Eos: An Epic of the Dawn, and Other Poems

By Nicholas Flood Davin

 

THE YOUNG BRIDE.

 
We three talk’d of her yesterday;
    Her father and her mother,
And he who writes this little lay,
    In heart a kind of brother.
Her gentle beauty, art had placed
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    Upon the shelf before us,
And all the gifts her soul that graced,
    Like summer lights play’d o’er us.

We thought we saw her there the while,
    Recall’d each playful saying,
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The archness in the mouth’s sweet smile,
    The humour round it playing;
The universal love that met
    Her kind heart outward going,
The cheerfulness which never set,
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    The charity ever-flowing.

How many a time while music roll’d,
    And twang’d the saucy fiddle,
We two sat on the stair, and told
    A story or a riddle;
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Or laughed—no scornful laugh—at those
    Who bill’d and coo’d around us;
The music stopp’d—then up we rose,
    The slight bond burst that bound us. [Page 106]

Oh! all her gracious ways that day
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    As we three talk’d together,
Came like the smell of new-mown hay,
    Or of the blossom’d heather,
Upon the hearts of those three friends:
    Two knew her all her past years,
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While he who here a mourner bends,
    But knew her these few last years.

But, who that knew her, months or years,
    Could hear that death had taken
So sweet a soul, nor let hot tears
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    Show that his soul was shaken?
The spouseless spouse! Let fall the veil!
    Hush! Hush! That ground’s too holy!
O Youth! O Death! O tragic tale!
    Young widower bending lowly!
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To think of yesterday, and all
    The gladsome memories swelling,
And now for that young life the pall,
    The mournful church-bell knelling!
Toll out sad notes, but also sweet;
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    Let hope our sorrow leaven;
She is not dead; tho’ here we meet
    No more: we’ll meet in Heaven. [Page 107]