Years passed, the apple branches
A deeper shadow shed;
And many a time the Jndas Tree,
Blossom and leaf lay dead;
When on the loitering western breeze
Came the bells' merry sonnd,
And flowery arches rose, and flags
And banners waved around,
And Maurice stood expectant,
The bridal train would stay
Some moments at the inn-door,
The eager watchers say;
They come—the cloud of dust draws near—
Mid all the state and pride.
He only sees the golden hair
And blue eyes of the bride.
The same, yet, ah! still fairer.
He knew the face once more
That bent above the pony's neck
Years past at the inn-door;
Her shy and smiling eyes look'd round,
Unconscious of the place—
Unconscious of the eager gaze
He fixed upon her face.
He pluck' d a blossom from the tree—
The Judas Tree—and cast
Its purple fragrance toward the bride,
A message from the past.
The signal came, the horses plunged—
Once more she smiled around;
The purple blossom in the dust
Lay trampled on the ground.
Again the slow years fleeted.
Their passage only known
By the height the Passion-flower
Around the had grown;
And many a passing traveller
Paused at the old inn-door,
But the bride so fair and blooming,
Returned there never more.
One winter morning, Maurice,
Watching the branches bare.
Hustling and waving dimly
In the gray and misty air.
Saw blazoned on a carriage
Once more the well-known shield,
The azure fleurs-de-lis and stars
Upon a silver field.
