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Like a chatterer tongue-tied, Lo, the wheel is placed aside!-- Not from indolence or pride-- Mariline must be a Bride!
Fairest maid of maids terrene!
Bride of Brides, dear Mariline!
VII.
Up the meditative air Pa.s.sed the smoke-wreaths, white and fair, Like the spirit of the prayer Mariline now offered there:
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Pa.s.sed behind the cottage eaves, Curling through the maple leaves:
Through the pines and old elm trees, Belies of past centuries, Hardy oaks, that never breeze Humbled to their gnarly knees:
Forest lords, beneath whose sheen Flowers bloomed for Mariline.
Round the cottage, fresh and green, Climbed the vine, the scarlet bean, Morning-glories peeped between, Looking out for Mariline.
Odours never felt before Tranced the locust at the door,
Vieing with the mignonette Bound the garden parapet, Whose rare fragrances were met By rich perfumes, rarer yet,
Stealing from the garden walks, Sentineled with hollyhocks.
VIII.
What a heaven the cottage seemed!
Love's own temple, where Faith dreamed Of the coming years that beamed On them, as pale stars have gleamed
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Through unnavigated seas, To which the prophetic breeze
Whispered of a future day, When swift fleets would urge their way, Through the waters cold and gray, Like the dolphins at their play.
There the future Bride, and he, Prince of love's knight-errantry,
Whose good shepherd arms must hold This pet yeanling of the fold, Gift of G.o.d so long foretold, Gift beyond the price of gold.
There the parents, aged and hale, Pa.s.sing down life's autumn vale,
With a joy as rare and true As their daughter's eye of blue, With such hopes as reach up to Heaven's gate, when, pa.s.sing through,
Peris, bound for higher skies, Win the Celestial Paradise.
IX.
Thoughtfully stood Mariline, Whitely veiled, and soul-serene; Love's fair world for her demesne, Never looked she more a queen--
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With her maidens by her side, Smiling on the coming bride.
Her pet lamb, with comic mirth, Licked her hand and scampered forth; The fine sheep-dog, on the hearth, Kindly eyed her for her worth.
X.
Up the air, across the moor, As they left the cottage door,
Chimed the merry village-h.e.l.ls, Music-wrapt the neighbouring fells, Stirred the heart's awakened cells, Like fine strains from fairy dells.
Past the orchard, down the lane, By fresh wavy fields of grain,
By the brook, that told its love To the pasture, glen, and grove-- Sacred haunts, that well could prove Vows enregistered above.
By the restless mill, where stood, Bowing in his amplest mood,
The old miller, hat in hand, Rich in goodness, rich in land, On whose features, grave and bland, Glowed a blessing for the band.
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Through the village, where, behind Many a half-uplifted blind,
Eyes, that might have lit the skies Of Mahomet's Paradise, Flashed behind the curtains' dyes, With a cheerful, half-surprise.
Through the village, underneath, Many a blooming flower-wreath,
Garlanding the arches green Beared in honour of the queen Of this day of days serene, Day of days to Mariline.
To the church, whose cheering bells Told the tale in music-swells--
Told it to the country wide, With an earnest kind of pride-- Something not to be denied-- "Mariline must be a Bride!"
XI.
Up the aisle with solemn pace, Meeting G.o.d there, face to face.
Never Bride more chaste or fair Stood before His altar there, Her ripe heart aflame with prayer, Blessing Him for all His care:
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Every earthly promise given, Registered with joy in heaven.
From the galleries looked down, Village belle and country clown, Men with honest labour brown, Far removed from mart or town:
