By Elkton wood, where gurgling flood
Impels the foamy mill,
Where quarries loom, in solemn gloom,
A mansion crowns the hill.
A pharos true, light ever new
Streams through its friendly pane,
To guide and greet benighted feet
Which thread the winding lane.
Lofty and lone, that light has shone,
Alike o'er green or snow,
Since first a pair their nest built there,
Two hundred years ago.
Now, as we walk, with pleasant talk
To cheer the dismal way,
That light shall tell of marriage-bell,
Of moon and merry sleigh.
The ancient home to which we come
These scenes revealed one night;
As the beacon true, so old, yet new,
Flung wide its cheery light.
Go back threescore long years, or more:
Old Time the latch shall lift,
And, from his urn, once more return
The home of love and thrift.
A noble sire, with nerves of wire,
Warm heart, and open hand,--
A worthy dame, nor shrewd, nor tame,--
Lead forth the phantom band;
Three girls, three boys, with fun and noise,
Next gather round the hearth;
Reenter, then, dear friends, again
All full of life and mirth.
"My pretty nuns, 't is late! My sons,
Bring out the 'Sliding Car.'
For one fair bride, you all must ride
The snows both fast and far."
First darts away the bridegroom gay,
Nor waits the well-aimed jest:
To shed and stall they follow, all,
To speed their sire's behest.
In full array, the spacious sleigh
Glides through the pillared gate:
Each prancing steed, straining to lead,
Draws no unwilling mate.
Full moon and bright loops up the night
Above the starry sky.
Runner and heel, well shod with steel,
Cut sharply as they fly.
Along they go, o'er sparkling snow,
Shrill bells to song oft ringing;
By oak and birch, to Gladstone church
A bridal party bringing.
On time-worn walls the moonbeam falls,
And silvers o'er the spire,
While diamond-pane and giddy vane
Repeat the heavenly fire.
From lofty tower to maiden's bower,
And wide o'er hill and dell,
Of earthly heaven, to mortals given,
Sweet chimes the marriage-bell.
With open book, and solemn look,
All robed in priestly lawn,
The Rector stands,--but counts the sands,
Right willing to be gone!
(The evening mail and nut-brown ale,
His pipe and rocking-chair,
Are waiting long, while the bridal throng
Still lingers unaware.)
An ancient gloom fills all the room,
And dims the lamps above,
Though wall and aisle in verdure smile,
Through wreath and Christmas grove.
By branching pines and graceful vines,
Slow glides the youthful pair
To the altar green, with brow serene,
And kneel together there.
Soft breathes the vow, responsive now,
In calm but earnest tone.
The wedding-ring, strange, mystic thing!
Fast binds the twain in one.
The solemn word no longer heard,
With chastened steps and slow,
And heart in heart, no more to part,
To "Home, sweet Home," they go.
Fresh now, again, o'er snowy main,
The winged steeds return:
On roughening rock, with shriek and shock,
The flashing runners burn.
O'er cradling drift, secure though swift,--
Now smooth, now rough, the track,--
The furious sleigh devours the way,
As lash and harness crack.
Through furs and wool, the air, so cool,
Is felt or feared no more;
Though gay the steeds with icy beads,
And their flanks are frosted o'er.
A fitful light, scarce yet in sight,
Gleams through the opening wood:
Ah! now they come to their hill-side home,
In merry, merry mood.
Four lovely girls, a string of pearls,
Are found in place of three:
Four daughters fair are gathered there
Around the Christmas-tree.
As roars the fire, their loving sire
A warmer welcome deals;
And, stooping low, on one fair brow
His heart's adoption seals.
A dearer bliss, a mother's kiss,
Awaits the blushing bride:
One look above! then smiles of love
Express her joy and pride.
Once more good cheer removes the tear,
Returns the joyous smile;
Soon laughter, poured around the board,
Rings through the spacious pile.
While dance and song employ them long,
Steals in the cold, gray dawn!
Back to your urn, ye phantoms, turn,
And vanish o'er the lawn.
Stern, though in tears, with Fatal shears,
Time scattered all those pearls!
They fell, unstrung, old graves among;
O'er all the snow-wreath curls!
Yet shines that light from lattice bright,
Wide o'er the grass, or snow;
Still all the room its rays illume,
As when, so long ago,
Its arrowy star recalled the car
Then winding round the wood,
And lime-rock gray threw back the ray
Across the rapid flood.
Though cold each form, their _love_, still warm,
From hearth and lattice glows:
Hearts kind and dear yet linger here,
And bid us to repose.
The skies are dark! No moonbeams mark
Or wall, or traveller's way:
O'er rock and wood thick storm-clouds brood,
And doubts our steps delay.
No beacon-light yet cheers the night:
How gloomy grows the hour!
Ah! there it shines, in lance-like lines,
Sharp through the misty shower.
Shine on, fair star, through storms, afar!
Still bless the nightly way!
Always the same, a vestal flame,
Love shall maintain thy ray.