And the music's brisker din At the bridegroom's entering in, Entering in, a welcome guest, To the chamber of his rest.
CHORUS OF MAIDENS.
Now the jocund song is thine, Bride of David's kingly line;
How thy dove-like bosom trembleth, And thy shrouded eye resembleth Violets, when the dews of eve
A moist and tremulous glitter leave
On the bashful sealed lid! Close within the bride-veil hid, Motionless thou sitt'st and mute; Save that at the soft salute Of each entering maiden friend, Thou dost rise and softly bend.
Hark! a brisker, merrier glee !
The door unfolds, 't is he! 't is he! Thus we lift our lamps to meet him, Thus we touch our lutes to greet him. Thou shalt give a fonder meeting, Thou shalt give a tenderer greeting.
HENRY HART MILMAN.
THEN before All they stand, And ring of gold, no fond illusions now, Bind her as his. Across the threshold led, And every tear kissed off as soon as shed, His house she enters, there to be a light, Shining within, when all without is night; A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures and his cares dividing, Winning him back when mingling in the throng, Back from a world we love, alas! too long, To fireside happiness, to hours of ease, Blest with that charm, the certainty to please. How oft her eyes read his; her gentle mind To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined; Still subject, -ever on the watch to borrow Mirth of his mirth and sorrow of his sorrow! The soul of music slumbers in the shell, Till waked and kindled by the master's spell, And feeling hearts touch them but rightly –
A thousand melodies unheard before!
BUT happy they! the happiest of their kind! Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 'T is not the coarser tie of human laws, Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, That binds their peace, but harmony itself, Attuning all their passions into love; Where friendship full-exerts her softest power, Perfect esteem enlivened by desire Ineffable, and sympathy of soul; Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will,
With boundless confidence: for naught but love Can answer love, and render bliss secure. Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, And mingles both their graces. By degrees, The human blossom blows; and every day, Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, The father's lustre and the mother's bloom. Then infant reason grows apace, and calls For the kind hand of an assiduous care. Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot, To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast. O, speak the joy! ye whom the sudden tear
Surprises often, while you look around, And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss, All various Nature pressing on the heart; An elegant sufficiency, content, Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, Ease and alternate labor, useful life, Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven. These are the matchless joys of virtuous love; And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus, As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, Still find them happy; and consenting Spring Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads: Till evening comes at last, serene and mild; When after the long vernal day of life, Enamored more, as more remembrance swells With many a proof of recollected love, Together down they sink in social sleep; Together freed, their gentle spirits fly To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. JAMES THOMSON.
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. SHE is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.
I never saw a fairer,
I never lo'ed a dearer,
And neist my heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine.
She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The warld's wrack we share o't, The warstle and the care o't: Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, And think my lot divine.
Air, "A TRIP TO THE COTTAGE."
O THE banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me! There's not in the land a lovelier tide,
And I'm sure that there's no one so fair as my bride.
She's modest and meek, There's a down on her cheek, And her skin is as sleek
As a butterfly's wing;
Then her step would scarce show On the fresh-fallen snow, And her whisper is low,
But as clear as the spring.
O the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me! I know not how love is happy elsewhere, I know not how any but lovers are there.
O, so green is the grass, so clear is the stream, So mild is the mist and so rich is the beam, That beauty should never to other lands roam, But make on the banks of our river its home! When, dripping with dew, The roses peep through, "T is to look in at you
They are growing so fast; While the scent of the flowers Must be hoarded for hours,
'T is poured in such showers
When my Mary goes past.
O the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee,
And love in a cottage for Mary and me!
O, Mary for me, Mary for me,
My Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die ; Albeit I ask no fairer life than this, Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss, While Time and Peace with hands unlocked fly, - Yet care I not where in Eternity
We live and love, well knowing that there is No backward step for those who feel the bliss Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high: Love hath so purified my being's core, Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even, To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before; Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was given,
Which each calm day doth strengthen more and
That they who love are but one step from Heaven.
I CANNOT think that thou shouldst pass away, Whose life to mine is an eternal law,
A piece of nature that can have no flaw, A new and certain sunrise every day; But, if thou art to be another ray About the Sun of Life, and art to live Free from all of thee that was fugitive, The debt of Love I will more fully pay,
Not downcast with the thought of thee so high, But rather raised to be a nobler man, And more divine in my humanity, As knowing that the waiting eyes which scan My life are lighted by a purer being,
And 't is little I'd sigh for the banks of the Lee! And ask meek, calm-browed deeds, with it agree
THERE never yet was flower fair in vain, Let classic poets rhyme it as they will; The seasons toil that it may blow again, And summer's heart doth feel its every ill; Nor is a true soul ever born for naught : Wherever any such hath lived and died, There hath been something for true freedom wrought,
Some bulwark levelled on the evil side:
Toil on, then, Greatness! thou art in the right, However narrow souls may call thee wrong: Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear sight, And so thou wilt in all the world's erelong : For worldlings cannot, struggle as they may, From man's great soul one great thought hide away.
I THOUGHT our love at full, but I did err;
Joy's wreath drooped o'er mine eyes; I could not He bade me slowly ripen to my prime,
That sorrow in our happy world must be Love's deepest spokesman and interpreter ? But, as a mother feels her child first stir Under her heart, so felt I instantly Deep in my soul another bond to thee Thrill with that life we saw depart from her; O mother of our angel child! twice dear! Death knits as well as parts, and still, I wis, Her tender radince shall infold us here, Even as the light, borne up by inward bliss, Threads the void glooms of space without a fear, To print on farthest stars her pitying kiss. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
"It was our wedding-day
A month ago," dear heart, I hear you say. If months, or years, or ages since have passed, I know not I have ceased to question Time. I only know that once there pealed a chime Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast, And all stood back, and none my right denied, And forth we walked the world was free and wide Before us. Since that day
I count my life: the Past is washed away.
It was no dream, that vow:
It was the voice that woke me from a dream, - A happy dream, I think; but I am waking now, And drink the splendor of a sun supreme That turns the mist of former tears to gold. Within these arms I hold
The fleeting promise, chased so long in vain :
And from my boughs withheld the promised fruit, Till storm and sun gave vigor to the root. Secure, O Love! secure
Thy blessing is: I have thee day and night: Thou art become my blood, my life, my light: God's mercy thou, and therefore shalt endure.
THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.
THE day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet ; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line, Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more; it made thee mine.
While day and night can bring delight, Or nature aught of pleasure give, While joys above my mind can move, For thee and thee alone I live When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss, it breaks my heart.
THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG.
O, MY love's like the steadfast sun, Or streams that deepen as they run; Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, Nor moments between sighs and tears, Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain, Nor dreams of glory dreamed in vain,
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