_"And who the promised spouse? declare: And what those bridal garments were."_
"Severe and saintly righteousness Composed the clear white bridal dress; JESUS, the Son of Heaven's high King, Bought with his blood the marriage ring.
"A wretched sinful creature, I Deem'd lightly of that sacred tie, Gave to a treacherous WORLD my heart, And play'd the foolish wanton's part. Soon to these murky shades I came, To hide from the sun's light my shame. And still I haunt this woody dell, And bathe me in that healing well, Whose waters clear have influence From sin's foul stains the soul to cleanse; And, night and day, I them augment, With tears, like a true penitent, Until, due expiation made, And fit atonement fully paid, The Lord and Bridegroom me present, Where in sweet strains of high consent, God's throne before, the Seraphim Shall chant the ecstatic marriage hymn."
"Now Christ restore thee soon"--I said, And thenceforth all my dream was fled.
CHILD O Lady, lay your costly robes aside. No longer may you glory in your pride.
MOTHER Wherefore to-day art singing in mine ear Sad songs were made so long ago, my dear? This day I am to be a bride, you know, Why sing sad songs, were made so long ago?
CHILD O mother, lay your costly robes aside, For you may never be another's bride. That line I learn'd not in the old sad song.
MOTHER I pray thee, pretty one, now hold thy tongue, Play with the bridemaids; and be glad, my boy, For thou shalt be a second father's joy.
CHILD. One father fondled me upon his knee. One father is enough, alone, for me.
On a bank with roses shaded, Whose sweet scent the violets aided, Violets whose breath alone Yields but feeble smell or none, (Sweeter bed Jove ne'er reposed on When his eyes Olympus closed on,) While o'erhead six slaves did hold Canopy of cloth o' gold, And two more did music keep, Which might Juno lull to sleep, Oriana, who was queen To the mighty Tamerlane, That was lord of all the land Between Thrace and Samarchand, While the noontide fervor beam'd, Mused himself to sleep, and _dream'd_.
Thus far, in magnific strain, A young poet soothed his vein, But he had nor prose nor numbers, To express a princess' slumbers.-- Youthful Richard had strange fancies, Was deep versed in old romances, And could talk whole hours upon The Great Cham and Prester John,-- