H Y M E N.
This child of Venus and Bacchus presided over marriages, and has the appearance of a beautiful youth, holding a torch in his hand, and in the other a purple garment, with his head ornamented by a crown of roses.
"Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour.
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower!
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there,
At starry midnight charmed the silent air;
In vain the wild bird carolled on the steep
To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep;
In vain, to soothe the solitary shade,
Aerial notes in mingling pleasure played;
The Summer wind that shook the spangled trees,
The whispering wave, the murmuring of the breeze;
Still slowly passed the melancholy day,
And still the stranger wist not where to stray.
The world was sad; the garden was a wild!
And man, the hermit, sighed,—till woman smiled!"
Campbell.
According to the more received opinions of others, Hymenæus was a young Athenian of extraordinary beauty, but of low origin. Becoming enamoured of one of the richest and noblest of his countrywomen, he worshipped her at a distance, and followed her, though respectfully, wherever she went: and, on one occasion, joined the nations of Athens in a religious procession, disguising his sex by women's clothes. When they reached Eleusis, a great part of the procession were seized by a band of pirates, who suddenly appeared amongst them: Hymenæus shared the captivity of his mistress, and encouraging the captives, they slew their ravishers while they slept. Immediately after this, Hymenæus repaired to Athens, and promised to deliver them if he were allowed to marry the one he might choose from amongst them.
The Athenians consented; and the lover received so much happiness in the marriage state, that festivals were instituted in his honour, and he was solemnly invoked at their nuptials.
"Hail, wedded love, mysterious law, true source
Of human offspring, sole propriety,
In paradise of all things common else!
By thee adulterous lust was driven from men
Among the bestial herds to range; by thee
Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,
Relations dear, and all the charities
Of father, son, and brother, first were known,
Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame,
Or think thee unbefitting holiest place;
Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets,
Whose bed is undefiled, and chaste pronounced,
Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used.
Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings,
Reigns here and revels, not in the bought smile
Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared,
Casual fruition; nor in court amours,
Mixed dance or wanton mask, or midnight ball,
Or serenade, which the starved lover sings
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain."
Milton
It was supposed that he always attended at nuptials; if not, matrimonial connections were fatal, and ended unhappily, and therefore people ran about calling aloud, Hymen! Hymen!
"God of the torch, whose soul-illuming flame
Beams brightest radiance o'er the human heart,
Of many a woe the cure,
Of many a joy the source.
Friend to each better feeling of the soul,
I sing to thee, for many a joy is thine,
And many a virtue comes
To join thy happy train.
Parent of every bliss, the busy hand
Of Fancy, oft will paint in brightest hues
How calm, how clear thy torch
Illumes the wintry hour.
We'll paint the well-trimmed fire, the frugal meal,
Prepared with good solicitude to please,
The ruddy children round,
Climbing the father's knee.
And oft will fancy rise above the lot
Of honest poverty, and dream how man
Nor rich, nor poor, enjoys
His best and happiest state.
When toil no longer irksome, and restrained
By hard necessity, but comes to please,
To vary the still hour
Of tranquil happiness,
Lured by the splendour of thy sacred torch,
The beacon light of bliss, young Love draws near,
And leads his willing slaves
To wear thy flowery chain."
Southey.
"Hymen, late, his love-knots selling,
Called at many a maiden's dwelling;
None could doubt, who saw, or knew them,
Hymen's call was welcome to them.
'Who'll buy my love-knots?
Who'll buy my love knots?'
Soon as that sweet cry resounded,
How his baskets were surrounded!
Maids, who now first dreamt of trying
Those gay knots of Hymen's tying;
Dames, who long had sat to watch him
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him,
'Who'll buy my love-knots?
Who'll buy my love-knots?'
All at that sweet cry assembled;
Some laughed, some blushed, and others trembled.
'Here are knots,' said Hymen, taking
Some loose flowers of Love's own making;
'Here are good ones, you may trust 'em,'
(These, of course, found ready custom,)
'Come buy my love-knots,
Come buy my love-knots!
Some are labelled-knots to tie men,
Love, the maker—Bought of Hymen.'
Scarce their bargains were completed,
When the nymphs all cried, 'We're cheated;
'See these flowers, they're drooping sadly,
This gold-knot, too, ties but badly'—
'Who'll buy my love-knots,
Who'll buy my love-knots!'
Even this tie, with Love's name round it,
All a sham, he never bound it!
Love, who saw the whole proceeding,
Would have laughed, but for good breeding;
While old Hymen, who was used to,
Cries like that these dames gave loose to,
'Take back our love-knots,
Take back our love-knots!'
Coolly said, 'There's no returning
Wares on Hymen's hands—Good morning!'"
Moore.