"Dear Cousin Ida! on this day I crave thy special grace!"
The red tide surged in angry force; deep flushed the comely face.
"I may not wish you well," she said, "it cannot come to me
That aught could ever bridge the gulf 'twixt such as her--and thee."
Lord Edwin proffered no reply; she was his childhood's friend;
"Come Fido!" to his faithful hound, "our cheerful way we'll wend
Across the park, adown the mead, on to the river's side
Where, 'neath the jasmine's fragrant shade, the glad hours quickly
glide."
Oh! lightly o'er the heart of youth life's scathing breezes blow;
To vanish, as 'fore noonday sun, the first, soft flakes of snow;
And smiles the buoyant hope of youth as smiles the tranquil shore
When Ocean, having spent his wrath, retreats with sullen roar.
At early morn the nuptial peals rang forth full merrily;
Before the lark sang matin song the village stirred with glee;
The agèd church looked young again, in arch and pillar green,
As through the quaint, old diamond panes peeped in the rising sheen.
A joyous crowd hath filled the pews; along the sacred walls,
Even as a benediction, the orient glory falls;
The choir within the chancel sit, the organ swell expands,
The clergyman who baptized both will link the lovers' hands.
Why cometh not the maiden in her crown of orange flowers?
Why linger Earl and bridegroom gay amid their haughty towers?--
Bring hither cypress garnishing! nor bay nor orange bloom;
For music and for marriage-feast are silence and the tomb.
With song and voice of cheering the barque doth hoist her sails,
But who shall tell if into port she'll glide with favouring gales;
The golden chalice of the years with joy may overflow;
Drink whilst ye will the sweetened draught, the end ye may not know.
Upon his couch at morning tide the noble bridegroom lies;
Nor wedding peal will break his rest, nor dawn will ope his eyes;
The violets shall bloom and fade, the river sing its rhyme,
That ear attuned to echoes sweet, is closed to notes of time.
Still robed in richest evening dress, within her tiring-room
The Lady Ida sitteth, but her soul hath passed to doom;
One line to solve the mystery; one only line, which read:
"She wiled from me the living! she cannot part the dead!"
* * * * *
Oh! saddest note in saddening song!
The fair, unwedded bride
With reason fled, might oft be seen
Near by the river side.
Now plaiting wreaths of sweet, wild flowers
To rhythms light and gay;
Now listening for the manly step
She hailed in former day.
Till the Father, in His mercy,
Sent an angel from above
To tend her guileless spirit up
Into the haven of love.
Earl Crawfurd, crushed with shame and woe
Bent low his stately head;
And, ere the forest leaves were strewn,
He slumbered with his dead.
His mansion, with ancestral lands,
Rich farms and pastures fair;
A vast and goodly heritage,
Passed to a distant heir.
So now, in its kingly grandeur
Of terrace, arch and tower,
Stands Crawfurd Castle, mute and lone
As hermit in his bower.
[Illustration]