So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. IX. THE WEDDING-DAY, FORTH from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his garments resplendent, This was the wedding-morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden, Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the Gospel, One with the sanction of earth, and one with the blessing of heaven. Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz. Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's pre sence, After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in affection, Speaking of life and of death, and imploring divine benedictions. Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, Clad in armour of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure! Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face upon his shoulder? Is it a phantom of air,-a bodiless, spectral illusion? Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal? Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed; Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression, Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them, As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain-cloud Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent, As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction, Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement Bodily there in his armour Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth! Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion," Forgive me! I have been angry and hurt,-too long have I cherished the feeling: Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden." Thereupon answered the bridegroom: "Let all be fogotten between us, All save the dear, old frienship, and that shall grow older and dearer!" Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England. Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commin gled, Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly landing her husband. Then he said with a smile: " I should have remembered the adage.If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and moreover, No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas!" Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing Thus to behold once more the sun-burnt face of their Captain, Whom they had mourned as dead; and they gathered and crowded about him, Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom. Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other, Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and be wildered, He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at the doorway, Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation; There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the seashore, There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows; But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the ocean. Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of depar ture, Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer de laying, Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncom pleted. Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, Brought out his snow-white steer, obeying the hand of its master, Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, Covered with crimson cloth, and a cnshion placed for a saddle. noonday; Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her hus- Gaily, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation; Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love through Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses. dours, Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir tree, Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol. Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, BIRDS OF PASSAGE. come i gru van cantando lor lai Facendo in aer di sè lunga riga. DANTE. PROMETHEUS, OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT. OF Prometheus, how undaunted Beautiful is the tradition Of that flight through heavenly portals, The old classic superstition Of the theft and the transmission Of the fire of the Immortals! First the deed of noble daring. All is but a symbol painted Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer; In their feverish exultations, In their triumph and their yearning, In their passionate pulsations, Shall it, then, be unavailing, All this toil for human culture? Through the cloud-rack, dark and trailing, Must they see above them sailing O'er life's barren crags the vulture? portals Such a fate as this was Dante's, By defeat and exile maddened; That around their memories cluster, All the melodies mysterious, Through the dreary darkness chaunted; Words that whispered, songs that haunted! All the soul in rapt suspension, All the quivering, palpitating With the rapture of creating! Round the cloudy crags Caucasian! Though to all there is not given All the hearts of men for ever; Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. SAINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said, A ladder,75 if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame! All common things each day's events, ན་ |