The Vigil Of Venus
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
The Spring, the new, the warb'ling Spring appears,
The youthful Season of reviving Years;
In Spring the Loves enkindle mutual Heats,
The feather'd Nation chuse their tuneful Mates,
The Trees grow fruitful with descending Rain
And drest in diff'ring Greens adorn the Plain.
She comes; to morrow Beauty's Empress roves
Thro' Walks that winding run within the Groves;
She twines the shooting Myrtle into Bow'rs,
And ties their meeting Tops with Wreaths of Flow'rs,
Then rais'd sublimely on her easy Throne
From Nature's pow'rful Dictates draws her own.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
'Twas on that Day which saw the teeming Flood
Swell round, impregnate with celestial Blood;
Wand'ring in Circles stood the finny Crew,
The midst was left a void Expanse of Blue,
There Parent Ocean work'd with heaving Throes,
And dropping wet the fair Dione rose.
Let those love now, who never lov'd before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more.
She paints the purple Year with vary'd show,
Tips the green Gem, and makes the Blossom glow.
She makes the turgid Buds receive the Breeze,
Expand to Leaves, and shade the naked Trees.
When gath'ring damps the misty Nights diffuse,
She sprinkles all the Morn with balmy Dews;
Bright trembling Pearls depend at ev'ry spray,
And kept from falling, seem to fall away.
A glossy Freshness hence the Rose receives,
And blushes sweet through all her silken Leaves;
(The Drops descending through the silent Night,
While Stars serenely roll their golden Light,)
Close 'till the Morn, her humid Veil she holds;
Then deckt with Virgin Pomp the Flow'r unfolds.
Soon will the Morning blush: Ye Maids! prepare,
In rosy Garlands bind your flowing Hair
'Tis Venus' Plant: The Blood fair Venus shed,
O'er the gay Beauty pour'd immortal Red;
From Love's soft Kiss a sweet Ambrosial Smell
Was taught for ever on the Leaves to dwell;
From Gemms, from Flames, from orient Rays of Light
The richest Lustre makes her Purple bright;
And she to morrow weds; the sporting Gale
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poem by Thomas Parnell
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