Hymen hath himself propitious shown:Let us to my fathers house repair,
Is well-nigh crazed;My feeble mind
Here will also see,That the East and West, like brothers,
Now speaks He, and His voice is thunder,He speaks, the rocks are rent in sunder,
In yonder holy spot to pray?The brook appears to hem his path,
Ah, my terror waxes stronger!
Yet may ye never quench my inward fire!Within my bosom heaves a mighty force,
Their praises we won't tell;They'll stand inspection well.They're fond of what is new,--And yet, to show they're true,Nor seal nor letter's wanted;To all have wings been granted.The pretty birds behold,--Such beauties ne'er were sold!
On the beauteous maiden's head--
Cools these burning cheeks of mine,
Over the scaffolding frail of the alternating leaves.But this glory is only the new creation's foreteller,
Nor my bosom's pangs impart.