Classic Poem

In lovely May when Titan's golden rays
Make odds in hours between the nights and days,
And weigheth almost down the once-even scale
Where night and day by th' Equinoctial
Were laid in balance, as his pow'r he bent
To banish Cynthia from her regiment
To Latmus' stately hill, and with his light
To rule the upper world both day and night;
Making the poor Antipodes to fear
A like conjunction 'twixt great Jupiter
And some Alcmena new, or that the sun
From their horizon did obliquely run:
This time the swains and maidens of the Isle
The day with sportive dances do beguile,
And every valley rings with shepherds' songs;
And every echo each sweet note prolongs,
And every river with unusual pride
And dimpled cheek rolls sleeping to the tide;
And lesser springs, which aërie-breeding woods
Prefer as handmaids to the mighty floods,
Scarce fill up half their channels, making haste
(In fear, as boys) lest all the sport be past.
Now was the Lord and Lady of the May
Meeting the May-pole at the break of day,
And Cælia, as the fairest on the green,
Not without some maids' envy chosen queen.
Now was the time com'n, when our gentle swain
Must in his harvest or lose all again.
Now must he pluck the rose lest other hands,
Or tempests, blemish what so fairly stands:
And therefore, as they had before decreed,
Our shepherd gets a boat, and with all speed
In night, that doth on lovers' actions smile,
Arrived safe on Mona's fruitful isle.
Between two rocks (immortal, without mother,)
That stand as if out-facing one another,
There ran a creek up, intricate and blind,
As if the waters hid them from the wind;
Which never wash'd but at a higher tide
The frizzled coats which do the mountains hide;
Where never gate was longer known to stay
Than from the smooth wave it had swept away
The new divorced leaves, that from each side
Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide.
At further end the creek a stately wood
Gave a kind shadow to the brackish flood
Made up of trees, not less kenn'd by each skiff
Than that sky-scaling Peak of Teneriffe,
Upon whose tops the hernshaw bred her young,
And hoary moss upon their branches hung;
Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show,
Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow;
And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears,
None could allot them less than Nestor's years.
As under their command the thronged creek
Ran lessen'd up. Here did the shepherd seek
Where he his little boat might safely hide,
Till it was fraught with what the world beside,
Could not outvalue; nor give equal weight
Though in the time when Greece was at her height
The ruddy horses of the rosy Morn
Out of the Eastern gates had newly borne
Their blushing mistress in her golden chair,
Spreading new light throughout our hemisphere,
When fairest Cælia with a lovelier crew
Of damsels than brave Latmus ever knew
Came forth to meet the youngsters, who had here
Cut down an oak that long withouten peer
Bore his round head imperiously above
His other mates there, consecrate to Jove.
The wished time drew on: and Cælia now,
That had the fame for her white arched brow;
While all her lovely fellows busied were
In picking off the gems from Tellus' hair,
Made tow'rds the creek, where Philocel unspied
Of maid or shepherd that their May-games piled;
Receiv'd his wish'd-for Cælia, and begun
To steer his boat contrary to the sun,
Who could have wish'd another in his place
To guide the car of light, or that his race
Were to have end (so he might bless his hap)
In Cælia's bosom, not in Thetis' lap.
The boat oft danc'd for joy of what it held:
The hoist-up sail not quick but gently swell'd,
And often shook, as fearing what might fall,
Ere she deliver'd what she went withal.
Winged Argestes, fair Aurora's son,
Licens'd that day to leave his dungeon,
Meekly attended and did never err,
Till Cælia grac'd our land, and our land her.
As through the waves their love-fraught wherry ran,
A many Cupids, each set on his swan,
Guided with reins of gold and silver twist
The spotless birds about them as they list:
Which would have sung a song (ere they were gone),
Had unkind Nature given them more than one;
Or in bestowing that had not done wrong,
And made their sweet lives forfeit one sad song.