Will the stately dark-eyed warrior
Bear her to his tent?
Yet, with dreaming of her lover,
What sad thoughts are blent!
When they fling the veil, rose coloured,
O'er the parting bride;
Not alone does it hide blushes—
It has tears to hide.
She must leave an aged mother;—
Leave—no more to see;
She must leave her ancient dwelling—
Sad her home may be.
She must leave her young companions,
With their tale and song;
With the bride across the threshold,
Goes not youth along.
Never to the heart of woman
Cometh love alone;
One sad, pale companion, knowledge,
Ever is his own.
Many are the things he teacheth—
Hope, and fear, and pain;
For it is the mind's awaking—
His impassioned reign.
Never more will careless childhood
Lie around her path;
Every flower that now she weareth,
Some deep moral hath.
She could weep to see them fading,
Fading while so fair;
For some inward whisper tells her,
Such all pleasures are.
Love hath bade her leave her pillow,
For the moon's sweet light,
And her young heart hath been troubled
By the solemn night.
