And gratulations, such as these were heard,

2.1.5

With music rife, in every gladsome word,
The STAR-SEER, through the crowding, long array
Of anxious gazers, led his Bride away :--

Song of the Bridal Virgins.

Farewell! may the star of your destiny shine
For ever upon you with aspect benign!

And every bridal-day's happy return

See the altar of love with more fervency burn!
Our blessings be on you-haste, haste ye away!

The moon has gone down, and each beautiful fay,

That to honour your nuptials, danced long on the green,

Went to rest, when the dew lacked the light of her sheen.

XXIV.

Scarce had the damsels breathed this brief adieu,

Ere, sweetly smiling, disappeared from view
The blissful pair, like two bright angels, when

They quit, for heaven, the ungenial bowers of men.

Far on into the morn, the guests prolonged

The noisy hour of revelry, nor wronged

The generous wine's exhilarating boon,

Till foot, and voice, and harp, grew out of tune;

And, save the reverend Seneschal and Friar,
Who drank no more than what good souls require

To keep aloof the bane of worldly sorrow,
And fit them for the duties of the morrow,

Each wassailer sunk, forgetful of his home,
Beneath the board, and dreamt of feasts to come :
Then rose the pious fathers from their place,
And, arm in arm, with slow and staggering pace,
Quitted the hall, endeavouring, but in vain,

To sing a strophe of some godly strain.

XXV.

Harp, harp, not yet!-I may not break the seal

Of that dread page's mysteries, and reveal,
With sibyline tongue, audaciously, for whom
Is darkly writ its register of doom!

Avaunt! who, save some demon's soul accurst,
Would wish the ruinous thunder-cloud to burst,
And sear each leaf and intermingled flower,
That blooms around Love's consecrated bower!

XXVI.

O! there are those to whom one brief hour's rife

With more true bliss than is the longest life
Spent in the dull cold round of worldly care!
Though they may wander in a wild waste, where
Oases bloom but few, the rill they drink,
E'en on stern desolation's dreary brink,

Sweeter becomes than liquor of the gods,

By its rare coolness; and the flower that nods
O'er its delicious waters, is to them

More precious far than e'en the costliest gem

In regal circlet-richer perfume yields

Than all the spices of Sabæan fields—

Its beauty hallowed by its loneliness

The one bright star that gilds the wilderness. :

Such, Lovers, is your lot.

Would it were mine

To bid each moment, like the present, shine
With equal fervency of bliss!-Ye should
Live on to hoary age; and every good
That Heaven vouchsafes to frail mortality, £
The dowry of your Faith and Love should be!
But Oh! yon Star!-who can its speed delay ?
Enough! enough!-be happy while ye may!

XXVII.

Maids of CALDENE! if thus far, my rude shell

Hath made you willing captives of its spell, 15
And, with a fervent wish, your bosoms yearn,
The sadd'ning sequel of my lay to learn,

I crave your gentle audience. . . . high reward

To grant, I ween, to unknown, bayless bard. . . .
While, as we sit amid the heather-bloom

In OSWALD'S bower, my story I resume.

O may the Stars, that o'er

your

destinies

Gently preside, perpetual harmonies

Breathe round you; and, as on life's flowery track

Ye smiling move, of Love's light never lack;

Nor darkling cloud a moment intervene

Its holy brightness and your hearts between!

END OF THE FOURTH CANTO.