Sighs his alarms,
Lips his swords are,
The field his arms.
The evening star I see:
Rise, youths! the evening star460
Helps Love to summon war;
Both now embracing be.
Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; rise!
Now the bright marigolds, that deck the skies,
Phœbus' celestial flowers, that, contrary