544 THE 



now. Farewell you only are left; therefore, I charge you, take 

 care of our dear mother, and cherish her well. 



In death, thy loving brother, JOHN DINFOKD. 



* # * Any degree of interest this little narrative may possess, will 

 not be diminished by the information that our correspondent who 

 forwarded this MS. is himself one of the survivors of a plague in the 

 East, far more destructive, and not less awful than that of London, 

 in its scenes and circumstances. ED. 



THE BRIDAL. 



SHE stood beside the altar, but I saw her cheek was pale, 

 When the summer breezes wafted back her snow-white bridal veil ; 

 And listlessly she gazed upon the bright throng gather'd there, 

 As though in all that glitt'ring scene her heart had little share. 



Her youthful form was such an one as painters love to trace, 

 With raven hair, and deep dark eyes, and steps so full of grace ; 

 A flow'r just op'ning into bloom, and yet a blight was there, 

 And on her gentle brow she bore the marks of woe and care. 



The bridegroom's mien was stern and dark, and with an air of pride 

 He rais'd the trembling hand of that young victim at his side ; 

 And prouder still the father look'd as near he took his stand, 

 And hail'd his lovely daughter there a peeress of the land ! 



O what a glance she gave him then ! it was so full of woe, 

 There needed not the power of words her wretchedness to show, 

 But quickly with a quiv'ring lip and one deep mournful sigh, 

 She turn'd away to hide the tears that gather'd in her eye. 



Full brightly flash'd the costly gems amidst her glossy hair, 

 And oriental pearls were twin'd around her arms so fair ; 

 But love will not be bought and sold ye may bring golden chains, 

 And hearts ye fain would fetter thus still mock at all your pains. 



And well do I remember now a frank and gallant youth, 



Who pledg'd unto that lovely one a vow of endless truth ; 



But their fond dream of tenderness full soon has pass'd away, 



And hopes that once seem'd fresh and bright have turn'd unto decay. 



Heav'n help thee noble lady ! for full bitter it will be 



When he thou lovest shall return, but not return for thee ; 



And thou must deck thy face in smiles and strive to seem at peace, 



Albeit the pangs that rend thine heart will never, never cease. 



O thou hast learn'd that happiness on earth is never known, 

 But in the azure courts of heav'n it flourishes alone ; 

 And ere its ever verdant leaves can greet the weary eye, 

 We must toil through a wilderness, and then lie down to die ! 



E. C. H. 



