And they were clad in bridal white, and snowy veils fell down, Shading their faces, and around in careless grace were thrown; But tears with smiles were blending in the youthful faces there, For a life-long vow their lips had pass'd, and heaven had heard the prayer! What stays the bridal train at once, and saddens ev'ry face? Hush'd is the merry pealing bell, and slowly in its place, Heavily tolls the funeral knell, with a chilling hollow roll, Awakening dark remembrances within the startled soul! Beneath their funeral palls were borne, two sisters fair and young, Together with the brides had they life's early matins sung, And now they come for burial there, in snow-white robes they lie; Pale, pale, are the once rosy lips, and clos'd the laughing eye! THE BRIDAL AND THE FUNERAL. 135 And they have left this sunny world, the " narrow house" enfolds them, Have left the bustling scenes of earth, and dull oblivion shrouds them. But they have 'scaped the piercing woes, the cares that years would bring; There are no sorrows in that tomb where they are slumbering! Oh! bless'd are they, who speed away in youth's first morning prime, Before the brow is darken'd o'er by the gathering shades of time, And free from all the heavy thrall, that in life's journey lies, To leave each pain, and early gain a mansion in the skies! HOME OF MY YOUTH. "Old sounds are in my ear.-Old thoughts "The precious, unreturning years!" T. K. HERVEY, HOME of my youth! how brightly live remembrances of thee, Each flow'ry nook, and gliding brook, and drooping willow tree; For memory's light returns again each old familiar scene, Each violet bank and primrose vale, where I so oft have been. Spring's vernal days remind me of the lilacs sweet that grew, Where the laburnum's graceful bough, was rich in golden hue; The bursting buds, the blossoms pale, the haw thorn scented breeze, The cawing rooks, careering high above the old elm trees. HOME OF MY YOUTH. 137 And summer brings again to me, the fervid sunny hours, When deep the welcome shadow lay, in those old garden bowers; Where sometimes through the silent noon, in youth's glad day of prime, Wrapp'd in some brightly-storied page I pass'd away the time. But ever in those vanish'd scenes I hear faint voices still, The dead, the distant,-and the chang'd,-come back at fancy's will. My early friends, where are ye now? Still "echo answers, where ?" Ye are but faded memories now, for ever ling'ring there! When drifting snows, and moaning winds, and darkly clouded skies, Make dear the cheerful Winter hearth, sometimes my fancy flies, To scenes where converse, wit, and song, I heard,— but silent now, Those beaming eyes are clos'd for aye, those forms belov'd laid low! |