The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 162

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks, And blesseth her with his two happy hands, How the red roses flush up in her cheeks, And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stain Like crimson dyed in grain: That even the Angels, which continually About the sacred altar do remain, Forget their service and about her fly, Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair, The more they on it stare.

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, Are governed with goodly modesty, That suffers not one look to glance awry, Which may let in a little thought unsound.

Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand, The pledge of all our band?

Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluja sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Now all is done: bring home the bride again; Bring home the triumph of our victory: Bring home with you the glory of her gain; With joyance bring her and with jollity.

Never had man more joyful day than this, Whom heaven would heap with bliss.

Make feast therefore now all this live-long day; This day for ever to me holy is.

Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, Pour not by cups, but by the belly full, Pour out to all that will, And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine, That they may sweat, and drunken be withal.

Crown ye G.o.d Bacchus with a coronal, And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine; And let the Graces dance unto the rest, For they can do it best: The whiles the maidens do their carol sing, To which the woods shall answer, and their echo ring.

Ring ye the bells, ye young men of the town, And leave your wonted labors for this day: This day is holy; do ye write it down, That ye for ever it remember may.

This day the sun is in his chiefest height, With Barnaby the bright, From whence declining daily by degrees, He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, When once the Crab behind his back he sees.

But for this time it ill ordained was, To choose the longest day in all the year, And shortest night, when longest fitter were: Yet never day so long, but late would pa.s.s.

Ring ye the bells, to make it wear away, And bonfires make all day; And dance about them, and about them sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lend me leave to come unto my love?

How slowly do the hours their numbers spend?

How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?

Haste thee, O fairest Planet, to thy home, Within the Western foam: Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest.

Long though it be, at last I see it gloom, And the bright evening-star with golden crest Appear out of the East.

Fair child of beauty! glorious lamp of love!

That all the host of heaven in ranks dost lead, And guidest lovers through the night's sad dread, How cheerfully thou lookest from above, And seems to laugh atween thy twinkling light, As joying in the sight Of these glad many, which for joy do sing, That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring!

Now, cease, ye damsels, your delights fore-past; Enough is it that all the day was yours: Now day is done, and night is nighing fast, Now bring the bride into the bridal bowers.

The night is come, now soon her disarray, And in her bed her lay; Lay her in lilies and in violets, And silken curtains over her display, And odored sheets, and Arras coverlets.

Behold how goodly my fair love does lie, In proud humility!

Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took In Tempe, lying on the flowery gra.s.s, 'Twixt sleep and wake, after she weary was, With bathing in the Acidalian brook.

Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone, And leave my love alone, And leave likewise your former lay to sing: The woods no more shall answer, nor your echo ring.

Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected, That long day's labor dost at last defray, And all my cares, which cruel Love collected, Hast summed in one, and cancelled for aye: Spread thy broad wing over my love and me, That no man may us see; And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, From fear of peril and foul horror free.

Let no false treason seek us to entrap, Nor any dread disquiet once annoy The safety of our joy; But let the night be calm, and quietsome, Without tempestuous storms or sad affray: Like as when Jove with fair Alcmena lay, When he begot the great Tirynthian groom: Or like as when he with thyself did lie And begot Majesty.

And let the maids and young men cease to sing; Nor let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring.

Let no lamenting cries, nor doleful tears, Be heard all night within, nor yet without: Nor let false whispers, breeding hidden fears, Break gentle sleep with misconceived doubt.

Let no deluding dreams, nor dreadful sights, Make sudden sad affrights; Nor let house-fires, nor lightning's helpless harms, Nor let the Puck, nor other evil sprites, Nor let mischievous witches with their charms, Nor let hobgoblins, names whose sense we see not, Fray us with things that be not: Let not the screech-owl nor the stork be heard, Nor the night raven, that still deadly yells; Nor d.a.m.ned ghosts, called up with mighty spells, Nor grizzly vultures, make us once afraid: Nor let the unpleasant choir of frogs still croaking Make us to wish their choking.

Let none of these their dreary accents sing; Nor let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring.

