{163}
It was supposed that he always attended at nuptials; if not, matrimonial
connections were fatal, and ended unhappily, and therefore people ran about
calling aloud, Hymen! Hymen!
"God of the torch, whose soul-illuming flame
Beams brightest radiance o'er the human heart,
Of many a woe the cure,
Of many a joy the source.
Friend to each better feeling of the soul,
I sing to thee, for many a joy is thine,
And many a virtue comes
To join thy happy train.
Parent of every bliss, the busy hand
Of Fancy, oft will paint in brightest hues
How calm, how clear thy torch
Illumes the wintry hour.
We'll paint the well-trimmed fire, the frugal meal,
Prepared with good solicitude to please,
The ruddy children round,
Climbing the father's knee.
And oft will fancy rise above the lot
Of honest poverty, and dream how man
Nor rich, nor poor, enjoys
His best and happiest state.
When toil no longer irksome, and restrained
By hard necessity, but comes to please,
To vary the still hour
Of tranquil happiness,
Lured by the splendour of thy sacred torch,
The beacon light of bliss, young Love draws near,
And leads his willing slaves
To wear thy flowery chain."