The Bridal-Day

“We bear her home! we bear her home!Over the murmuring salt sea’s foam;One who has fled from the war of life,From sorrow, pain, and the fever strife.”Barry Cornwall.

Bride! upon thy marriage-day,When thy gems in rich arrayMade the glistening mirror seemAs a star-reflecting stream;When the clustering pearls lay fairMidst thy braids of sunny hair,And the white veil o’er thee streaming,Like a silvery halo gleaming,Mellow’d all that pomp and lightInto something meekly bright;Did the fluttering of thy breathSpeak of joy or woe beneath?And the hue that went and cameO’er thy cheek, like wavering flame,Flow’d that crimson from th’ unrestOr the gladness of thy breast?--Who shall tell us? From thy bower,Brightly didst thou pass that hour;With the many-glancing oar,And the cheer along the shore,And the wealth of summer flowersOn thy fair head cast in showers,And the breath of song and flute,And the clarion’s glad salute,Swiftly o’er the Adrian tideWert thou borne in pomp, young bride!Mirth and music, sun and sky,Welcomed thee triumphantly!Yet, perchance, a chastening thoughtIn some deeper spirit wrought,Whispering, as untold it blentWith the sounds of merriment--“From the home of childhood’s glee,From the days of laughter free,From the love of many years,Thou art gone to cares and fears;To another path and guide,To a bosom yet untried!Bright one! oh, there well may beTrembling midst our joy for thee!”

Bride! when through the stately fane,Circled with thy nuptial train,Midst the banners hung on highBy thy warrior-ancestry,Midst those mighty fathers dead,In soft beauty thou wast led;When before the shrine thy formQuiver’d to some bosom-storm,When, like harp-strings with a sighBreaking in mid-harmony,On thy lip the murmurs lowDied with love’s unfinish’d vow;When, like scatter’d rose-leaves, fledFrom thy cheek each tint of red,And the light forsook thine eye,And thy head sunk heavily;Was that drooping but th’ excessOf thy spirit’s blessedness?Or did some deep feeling’s might,Folded in thy heart from sight,With a sudden tempest-showerEarthward bear thy life’s young flower?--Who shall tell us? On thy tongueSilence, and for ever, hung!Never to thy lip and cheekRush’d again the crimson streak;Never to thine eye return’dThat which there had beam’d and burn’d!With the secret none might know,With thy rapture or thy woe,With thy marriage robe and wreath,Thou wert fled, young bride of death!One, one lightning moment thereStruck down triumph to despair;Beauty, splendour, hope, and trust,Into darkness--terror--dust!

There were sounds of weeping o’er thee,Bride! as forth thy kindred bore thee,Shrouded in thy gleaming veil,Deaf to that wild funeral wail.Yet perchance a chastening thoughtIn some deeper spirit wrought,Whispering, while the stern, sad knellOn the air’s bright stillness fell--“From the power of chill and changeSouls to sever and estrange;From love’s wane--a death in life,But to watch--a mortal strife;From the secret fevers knownTo the burning heart alone,Thou art fled--afar, away--Where these blights no more have sway!Bright one! oh, there well may beComfort midst our tears for thee!”