["Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake!"
_Spenser's Epithalamion._
"A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation
freely to estate On the bless'd lovers."--_The Tempest._]
Hymen, the rose-crowned, is in sooth awake,
And all the world with him!
Shall drowsy opiate dim
The eyes of Love to-day? No, let all slake
A loyal thirst in bumpers, for Love's sake,
Full beaded to the brim!
Like the Venusian's "mountain stream that roars
From bank to bank along,
When autumn rains are strong,"[A]
A deep-mouthed People lifts its voice, and pours
Its welcome forth, that like a Paean soars
In strains more sweet than song.
More sweet than song, in that it straightway comes,
Unfeigned, from frank hearts;
From loyal lips it starts,
Unprompted, undragooned. The highway hums
With the full sound of it. Fifes, trumpets, drums
Bravely may play their parts.
In the Imperial pageant, but the swell
Of the free English shout
Strikes sweeter--who dares doubt?--
On Royal ears. Music of marriage bell
Clang on, and let the gold-mouth'd organ tell
Of love and praise devout!
But the crowd's vigorous clamour has a voice
Finer and fuller still;
A passion of goodwill
Rings, to our ears, through all the exuberant noise,
Which the recipient's heart should more rejoice
Than all Cecilia's skill.
So rivals for Apollo's laurel wreath
May loudly strike the lyre,
"To love, and young desire;"[B]
But "bold and lawless numbers grow beneath"[B]
The people's praise, and give the crowd's free breath
A "mastering touch of fire."[B]
"Hymen, O Hymen!" beauteous ladies cry,
"Hymen, O Hymen!" loud
Shout forth the echoing crowd
The city through; patricians perched on high,
And the plebeian patient plodding by,
Raise incense like a cloud.
And Hymen's here, kind eye on all to keep,
Hymen, with roses crowned,
Leads on the Lion, bound
In floral bonds and blossom-bridled, deep
In scattered flowers. Your lyres ye laureates sweep,
And marriage measures sound!
Not Una's guardian more gladly bare
Burden more pleasant--pure!
With footing gently sure
Leo on-paces. Hymen's torch in air
Flames fragrantly. Was ever Happy Pair
So served, or so secure?
Take the rose-reins, young bridegroom; bridled so
Leo's not hard to ride.
Sweet MAY, the new-made bride,
Will find her lion palfrey-paced. And lo!
The genial god's unfailing torch aglow
Burns bravely at her side!
Epithalamia seem out of date;
Hymen cares not to-day
To trill a fulsome lay,
Or hymn High Bridals with Spenserian state.
Goodwill to goodness simply dedicate,--
Such homage _Punch_ would pay.
"Hymen, O Hymen!" Like this torch's flame,
Bright be your wedded days!
May a proud people's praise,
Well earned, be your award of honest fame;
And on each gracious head,
Light may it lie, the crown you yet may claim,
As rest these roses red!
[Footnote A: HORACE, "Ad Iulum Antonium," Ode 2, Book IV.]
[Footnote B: HORACE--_ut supra._]
[Illustration: "HYMEN HYMENAEE!"]
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