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.
...
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.
...
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, Io 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, Io 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, Io 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, Io 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, Io 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, Io Hymen sing!