ROBERT BRIDGES
Her form that stood beside; As scarce she dared to be delighted, Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted.
But now for many days the dewy grass Has shown no markings of his feet at morn: And watching bhe has seen no shadow pass The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne
Upon her car forlorn. In vain has she looked out to greet him; He has not come, he will not come, alas' So let us beai her out where she must meet him.
Now to the river bank the priests are come* The bark is ready to receive its freight Let some prepare her place therein, and some Embark the litter with its slender weight.
The rest stand by in state, And sing her a safe passage over, While she is oar'd across to her new home, Into the arms of her expectant lover.
And thou, O lover, that art on the watch, Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams, The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and snatch The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,
Thou, when the torchlight gleams, When thou shalt see the slow procession, And when thine ears the fitful music catch, Rejoice, for thou art near to thy possession.
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