The Works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld/Volume 1/Epithalamium
For other versions of this work, see Epithalamium (Barbauld).
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; The shifting colours prove by turnsThe torch of Love unsteady burns.Pleading now, now lingering, fainting,Her soft heart with fear is panting;—Cling not to thy mother so,Thy mother smiles, and bids thee go.
Mind not what thy maidens say;Though they chide the cruel day,Though they weep, and strive to hold theeFrom his arms that would enfold thee;Kiss, and take a short farewell,—They wish the chance to them befell.
Mighty Love demands his crownNow for all his sufferings done;For all Love's tears, for all his sighs,Thyself must be the sacrifice.Virgin, brighter than the day,Haste from thy chamber, come away!
- ↑ Designed for the opening of a Tragedy.