We live well-ruled by an honoured king, Beloved of the gods, in a happy isle; Where merry winds of the gay sea bring No foe to our shore, and the heavens smile On a peaceful folk secure from fear, 1590 Who gather the fruits of the earth at will, And hymn their thanks to the gods, and rear Their laughing babes unmindful of ill. And ever we keep a feast of delight, The betrothal of hearts, when spirits unite, Creating an offspring of joy, a treasure Unknown to the bad, for whom The gods foredoom The glitter of pleasure, And a dark tomb. 1600 Blessèd therefore O newly betrothed are ye, Tho’ happy to-day ye be, Your happier times ye yet shall see. We make our prayer to the gods. The sun shall prosper the seasons’ yield With fuller crops for the wains to bear, And feed our flocks in fold and field With wholesome water and sweetest air. Plenty shall empty her golden horn, And grace shall dwell on the brows of youth, And love shall come as the joy of morn, 1611 To waken the eyes of pride and truth. Blessèd therefore thy happy folk are we. Tho’ happy to-day we be, Our happier times are yet to see. We render praise to the gods; But chiefest of all in the highest height To Love that sitteth in timeless might, That tameth evil, and sorrow ceaseth. And now we wish you again, 1620 Again and again, His joy that encreaseth, And a long reign. _Ach._ Stay, stay! and thou, good king, and all here, hear me. I would be measured by my best desire, And that’s for peace and love, and the delights Your song hath augured: but to all men fate Apportions a mixed lot, and ’twas for me Foreshown that peace and honour lay apart, Wherever pleasure: and to-day’s event 1630 Questions your hope. I was for this revealed, To lead the Argive battle against Troy: Thither I go; whence to return or not Is out of sight, but yet my marriage-making Enters with better promise on my life Thus hand in hand with glorious enterprise. After some days among you I must away, Tho’ ’tis not far. _Ul._ Well said! So art thou bound. _Dio._ The war that hung so long will now begin. _Lye._ I ask one month, Achilles: grant one moon: They that could wait so long may longer wait. 1641 _Chorus._ 1.