 | Fugitive poetry |  |
64
TO A BRIDE.
Pass thou on! for the vow is said
That is never broken;
The hand of blessing hath, trembling, laid
On snowy forehead and simple braid,
And the word is spoken
By lips that never their words betray'd.
That is never broken;
The hand of blessing hath, trembling, laid
On snowy forehead and simple braid,
And the word is spoken
By lips that never their words betray'd.
Pass thou on! for thy human all
Is richly given,
And the voice that claim'd its holy thrall
Must be sweeter for life than music's fall,
And, this side Heaven,
Thy lip may never that trust recal.
Is richly given,
And the voice that claim'd its holy thrall
Must be sweeter for life than music's fall,
And, this side Heaven,
Thy lip may never that trust recal.
Pass thou on! yet many an eye
Will droop and glisten;
And the hushing heart in vain will try
To still its pulse as thy step goes by
And we “vainly listen
For thy voice of witching melody.”
Will droop and glisten;
And the hushing heart in vain will try
To still its pulse as thy step goes by
And we “vainly listen
For thy voice of witching melody.”
Pass thou on! yet a sister's tone
In its sweetness lingers,
Like some twin echo sent back alone,
Or the bird's soft note when its mate hath flown,
And a sister's fingers
Will again o'er the thrilling harp be thrown.
In its sweetness lingers,
Like some twin echo sent back alone,
Or the bird's soft note when its mate hath flown,
And a sister's fingers
Will again o'er the thrilling harp be thrown.
65
And our eyes will rest on their foreheads fair,
And our hearts awaken
Whenever we come where their voices are—
But oh, we shall think how musical were,
Ere of thee forsaken,
The mingled voices we listed there.
And our hearts awaken
Whenever we come where their voices are—
But oh, we shall think how musical were,
Ere of thee forsaken,
The mingled voices we listed there.
Pass on! there is not of our blessings one
That may not perish—
Like visiting angels whose errand is done,
They are never at rest till their home is won,
And we may not cherish
The beautiful gift of thy light—Pass on!
That may not perish—
Like visiting angels whose errand is done,
They are never at rest till their home is won,
And we may not cherish
The beautiful gift of thy light—Pass on!
| Fugitive poetry | |