung;
Soon the wanton verses sung;
Soon the bridegroom will be told
Of the tricks he played of old.
License then his love had got;
But a husband has it not.
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing.

Thou too, married one, take care,
What he looks for, not to spare,
Lest he look for it elsewhere.
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing.

So shalt thou (O joy to see!)
Corner-stone and pillar be
To his house and family.
(Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing!)

Even till age, with snow bespread,
Trembling still its fine old head,
Seems to nod to all that 's said
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing!

Fine of foot, with omen due
O'er the threshold now step true,
And the polished door go through
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing!

There, within, thy husband see
On his purple couch, how he
Yearns with all his looks for thee.
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing!

In that burning breast of his,
Deep as thine a flame there is;
Nay, by Venus, deeper 'tis.
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing!

Gentle boy, thou may'st let go
Of the passive arm of snow:
Others will the chamber show.
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing!

You, good women, who have led
Honoured lives, one husbanded,
Lay the gentle girl in bed.
Let the air with Hymen ring;
Hymen, To Hymen, sing!

Husband, now 'tis time for thee
Wife at last, there hideth she
With a hue that comes and goes;
Now like lily, and now like rose.
Ay, and thou too, nevertheless,
Wantest not thy handsomeness,
Nor has Venus done thee wrong;
But the time goes; come along
Nay, thou hast not stopped indeed: —
Blessed Venus be thy speed,
For, thou play'st an open part
Nor hast hid love's honest heart

Take thy joy; and let us see
Shortly a fair progeny,
For a name so old as thine
Must not be without its line,
But succeed, like moon to moon
May a young Torquatus soon,
Lying next his mother's heart,
Stretch his little hands apart,
And with mouth half ope the while,
Sweetly at his father smile.
May his look his father's be,
So as to strike instantly,
Yet his mother's too express
In a certain bashfulness.
Such renown, from him, through her,
Wait thy race's character,
As attends Ulysses' son
From a mother, a paragon.

Close the door, ye virgins, now;
'Tis enough. But you, your vow,
Keep, ye linked in love and beauty,
And fulfil your age's duty.