"Hymen, O Hymen!" beauteous ladies cry,

"Hymen, O Hymen!" loud

Shout forth the echoing crowd

The city through; patricians perched on high,

And the plebeian patient plodding by,

Raise incense like a cloud.

And Hymen's here, kind eye on all to keep,

Hymen, with roses crowned,

Leads on the Lion, bound

In floral bonds and blossom-bridled, deep

In scattered flowers. Your lyres ye laureates sweep,

And marriage measures sound!

Not Una's guardian more gladly bare

Burden more pleasant—pure!

With footing gently sure

Leo on-paces. Hymen's torch in air

Flames fragrantly. Was ever Happy Pair

So served, or so secure?

Take the rose-reins, young bridegroom; bridled so

Leo's not hard to ride.

Sweet May, the new-made bride,

Will find her lion palfrey-paced. And lo!

The genial god's unfailing torch aglow

Burns bravely at her side!

Epithalamia seem out of date;

Hymen cares not to-day

To trill a fulsome lay,

Or hymn High Bridals with Spenserian state.

Goodwill to goodness simply dedicate,—

Such homage Punch would pay.

"Hymen, O Hymen!" Like this torch's flame,

Bright be your wedded days!

May a proud people's praise,

Well earned, be your award of honest fame;

And on each gracious head,

Light may it lie, the crown you yet may claim,

As rest these roses red!