Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IL LATTE, by EDWARD JERNINGHAM


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IL LATTE, by                    
First Line: Ye fair, for whom the hands of hymen weave
Last Line: Unblam'd inebriate at that healthful spring.
Subject(s): Babies; Caregivers; Love; Nature; Parents; Infants; Parenthood


YE fair, for whom the hands of Hymen weave
The nuptial wreath to deck your virgin brow,
With pleasing pains the conscious bosom heave,
And on the kindling cheek the blushes glow: ...

To you I sing.—Ah! ere the raptur'd youth
With trembling hand removes the jealous veil,
Where, long regardless of the vows of truth,
Unsocial coyness stamp'd th' ungrateful seal:

Allow the poet round your flowing hair,
Cull'd from an humble vale, a wreath to twine,
To Beauty's altar with the Loves repair,
And wake the lute beside that living shrine:

That sacred shrine! where female virtue glows,
To which retreat the warm affections fly;
Where Love is born, where strong attachment grows,
Where frames pure Constancy the faithful tie:

That shrine! where Nature with presaging aim,
What time her friendly aid Lucina brings,
The snowy nectar pours, delightful stream!
Where flutt'ring Cupids dip their purple wings:

Say why, illustrious daughters of the Great,
Lives not the nursling at your tender breast?
By you protected in his frail estate?
By you attended, and by you caress'd?

To venal hands, alas! can you resign
The Parent's task, the Mother's pleasing care?
To venal hands the smiling babe consign?
While Hymen starts, and Nature drops a tear.

When 'mid the polish'd circle ye rejoice,
Or roving join fantastic Pleasure's train,
Unheard perchance the nursling lifts his voice,
His tears unnotic'd, and unsooth'd his pain.

Ah! what avails the coral crown'd with gold?
In heedless infancy the title vain?
The colours gay the purfled scarfs unfold?
The splendid nurs'ry, and th' attendant train? ..

Nor wonder, should Hygeia, blissful Queen!
Her wonted salutary gifts recall,
While haggard Pain applies his dagger keen;
And o'er the cradle Death unfolds his pall. ...

For you, ye plighted fair, when Hymen crowns
With tender offspring your unshaken love,
Behold them not with Rigour's chilling frowns,
Nor from your sight unfeelingly remove.

Unsway'd by Fashion's dull unseemly jest,
Still to the bosom let your infant cling,
There banquet oft, an ever-welcome guest,
Unblam'd inebriate at that healthful spring.





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