If one shrewd tongue should jar and seek to | While memories of green woods and tuneful shame streams, The bride's new honors with her humble Lone songs and autumn sighs and April Long be their days, their fortunes glad and That memory, like the deep light in the Spring, summer, with their changes o'er it Another morn shall rise, but not to set, flit, And And morn and eve, twin-sisters, look from it; ye shall meet once more as once ye met, Your beauty wrought to glory by the Giver, | 'Mid herbless rocks, more pure than mounThe joy within ye perfected for ever. Oh what rare thoughts are his! oh what delight To gaze upon her, hold her in his sight, The last sweets, lest a drop be there in vain! A lightning-flash of what the soul shall be. tain-streams, Chaster than light, warmer than imaged beams, More full of promise than the vernal heaven, More peaceful than a starry summer's even, More sweet than moss-rose odors after rain With violets mixed, or a two-voiced strain? What is more welcome than the dawn of day To lone men lost in darkness and dismay, But she-dear heart!-her thoughts are fled To aged eyes than is the hue of wine, once more songs she sung, the faithful words she read, Till she has need to look to his up eyes shine Of sudden waters in a desert place, A guileless maiden and a gentle youth. Through arches of wreathed rose they take their way, For all their warmth to sun her timeless He the fresh morning, she the better May, May your pure concord stir the aftertimes, 'Mid courteous aspects, flatterers, peers and friends; Brothers and uncles on his footsteps wait, Aunts, sisters, cousins, that must bow to Fate; Your faith right onward scatter clouds of She takes their forced welcome and their wrath; As though the long-lost Golden Age were The minstrels wait them at the palace |