 | Metrical essays |  |
158
THE BRIDE.
She kissed her aged sire—her hopes were dull—And bursting sighs told what she could not speak;
O! as her bright lips touch'd his faded cheek,
She look'd of all on earth most beautiful:
She kissed her sorrowing mother—on that breast
Which oft had pillow'd her in sweet repose
She sank, 'mid tears and blushes, like a rose
On which the heavy morning dews have prest;
Her sister too—and could she e'er forget
The charm of many a past delightful scene?
They part to be no more as they have been;
They part to meet no more as they have met:
Alas, who may the depth of sorrow tell
Which lies in that bereaving word—Farewell!
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