But Blanche was gone, and guilt and shame
Made harsh the music of her name.
—But he had yet another child,—
The Father Blanche could leave,—who smiled
Gently and cheerfully away
The cloud that on his spirit lay.
It was a lovely morn in June,
And in the rosy light of noon
The olive crowned village shone
As the glad sun were all its own;
And, suiting with such golden hours,
With music, and with songs and flowers,
A bridal train pass'd gaily by:
In the midst, with blue downcast eye
And blush of happiness, came the Bride!
And youths with flutes were by her side,
And maidens, with their wreaths, as gay
As life but lasted one sweet day.
One followed them with bursting heart,
With pallid cheek, and lips apart,
As every breath were gasped! Ah this,
Alas, is what love ever is!
False or unhappy, twin to sorrow,
Forced Hope's deceiving lights to borrow,
Gilding in joy a little way,
Doubly to lead the heart astray.
Beneath a shadowy beech tree
At length paused the gay company:
And there sat an old Man. The Bride
Took off her veil, and knelt beside,
And from his feet looked up and smiled,
And prayed that he would bless his child!
The gentle prayer was scarcely said,
Yet lay his hand upon her head!
When knelt another in that place,
With shrouded form and veiled face;
A broken voice breath'd some low words,
They struck on memory's tenderest chords:
