The bridal of Vaumond A Metrical Romance |
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The bridal of Vaumond | ||
XXIV.
“Let then my nuptial rites be said—As fiends should wed—so will I wed,
And Isabel shall grace my bed”—
—“Now God forbid!”—cried Lodowick—
And all that pageant faded quick,
As the blaze of the levin red—
As when in the fulness of ripen'd years,
When the last trump shall shake the spheres,
Yon heavens away shall fade!
The bridal of Vaumond | ||