But let still Silence true night-watches keep, That sacred Peace may in a.s.surance reign, And timely Sleep, when it is time to sleep, May pour his limbs forth on your pleasant plain; The whiles an hundred little winged loves, Like divers-feathered doves, Shall fly and flutter round about your bed, And in the secret dark, that none reproves, Their pretty stealths shall work, and snares shall spread To filch away sweet s.n.a.t.c.hes of delight, Concealed through covert night.

Ye sons of Venus, play your sports at will!

For greedy pleasure, careless of your toys, Thinks more upon her paradise of joys, Then what ye do, albeit good or ill.

All night therefore attend your merry play, For it will soon be day: Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; Nor will the woods now answer, nor your echo ring.

Who is the same, which at my window peeps?

Or whose is that fair face that shines so bright?

Is it not Cynthia, she that never sleeps, But walks about high heaven all the night?

O! fairest G.o.ddess, do thou not envy My love with me to spy: For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, And for a fleece of wool, which privily The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought, His pleasures with thee wrought.

Therefore to us be favorable now; And since of women's labors thou hast charge, And generation goodly dost enlarge, Incline thy will to effect our wishful vow, And the chaste womb inform with timely seed, That may our comfort breed: Till which we cease our hopeful hap to sing; Nor let the woods us answer, nor our echo ring.

And thou, great Juno! which with awful might The laws of wedlock still dost patronize, And the religion of the faith first plight With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize; And eke for comfort often called art Of women in their smart; Eternally bind thou this lovely band, And all thy blessings unto us impart.

And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand The bridal bower and genial bed remain, Without blemish or stain; And the sweet pleasures of their love's delight With secret aid dost succor and supply, Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny; Send us the timely fruit of this same night.

And thou, fair Hebe! and thou, Hymen free!

Grant that it may so be.

Till which we cease your further praise to sing; Nor any woods shall answer, nor your echo ring.

And ye high heavens, the temple of the G.o.ds, In which a thousand torches flaming bright Do burn, that to us wretched earthly clods In dreadful darkness lend desired light; And all ye powers which in the same remain, More than we men can feign, Pour out your blessing on us plenteously, And happy influence upon us rain, That-we may raise a large posterity, Which from the earth, which they may long possess With lasting happiness, Up to your haughty palaces may mount; And, for the guerdon of their glorious merit, May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, Of blessed Saints for to increase the count.

So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this, And cease till then our timely joys to sing: The woods no more us answer, nor our echo ring!

Song! made in lieu of many ornaments, With which my love should duly have been decked, Which cutting off through hasty accidents, Ye would not stay your due time to expect, But promised both to recompense; Be unto her a goodly ornament, And for short time an endless monument.

Edmund Spenser [1552?-1599]

THE KISS

Before you kissed me only winds of heaven Had kissed me, and the tenderness of rain-- Now you have come, how can I care for kisses Like theirs again?

I sought the sea, she sent her winds to meet me, They surged about me singing of the south-- I turned my head away to keep still holy Your kiss upon my mouth.

And swift sweet rains of shining April weather Found not my lips where living kisses are; I bowed my head lest they put out my glory As rain puts out a star.

I am my love's and he is mine forever, Sealed with a seal and safe forevermore-- Think you that I could let a beggar enter Where a king stood before?

Sara Teasdale [1884-1933]

MARRIAGE

Going my way of old Contented more or less I dreamt not life could hold Such happiness.

I dreamt not that love's way Could keep the golden height Day after happy day, Night after night.

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson [1878-

THE NEWLY-WEDDED

Now the rite is duly done, Now the word is spoken, And the spell has made us one Which may ne'er be broken; Rest we, dearest, in our home, Roam we o'er the heather: We shall rest, and we shall roam, Shall we not? together.

From this hour the summer rose Sweeter breathes to charm us; From this hour the winter snows Lighter fall to harm us: Fair or foul--on land or sea-- Come the wind or weather, Best and worst, whate'er they be, We shall share together.

Death, who friend from friend can part, Brother rend from brother, Shall but link us, heart and heart, Closer to each other: We will call his anger play, Deem his dart a feather, When we meet him on our way Hand in hand together.