THE SIXTH POEM.
[Accept, O natal Queen! with placent Air]
Accept, O natal Queen! with placent Air,
The Incense offer'd by the learned Fair.
She's rob'd in cheerful Pomp, O Power divine!
She's rob'd to decorate your Matron-shrine;
Such her Pretence; but well her Lover knows
Whence her gay Look, and whence her Finery flows.
Thou, who dost o'er the nuptial Bed preside,
O! let not envious Night their Joys divide,
But make the Bridegroom amorous as the Bride!
So shall they tally, matchless lovely Pair!
A Youth all Transport, and a melting Fair!
Then let no Spies their secret Haunts explore;
Teach them thy Wiles, O Love! and guard the Door.
Assent, chaste Queen! in purple Pomp appear;
Thrice Wine is pour'd, and Cakes await you, here.
Her Mother tells her for what Boon to pray;
Her Heart denies it, tho' her Lips obey.
She burns, that Altar as the Flames devour;
She burns, and slights the Safety in her Power.
So may the Boy, whose Chains you proudly wear,
Thro' Youth the soft indulgent Anguish bear;
And when old Age has chill'd his every Vein,
The dear Remembrance may he still retain!
