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The marriage vow is spoken,
And another claims her now.
Oh, the soft deep look of the azure eye
As it drinks in the fervid extacy
The glance, like a beam on some fading flower,
That breathes it to life at the noontide bourgAll proved that her bright wreath of bliss they wove.
There was joy in her smile, and it shed around
The benignant warmth of the heart, tho' drown'd In the moist spring rain of a chrystal tear,
That seemed from her spirits' deep bliss to shine,
With a lustre and sparkling almost divine, Oh, it told us that he was how thrillingly dear!
There were brilliants, a brooch in her snowy breast,
But they stood not the diamond's boasted test, For the bright clear ray was not their own.
As the sun lends his rays to the chaste cold moon,
When down she looked, they betrayed the boon,When she raised her eyes, all their charms had flown.
There were fair ones there, but she seemed the
queen In that gladsome group, by her lofty mien, For she moved like an Eastern Sultan's bride.
As she leaned on his arm, that fairy thing,
Intense was her gaze on the bridal ringHer emblem of endless peace to bide.
Her hair wore a rose that o'erhung her brow,
As clear and as pure as her virgin vow,
May her joy, as that rose, be with purity bound;
And should his brow ever with care be crowned, May her smile, like the morning, dispel the gloom!
IN HONOUR OF MR. W
Dedicated to the Letter-press Printers of Lancaster.
Amongst the many recorded instances of devotedness to the interests of the printing profession displayed by its members, perhaps that which gave rise to the following lines stands most prominent. A young man at Lancaster, who had been appointed delegate from the Typographical Society of that town to the Biennial Meeting for trades' purposes held in Leeds (June, 1842,) was married on the Saturday, and actually set off from beside the girl of his choice on the following day, reaching Leeds in time to be at the earliest sitting of the Delegates on Monday. To his honour be it spoken, he remained till the breaking up of the Convention on Thursday.
Land of our sires! the days are fied,
When dark romance and chivalry Called up the spirits of the dead
To join in war's wild revelry.
And from th' endearing babe's caress,
That smiling babe to bless.
Even tho' no foe unsheathe the brand,
To minor sympathy,
In listless apathy;
The Lover from the altar side,
Though long betrothed, he left the bride His heart so fondly had adored. Love's blandishments were all in vain, With ease he broke the young God's chain,
And flew from “home and beauty;"
He nobly did his duty.
And let each good man cry,
Ten thousand to defy!”
They talk to me of happy homes,
Of relatives and of friends, Where fireside chat of days gone by
A holy influence lends.
Which kindred links combine,--Alas! no sympathetic chord
Responsive beats in mine.
Since boyhood's wild extatic dream
First tempted me to roam,
I never found a home.
In sunshine and in shade ;
My orizons were made.
When night hath spread her sable veil
O’er nature's smiling face ;
A home,-a resting place.
Or future fortune then Could check the gushing joy of youth,
That went,—and came again.
But now a wanderer on the earth,
No biding place is mine,.