Chapter 35

Ye Nymphs of Mulla, which with careful heed The silver scaly trouts do tend full well, And greedy pikes which use therein to feed (Those trouts and pikes all others do excel); And ye likewise, which keep the rushy lake, Where none do fishes take; Bind up the locks the which hang scattered light, And in his waters, which your mirror make, Behold your faces as the crystal bright, That when you come whereas my love doth lie, No blemish she may spy. And eke, ye lightfoot maids, which keep the deer, That on the hoary mountain used to tower; And the wild wolves, which seek them to devour, With your steel darts do chase from coming near; Be also present here, To help to deck her, and to help to sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Wake, now, my love, awake! for it is time; The rosy mom long since left Tithon's bed, All ready to her silver coach to climb; And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head. Hark, how the cheerful birds do chant their lays And carol of love's praise. The merry lark her matins sings aloft; The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays; The ouzel shrills; the ruddock warbles soft; So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, To this day's merriment. Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long, When meeter were that ye should now awake, To await the coming of your joyous mate, And hearken to the birds' love-learned song, The dewy leaves among! For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreams, And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, Help quickly her to dight: But first come, ye fair hours, which were begot In Jove's sweet paradise of Day and Night; Which do the seasons of the year allot, And all that ever in this world is fair, Do make and still repair: And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian queen, The which do still adorn her beauty's pride, Help to adorn my beautifulest bride; And as ye her array, still throw between Some graces to be seen, And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come: Let all the virgins therefore well await: And ye fresh boys, that tend upon her groom, Prepare yourselves; for he is coming straight; Set all your things in seemly good array, Fit for so joyful day: The joyfulest day that ever sun did see. Fair Sun! show forth thy favorable ray, And let thy life-full heat not fervent be, For fear of burning her sunshiny face, Her beauty to disgrace. O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse! If ever I did honor thee aright, Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight, Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse; But let this day, let this one day, be mine; Let all the rest be thine. Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing, That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring.

Hark! how the Minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud Their merry music that resounds from far, The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud, That well agree withouten breach or jar. But, most of all, the Damsels do delight When they their timbrels smite, And thereunto do dance and carol sweet, That all the senses they do ravish quite; The whiles the boys run up and down the street, Crying aloud with strong confused noise, As if it were one voice, Hymen, io Hymen, Hymen, they do shout; That even to the heavens their shouting shrill Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill; To which the people standing all about, As in approvance, do thereto applaud, And loud advance her laud; And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing, That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring.

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace, Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, Arising forth to run her mighty race, Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. So well it her beseems, that ye would ween Some angel she had been. Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire, Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween, Do like a golden mantle her attire; And, being crowned with a garland green, Seem like some maiden queen. Her modest eyes, abashed to behold So many gazers as on her do stare, Upon the lowly ground affixed are; Nor dare lift up her countenance too bold, But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, So far from being proud. Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see So fair a creature in your town before; So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, Adorned with beauty's grace and virtue's store? Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright, Her forehead ivory white, Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath ruddied, Her lips like cherries charming men to bite, Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, Her paps like lilies budded, Her snowy neck like to a marble tower; And all her body like a palace fair, Ascending up, with many a stately stair, To honor's seat and chastity's sweet bower. Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze, Upon her so to gaze, Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring?

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, The inward beauty of her lively spright, Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree, Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, And stand astonished like to those which read Medusa's mazeful head. There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity, Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood, Regard of honor, and mild modesty; There virtue reigns as queen in royal throne, And giveth laws alone, The which the base affections do obey, And yield their services unto her will; Nor thought of thing uncomely ever may Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill. Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures, And unrevealed pleasures, Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing, That all the woods should answer, and your echo ring.

Open the temple gates unto my love, Open them wide that she may enter in, And all the posts adorn as doth behove, And all the pillars deck with garlands trim, For to receive this Saint with honor due, That cometh in to you. With trembling steps, and humble reverence, She cometh in, before the Almighty's view; Of her ye virgins learn obedience, When so ye come into those holy places, To humble your proud faces: Bring her up to the high altar, that she may The sacred ceremonies there partake, The which do endless matrimony make; And let the roaring organs loudly play The praises of the Lord in lively notes; The whiles, with hollow throats, The Choristers the joyous Anthems sing, That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring.

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 God 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 pass. 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 grass, '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 damned 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 assurance 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 snatches 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 goddess, 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 gods, 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.

Winthrop Mackworth Praed [1802-1839]

"I SAW TWO CLOUDS AT MORNING"

I saw two clouds at morning, Tinged by the rising sun, And in the dawn they floated on, And mingled into one; I thought that morning cloud was blest, It moved so sweetly to the west.

I saw two summer currents Flow smoothly to their meeting, And join their course, with silent force, In peace each other greeting; Calm was their course through banks of green, While dimpling eddies played between.

Such be your gentle motion, Till life's last pulse shall beat; Like summer's beam, and summer's stream, Float on, in joy, to meet A calmer sea, where storms shall cease, A purer sky, where all is peace.

John Gardiner Calkins Brainard [1796-1828]

HOLY MATRIMONY

The voice that breathed o'er Eden, That earliest wedding-day, The primal marriage blessing, It hath not passed away.

