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Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of the husband,
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 hushand and wife, and friends conversing 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, pastoral ages, Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac,
Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal
OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT.
OF Prometheus, how undaunted
Beautiful is the tradition
Of that flight through heavenly portals, The old classic superstition
Of the theft and the transmission
First the deed of noble daring,
Born of heavenward aspiration, Then the fire with mortals sharing. Then the vulture,-the despairing Cry of pain on crags Caucasian.
All is but a symbol painted
Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer;
In their feverish exultations,
In their triumph and their yearning