Now sign your names, which shall be read
Mute symbols of a joyful morn

By village eyes as yet unborn;
The names are signed, and overhead

Begins the clash and clang that tells

The joy to every wandering breeze; The blind wall rocks, and on the trees The dead leaf trembles to the bells.

O happy hour! and happier hours
Await them. Many a merry face
Salutes them,maidens of the place,
That pelt us in the porch with flowers.

O happy hour! behold the bride

With him to whom her hand I gave.
They leave the porch, they pass the grave

That has to-day its sunny side.

To-day the grave is bright for me,

For them the light of life increased

Who stay to share the morning feast,

Who rest to-night beside the sea.

Let all my genial spirits advance

To meet and greet a whiter sun; My drooping memory will not shun The foaming grape of eastern France.

It circles round, and fancy plays,

And hearts are warmed and faces bloom, As drinking health to bride and groom, We wish them store of happy days.

Nor count me all to blame if I

Conjecture of a stiller guest,

Perchance, perchance, among the rest,

And, though in silence, wishing joy.

But they must go; the time draws on,
And those white-favored horses wait;

They rise, but linger, it is late;
Farewell, we kiss, and they are gone.

A shade falls on us like the dark

From little cloudlets on the grass, But sweeps away as out we pass To range the woods, to roam the park,

Discussing how their courtship grew,

And talk of others that are wed,

And how she looked, and what he said, And back we come at fall of dew.

Again the feast, the speech, the glee,

The shade of passing thought, the wealth Of words and wit, the double health, The crowning cup, the three times three,

And last the dance; - till I retire:

Dumb is that tower which spake so loud, And high in heaven the streaming cloud, And on the downs a rising fire:

And rise, oh moon, from yonder down,
Till over down and over dale

All night the shining vapor sail

And pass the silent-lighted town,

The white-faced halls, the glancing rills,

And catch at every mountain head,

And o'er the friths that branch and spread

Their sleeping silver through the hills;

And touch with shade the bridal doors, With tender gloom the roof, the wall; And breaking let the splendor fall

To spangle all the happy shores

By which they rest, and ocean sounds,
And, star and system rolling past,

A soul shall draw from out the vast
And strike his being into bounds,

And, moved through life of lower phase,
Result in man, be born and think,

And act and love, a closer link
Betwixt us and the crowning race

Of those that, eye to eye, snall look
On knowledge; under whose command
Is Earth and Earth's, and in their hand
Is Nature like an open book;

No longer half-akin to brute,

For all we thought and loved and did, And hoped, and suffered, is but seed Of what in them is flower and fruit;

Whereof the man, that with me trod
This planet, was a noble type

Appearing ere the times were ripe, That friend of mine who lives in God,

That God, which ever lives and loves, One God, one law, one element,

And one far-off divine event,

To which the whole creation moves.

5137

THE END.