THE WEDDING DAY. 177 THE WEDDING DAY. "The last! the last! the last! Oh, by that little word, How many thoughts are stirred!" CAROLINE SOUTHEY. NAY, chide me not! I cannot chase That best beseems this hallowed day: I cannot sing, as once I sung Our bright and cheerful hearth beside; When gladness ruled my heart and tongue, And looks of fondest love replied: The meaner cares of earth defied, We heeded not its outward din, A blight upon our bliss hath come; The music of our hearts is dumb; Our fireside mirth is heard no more! The little cricket's chirp is o'er Our youngest born, our autumn flower, Hath vanished from our eager sight. Oh! sudden was the wrench that tore Without one sign, one warning token; When last this cherished day came round, Fate, long unkind, our hopes had crowned, And strewn, at length, our path with flowers. How darkly now the prospect lowers; And, half infected by our gloom, Yon little mourner sits and sighs; THE WEDDING DAY. His playthings, scattered 'round the room, Or moves with soft and stealthy tread; Where is the blithe companion gone, Whose sports he loved to guide and share? All hearts to fondness? Where, oh, where! Ay, joyless is our "ingle nook," Its genial light we own no more; That once could cheer our stormiest day; Those revels of the soul are o'er, Those simple pleasures passed away. Then chide me not, I cannot sing Since fled the smiles of happier years, 179 SAPPHO. "It was her evil star above, Not her sweet lute that wrought her wrong; It was not song that taught her love, But it was love that taught her song." L. E. L. THOUGH many an age hath passed away, Fair Sappho, since thy birth, Thy name, as a familiar sound, Still lingers on the earth. Whence is thy power to hold the mind? What spells to thee belong? Which is the stronger tie to bind, Thy sorrows, or thy song? Though Fame o'erflowed her charméd cup, And bade thee freely take, Thy thirst was of the lonely heart, Thy history, 'twas no common lot; Thus fared it in the days of old, TO OCTAVIA. 181 TO OCTAVIA, THE INFANT DAUGHTER OF THE LATE JOHN LARKING, ESQ. FULL many a gloomy month hath passed, The hopes I most relied on thwarted, Young Peri, thou art unforgot! There are who love to trace the smile The dictates of the bosom break: And strange to every gentler feeling, That dimmed my eyes when last we met! |