W6 

 A BRIDAL DIRGE. 



May no sunny smile to-day 



O'er the fond cheek flush. 

 May no merry minstrel lay 



Hail the young dawn's gush. 



Let the white-robed singers' tone, 



Dirge like, breathe of fears. 

 Let the harp-notes — one by one — 



Sound like falling tears. 



Still ye weave the hymn of Pleasure; 



Still would fain rejoice ? 

 Meeter far than such light measure 



Were a mourning voice. 



When the cold world's gloom hath shaded 



Her dark eye's soft light : 

 When that faiiy form hath faded 



Under stern cares' blight : 



When pale Thought with marble finger 



Chills that glowing brow, 

 Where we see so fondly linger 



Love's bright radiance now : 



Will memory, wandering o'er the past, 



Bring back, with magic mild — 

 As now she stands in maiden grace — 



A vision of that child. 



Her blithesome tone — her step of air — 



Her pure and trusting thought — 

 Her even-song that mocked at care — 



Her look with fondness fraught : 



All these will crowd upon the brain, 



Like phantoms round our sleep, 

 Till, musing on lost loveliness, 



We may not choose, but weep. 



Then raise no mirth for one who leaves, 



The dreams of Love and Youth, 

 To struggle through life's rugged way— 



To prove its dreary truth. 



FllANZ, 



