All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame :
Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes)
More bright than is the morning's brightest flame,
More fruitful than the May-time Geminies:

These, back restore the timely summer's fire; Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire, Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire.

These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed,
Where in the centre joy triumphing sits:
Thus in all high perfections fully graced,
Her mid-day bliss no future night admits;
But in the mirrors of her Spouse's eyes

Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies

All sweets, a glorious beauty to emparadise.

His locks like raven's plumes, or shining jet, Fall down in curls along his ivory neck; Within their circlets hundred graces set, And with love-knots their comely hangings deck: His mighty shoulders, like that giant swain, All heaven and earth, and all in both sustain; Yet knows no weariness, nor feels oppressing pain.

Her amber hair like to the sunny ray,

With gold enamels fair the silver white;
There heavenly loves their pretty sportings play,
Firing their darts in that wide flaming light:

Her dainty neck, spread with that silver mould,
Where double beauty doth itself unfold,

In the own fair silver shines, and fairer borrow'd gold.

His breast a rock of purest alabaster,

Where loves self-sailing, shipwreck'd, often sitteth.

Hers a twin-rock, unknown but to the shipmaster;
Which harbours him alone, all other splitteth.

Where better could her love than here have nested,

Or he his thoughts than here more sweetly feasted? Then both their love and thoughts in each are ever rested.

Run now, you shepherd swains; ah! run you thither,
Where this fair bridegroom leads the blessed way:
And haste, you lovely maids, haste you together
With this sweet bride, while yet the sunshine day
Guides your blind steps; while yet loud summons
call,

That every wood and hill resounds withal,

Come, Hymen, Hymen, come, dress'd in thy golden pall.

The sounding echo back the music flung,

While heavenly spheres unto the voices play'd. But see! the day is ended with my song,

And sporting bathes with that fair ocean maid: Stoop now thy wing, my muse, now stoop thee low: Hence mayst thou freely play, and rest thee now; While here I hang my pipe upon the willow bough.

So up they rose, while all the shepherds' throng
With their loud pipes a country triumph blew,
And led their Thirsil home with joyful song:
Meantime the lovely nymphs, with garlands new

His locks in bay and honour'd palm-tree bound,
With lilies set, and hyacinths around,

And lord of all the year and their May sportings crown'd.

END OF VOL. I.

BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.