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Where, clothed in starry robes, majestic Night
Presides to sanctify the binding rite.
As rests her hand upon the genial couch,
The voices of the good their joy avouch;
And long through Pluto's halls is heard to float
Their wakeful hymn, with sweet applausive note.
"Hail, Matron Juno! worthiest of our love!
Hail, brother thou, and son-in-law of Jove!
Clasped in each other's arms, consenting steep
Your weary senses in the dews of sleep.
Accord what Nature asks; let sons be born,
New Gods, the world predestined to adorn;
And give to Ceres—by that hope beguiled
Of care and sorrow—children of her child."
