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Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted

her palfrey. “ Nothing is wanting now," he said with a

smile, but the distaff; Then you would be in truth my queen, my

beautiful Bertha!”

Onward the bridal procession now moved to

their new habitation, Happy husband and wife, and friends convers

ing together. Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed

the ford in the forest, Pleased with the image that passed, like a

dream of love through its bosom, Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of

the azure abysses. Down through the golden leaves the sun was

pouring his splendors, Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches

above them suspended,

Mingled their odorous breath with the balm

of the pine and the fir-tree, Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in

the valley of Eshcol. Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pas

toral ages,

Fresh with the youth of the world, and recall

ing Rebecca and Isaac, Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful

always, Love immortal and young in the endless suc

cession of lovers. So through the Plymouth woods passed onward

the bridal procession.

BIRDS OF PASSAGE.

. . come i gru van cantando lor lai,
Facendo in aer di sè lunga riga.

DANTE.

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