Twelve Spartan virgins, noble, young, and fair, With violet wreaths adorned their flowing hair; And to the pompous palace did resort, Where Menelaus kept his royal court. There, hand in hand, a comely choir they led, } To sing a blessing to his nuptial bed, } With curious needles wrought, and painted flowers bespread. } Jove's beauteous daughter now his bride must be, And Jove himself was less a God than he; For this their artful hands instruct the lute to sound, Their feet assist their hands, and justly beat the ground. This was their song:--Why, happy bridegroom, why, Ere yet the stars are kindled in the sky, Ere twilight shades, or evening dews are shed, Why dost thou steal so soon away to bed? Has Somnus brushed thy eye-lids with his rod, } Or do thy legs refuse to bear their load, } With flowing bowls of a more generous god? } If gentle slumber on thy temples creep, (But, naughty man, thou dost not mean to sleep,) Betake thee to thy bed, thou drowzy drone, Sleep by thyself, and leave thy bride alone: Go, leave her with her maiden mates to play At sports more harmless till the break of day; Give us this evening; thou hast morn and night, And all the year before thee, for delight. O happy youth! to thee, among the crowd Of rival princes, Cupid sneezed aloud; And every lucky omen sent before, To meet thee landing on the Spartan shore. Of all our heroes, thou canst boast alone, That Jove, whene'er he thunders, calls thee son; Betwixt two sheets thou shalt enjoy her bare, } With whom no Grecian virgin can compare; } So soft, so sweet, so balmy, and so fair. } A boy, like thee, would make a kingly line; But oh, a girl like her must be divine. Her equals we in years, but not in face, Twelve score viragos of the Spartan race, While naked to Eurotas' banks we bend, And there in manly exercise contend, When she appears, are all eclipsed and lost, And hide the beauties that we made our boast. So, when the night and winter disappear, The purple morning, rising with the year, Salutes the spring, as her celestial eyes Adorn the world, and brighten all the skies; So beauteous Helen shines among the rest, Tall, slender, straight, with all the Graces blest. As pines the mountains, or as fields the corn, Or as Thessalian steeds the race adorn; So rosy-coloured Helen is the pride Of Lacedemon, and of Greece beside. Like her no nymph can willing osiers bend } In basket-works, which painted streaks commend; } With Pallas in the loom she may contend. } But none, ah! none can animate the lyre, And the mute strings with vocal souls inspire;