Still in the pure espousal Of Christian man and maid, The holy Three are with us, The threefold grace is said.

For dower of blessed children, For love and faith's sweet sake, For high mysterious union, Which naught on earth may break.

Be present, awful Father, To give away this bride, As Eve thou gav'st to Adam Out of his own pierced side:

Be present, Son of Mary, To join their loving hands, As thou didst bind two natures In thine eternal bands:

Be present, Holiest Spirit, To bless them as they kneel, As thou for Christ, the Bridegroom, The heavenly Spouse dost seal.

Oh, spread thy pure wing o'er them, Let no ill power find place, When onward to thine altar The hallowed path they trace,

To cast their crowns before thee In perfect sacrifice, Till to the home of gladness With Christ's own Bride they rise. Amen.

John Keble [1792-1866]

THE BRIDE

Beat on the Tom-toms, and scatter the flowers, Jasmine, hibiscus, vermilion and white, This is the day, and the Hour of Hours, Bring forth the Bride for her Lover's delight. Maidens no more as a maiden shall claim her, Near, in his Mystery, draweth Desire. Who, if she waver a moment, shall blame her? She is a flower, and love is a fire.

Give her the anklets, the ring, and the necklace, Darken her eyelids with delicate art, Heighten the beauty, so youthful and fleckless, By the Gods favored, oh, Bridegroom, thou art! Twine in thy fingers her fingers so slender, Circle together the Mystical Fire, Bridegroom, - a whisper, - be gentle and tender, Choti Tinchaurya knows not desire.

Bring forth the silks and the veil that shall cover Beauty, till yesterday careless and wild; Red are her lips for the kiss of a lover, Ripe are her breasts for the lips of a child. Center and Shrine of Mysterious Power, Chalice of Pleasure and Rose of Delight, Shyly aware of the swift-coming hour, Waiting the shade and the silence of night.

Still must the Bridegroom his longing dissemble, Longing to loosen the silk-woven cord, Ah, how his fingers will flutter and tremble, Fingers well skilled with the bridle and sword. Thine is his valor, oh Bride, and his beauty, Thine to possess and re-issue again, Such is thy tender and passionate duty, Licit thy pleasure and honored thy pain.

Choti Tinchaurya, lovely and tender, Still all unbroken to sorrow and strife, Come to the Bridegroom who, silk-clad and slender, Brings thee the Honor and Burden of Life. Bidding farewell to thy light-hearted playtime, Worship thy Lover with fear and delight; Art thou not ever, though slave of his daytime, Choti Tinchaurya, queen of his night?

Laurence Hope [1865-1904]

A MARRIAGE CHARM

I set a charm upon your hurrying breath, I set a charm upon your wandering feet, You shall not leave me - not for life, nor death, Not even though you cease to love me, Sweet.

A woman's love nine Angels cannot bind, Nor any rune that wind or water knows, My heart were all as well set on the wind, Or bound, to live or die, upon a rose.

I set a charm upon you, foot and hand, That you and Knowledge, love, may never meet, That you may never chance to understand How strong you are, how weak your lover, Sweet.

I set my charm upon your kindly arm, I set it as a seal upon your breast; That you may never hear another's charm, Nor guess another's gift outruns my best.

I bid your wandering footsteps me to follow, Your thoughts to travel after in my track, I am the sky that waits you, dear gray swallow, No wind of mine shall ever blow you back.

I am your dream, Sweet; so no more of dreaming, Your lips to mine must end this chanted charm, Your heart to mine, 'neath nut-brown tresses streaming, I set my love a seal upon your arm.

Nora Hopper [1871-1906]

"LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT"

It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, All the world, and we two, and Heaven be our stay! Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side.

What's the world, my lass, my love! - what can it do? I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by; For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try.

Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. Take a kiss from me, thy man; now the song begins: "All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins."

When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away, Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day.

Jean Ingelow [1820-1897]

MY OWEN

Proud of you, fond of you, clinging so near to you, Light is my heart now I know I am dear to you! Glad is my voice now, so free it may sing for you All the wild love that is burning within for you! Tell me once more, tell it over and over, The tale of that eve which first saw you my lover. Now I need never blush At my heart's hottest gush - The wife of my Owen her heart may discover!

Proud of you, fond of you, having all right in you, Quitting all else through my love and delight in you! Glad is my heart since 'tis beating so nigh to you! Light is my step for it always may fly to you! Clasped in your arms where no sorrow can reach to me, Reading your eyes till new love they shall teach to me. Though wild and weak till now, By that blest marriage vow, More than the wisest know your heart shall preach to me.

Ellen Mary Patrick Downing [1828-1869]

DORIS: A PASTORAL

I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden; Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers. I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling, And shadows stealing for hours and hours.

And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses Wild summer roses of faint perfume, The while I sued her, kept hushed and harkened Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.

She touched my shoulder with fearful finger; She said, "We linger, we must not stay; My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander; Behold them yonder, how far they stray!"

I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you, And still be near you, and still adore! No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling - Ah! stay my darling a moment more!"