THE POET’S BRIDAL-DAY SONG.

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Even while I muse, I see thee sitIn maiden bloom and matron wit;

Fair, gentle, as when first I suedYe seem, but of sedater mood:

Yet my heart leaps as fond for theeAs when, beneath Arbigland tree,

We stayed and wooed, and thought the moonSet on the sea an hour too soon;

Or lingered ’mid the falling dew,

When looks were fond, and words were few'.

Though I see smiling at thy feetFive sons and a fair daughter sweet;

And time, and care, and birth-time woesHave dimmed thine eye, and touched thy rose :To thee, and thoughts of thee, belongAll that charms me of tale or song;

When w'ords come down like dews unsought,With gleams of deep enthusiast thought;

And fancy in her heaven flies free, —

They come, my love, they come from thee.

O, when more thought we gave, of old,

To silver than some give to gold,

’Twas sw'eet to sit and ponder o’er

What things should deck our humble bower !

’Twas sweet to pull, in hope, with thee,

The golden fruit from fortune’s tree;

And sweeter, still, to choose and twineA garland for these locks of thine;

A song-wreath which may grace my Jean,

While rivers flow, and woods are green.

At times, there come, as come there ought,Grave moments of sedater thought, —

When fortune frowns, nor lends our nightOne gleam of her inconstant light;

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