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EPITHALAMIUM[1].
Virgin, brighter than the morning,Haste and finish thy adorning!Hymen claims his promised day,—Come from thy chamber, come away!
Roses strew, and myrtles bring,Till you drain the wasted Spring;—The altars are already drest,The bower is fitted for its guest,The scattered rose begins to fade,—Come away, reluctant maid!
See what a war of blushes breaksO'er the pure whiteness of her cheeks;
- ↑ Designed for the opening of a Tragedy.
