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116 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
THE BRIDE.
She stood at the altar, array'd in white,
"With roses entwined in her hair, But her deep-blue eye was too strangely bright, Her cheek too transparent and fair: Her heart beat quick as she breathed that vow, And the flower leaves trembled o'er her brow.
She turn'd away, in confiding love,
From the scenes she held so dear; The garden haunts, the streamlet, the grove, She left without shedding a tear— She left them in untried paths to roam, Left them to gladden another home.
Vines round her casement were dropping away,
The blossoms beginning to fade, When, clad as she was on her bridal day, They brought her once more to that shade— Back to that shade of her childhood's home— But she, like the rose, had lost her bloom.
Gather around her, ye loved ones, now;
Her lips with your kisses impress— Affection's seal is still on her brow,
Though she cannot return your embrace: On her lips there lingers the same sweet smile— 0, weeping parents, behold your child! |
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