THE BRIDEMAID.
I
The bridal is over, the guests are all gone;
The bride's only sister sits weeping alone:
The wreath of white roses is torn from her brow,
And the heart of the Bridemaid is desolate now!
II
With smiles and caresses she deck'd the fair bride,
And then led her forth with affectionate pride:
She knew that together no more they should dwell,
Yet she smiled when she kissed her, and whisper'd “Farewell!’
III
She would not embitter a festival day,
Nor send her sweet sister in sorrow away:
She hears the bells ringing; she sees her depart—
She cannot veil longer the grief of her heart.
IV
She thinks of each pleasure, each pain, that endears
The gentle companion of happier years.
The wreath of white roses is torn from her brow,
And the heart of the Bridemaid is desolate now!
