Song: Phoebus Arise

Phœbus, arise,And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bedThat she thy career may with roses spread;The nightingales thy coming each where sing;Make an eternal spring;Give life to this dark world which lieth dead.Spread forth thy golden hairIn larger locks than thou wast wont before,And emperor-like, decoreWith diadem of pearl thy temples fair.Chase hence the ugly night,Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.This is that happy morn,That day, long wished dayOf all my life so dark,(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn,And fates not hope betray)Which, only white, deservesA diamond forever should it mark;This is the morn should bring unto this groveMy love, to hear and recompense my love.Fair king, who all preserves,But show thy blushing beams,And thou two sweeter eyesShalt see than those which by Peneus' streamsDid once thy heart surprise;Nay, suns, which shine as clearAs thou when two thou did to Rome appear.Now Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise;If that ye, winds, would hearA voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,Your stormy chiding stay;Let Zephyr only breatheAnd with her tresses play,Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death.The winds all silent are,And Phœbus in his chair,Ensaffroning sea and air,Makes vanish every star;Night like a drunkard reelsBeyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels;The fields with flow'rs are deck'd in every hue,The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue;Here is the pleasant place,And ev'ry thing save her, who all should grace.