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191
HE LED HER TO THE ALTAR.
He led her to the altar,
But the bride was not his chosen:
He led her, with a hand as cold,
As though its pulse had frozen.
Flowers were crush'd beneath his tread,
A gilded dome was o'er him;
But his brow was damp, and his lips were pale,
As the marble steps before him.
But the bride was not his chosen:
He led her, with a hand as cold,
As though its pulse had frozen.
Flowers were crush'd beneath his tread,
A gilded dome was o'er him;
But his brow was damp, and his lips were pale,
As the marble steps before him.
His soul was sadly dreaming
Of one he had hoped to cherish;
Of a name and form that the sacred rites,
Beginning, told must perish.
He gazed not on the stars and gems
Of those who circled round him;
But trembled as his lips gave forth
The words that falsely bound him.
Of one he had hoped to cherish;
Of a name and form that the sacred rites,
Beginning, told must perish.
He gazed not on the stars and gems
Of those who circled round him;
But trembled as his lips gave forth
The words that falsely bound him.
192
Many a voice was praising,
Many a hand was proferr'd;
But mournfully he turn'd him
From the greeting that was offer'd.
Despair had fixed upon his brow
Its deepest, saddest token;
And the bloodless cheek, the stifled sigh,
Betray'd his heart was broken.
Many a hand was proferr'd;
But mournfully he turn'd him
From the greeting that was offer'd.
Despair had fixed upon his brow
Its deepest, saddest token;
And the bloodless cheek, the stifled sigh,
Betray'd his heart was broken.
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