 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
VI.
O countless are the steps they treadEre the chapel is gain'd where the rites shall be said.
Trembled each taper in the gale
The hidden realms unwont inhale;
But trembled more the bride, for whom
They flar'd amid the shadowy gloom.
“What fears my gentle bride?”
“O weary is this dark descent,
And I with toil am worn and spent—
Watching life's pale and waning lamp
And death-dews gathering cold and damp,
By a sick father's side.”
| The bridal of Vaumond | |