The violets peer from their dusky beds,
With a tearful dew in their great, pure eyes;
The lilies quiver their shining heads,
Their pale lips full of sad surprise;
And the lizard glides through the glistening fern,
And the squirrel rustles the branches hoary;
Strange birds fly out with a cry, to bathe
Their wings in the sunset glory,
While the shadows pass
O'er the quiet face and the dewy grass.
God pity the bride who waits at home,
With her lily cheeks and her violet eyes,
Dreaming the sweet old dream of love,
While her lover is walking in paradise!
God strengthen her heart as the days go by,
And the long, drear nights of her vigil follow,
Nor bird, nor moon, nor whispering wind,
May breathe the tale of the hollow;
The secret's safe with the woodland grass.
Down by the clear river's side they wandered,
Hand in hand, on that perfect day;
He was young, handsome, brave, and tender,
She more sweet than the flowers of May.
He looked on her with brown eyes adoring,
Watching her blushes grow soft and deep;
"Darling," he said, with tones imploring,
"Shall we not ever the memory keep
"Of this bright day, so happy, so holy;
This sweetest hour my life has e'er known,
When you, dear, speaking gently and slowly,
Answered me 'Yes,' when I called you my own?"
Fair was the sky, the sunset, the river,
Wind in the trees, the water's low psalm,
Bird-song, scent of wild roses. Oh, never
Was there an hour more blissful and calm!