But the Bride—the
Bride is coming!
Birds are singing, bees are humming;
Silent lakes amid the mountains
Look but cannot speak their mirth;
Streams go bounding in their gladness,
With a bacchanalian madness;
Trees bow down their heads in wonder,
Clouds of purple part asunder,
As the Maiden of the Morning
Leads the blushing Bride to Earth!
Bright as are the planets seven—
With her glances
For her azure eyes are Heaven!
And her robes are sunbeams woven,
And her beauteous bridesmaids are
Hopes and wishes—
Joys from some serener star,
And Heavenly-hued Illusions gleaming from afar.
Now the mystic right is over—
Blessings on the loved and lover!
Strike the tabours, clash the cymbals,
Let the notes of joy resound!
With the rosy apple-blossom,
Blushing like a maiden’s bosom;
With all treasures from the meadows
Strew the consecrated ground;
Let the guests with vows fraternal
Pledge each other,
With the wine of Hope—the vernal
Vine-juice of Man’s trustful heart:
Love and Labour, Song and Art,
Be this the cheerful creed wherewith the world may start.
But whither the twain departed?
The United—the One-hearted—
Whither from the bridal banquet
Have the Bride and Bridegroom flown?
Ah! their steps have led them quickly
Where the young leaves cluster thickly;
Blossomed boughs rain fragrance o’er them,
Greener grows the grass before them,
As they wander through the island,
Fond, delighted, and alone!
At their coming streams grow brighter,
Skies grow clearer,
And the blue waves dancing lighter
From the far-off mighty ocean
Frolic on the glistening sand;
Breathe around, as hand-in-hand
They roam the Sutton’s sea-washed shore, or soft Shanganah’s strand.
14. Characters in Shelley, Coleridge, and Moore.
15. “The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame
Over his living head, like Heaven, is bent,
An early but enduring monument.”
Byron. (Shelley’s “Adonais.”)
When I have knelt in the temple of Duty,
Worshipping honour and valour and beauty—
When, like a brave man, in fearless resistance,
I have fought the good fight on the field of existence;
When a home I have won in the conflict of labour,
With truth for my armour and thought for my sabre,
Be that home a calm home where my old age may rally,
A home full of peace in this sweet pleasant valley!
Sweetest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah!
Greenest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah!
May the accents of love, like the droppings of manna,
Fall sweet on my heart in the Vale of Shanganah!