Burn incense now! and round our altars fair
With cheerful vows or sacred silence stand!
To-day Cerinthus' birth our rites declare,
With perfumes from the blest Arabian land.

Let his own Genius to our festal haste,
While fresh-blown flowers his heavenly tresses twine
And balm-anointed brows; so let him taste
Our offered loaf and sweet, unstinted wine!

To thee Cerinthus may his favoring care
Grant every wish! O claim some priceless meed!
Ask a fond wife thy life-long bliss to share—
Nay! This the great gods have long since decreed!

Less than this gift were lordship of wide fields,
Where slow-paced yoke and swain compel the corn;
Less, all rich gems the womb of India yields,
Where the flushed Ocean rims the shores of Morn.

Thy vow is granted! Lo! on pinions bright,
The Love-god comes, a yellow cincture bearing,
To bind thee ever to thy dear delight,
In nuptial knot, all other knots outwearing.

When wrinkles delve, and o'er the reverend brow
Fall silver locks and few, the bond shall be
But more endeared; and thou shall bless this vow
O'er children's children smiling at thy knee.