IDYL XVIII.

EPITHALAMIUM.

ARGUMENT.

A chorus of Spartan virgins of the highest rank chaunt the spousal song before the bridal chamber of Menelaus and Helen. The bridegroom is congratulated for his extraordinary happiness in obtaining such a wife. The singular beauty and exquisite graces and accomplishments of Helen are commemorated; and the song concludes with a prayer for the happiness of the bridal pair.

This exquisite poem has been abjudicated from Theocritus, because, forsooth, it differs from his general style; as though the same poet could not possibly excel in different styles.

P

IDYL XVIII.

EPITHALAMIUM.

TWELVE Spartan virgins, the Laconian bloom,
Choired before their Helen's bridal room,
New-hung with tapestry: entwined the fair
With hyacinths their hyacinthine hair;
When Menelaus, Atreus' younger pride,
Locked in sweet Tyndaris, his lovely bride;
To the same time with cadence true they beat
The rapid round of intertwining feet;

One measure tript, one song together sung-
Their hymenæan all the palace rung.

"So early, bridegroom! fix'd in slumber deep? So heavy-limbed, with such a love for sleep? Thyself, wine-heavy, on the bed hast thrown For only rest? thou shouldst have slept alone,

And with her mother left the girl to play
With only girls until the break of day.

She's thine from day to day, and year to year-
Thrice-happy bridegroom! on thy way 'tis clear
Good demon sneezed, that only thou shouldst gain
The prize so many princes would obtain,

Only of demigods, whose bosomed love

Her husband makes the son-in-law of Jove!
Jove's daughter, peerless beauty-bud of Greece,
Now lies with thee beneath one broidered fleece.
What offspring to thy hopes will she prefer—
Could her dear offspring but resemble her!
Where flows Eurotas in his pleasant place,

Thrice eighty virgins we pursued the race,
Like men, anointed with the glistering oil,
A bloom of maiden buds-love's blushing spoil :
Of equal years; but seen by Helen's side
Not one, in whom some blemish was not spied.
As rising Morn, oh, venerable Night!
Shows from thy bosom dark her face of light;
As the clear spring, when winter's gloom is
So mid our throng the golden Helen shone.
As of a field or garden ornament,
The lofty cypress shoots up eminent;

gone,