Honoro Butler And Lord Kenmare (1720)

In bloom and bud the bees are busily             Storing against the winter their sweet hoard         That shall be rifled ere the autumn be             Past, or the winter comes with silver sword         To fright the bees, until the merry round         Tells them that sweets again are to be found.         The lusty tide is flowing by in ease,             Telling of joy along its brimming way;         Far in its waters is an isle of trees             Whereto the sun will go at end of day,         As who in secret place and dear is hid,         And scarce can rouse him thence tho' he be chid.         Now justice comes all trouble to repair,             And cheeks that had been wan are coloured well,         The untilled moor is comely, and the air             Hath a great round of song from bird in dell,         And bird on wing and bird on forest tree,         And from each place and space where bird may be.         The languid are made strong, the strong grow stronger,             There is no grievance here, and no distress,         The woeful are not woeful any longer,             The rose hath put on her a finer dress,         And every girl to bloom adds bloom again,         And every man hath heart beyond all men.         For the Star of Munster, Pearl of the Golden Bough,             Comes joyfully this day of days to wed         Her choice of all whom fame hath loved till now,             And who chose her from all that love instead:         The Joy of the Flock, the Bud of the Branch is she,         Crown of the Irish Pride and Chivalry.         He is a chief and prince, well famed is he,             The love of thousands unto him does run;         And all days were before and all will be,             He was and will be loved by every one;         And she and he be loved by all no less         Who courage love, and love, and loveliness.         The nobles of the province take their wine,             And drink a merry health to groom and bride;         They shall be drunken ere the sun decline,             And all their merrymaking lay aside         In deep, sweet sleep that seals a merry day         Until the dawn, when they shall ride away,         Leaving those two who now are one behind.             O Moon! pour on the silence all thy beams,         And for this night be beautiful and kind;             Weave in their sleep thy best and dearest dreams;         And fortune them in their own land to be         Safe from all evil chance, and from all enmity.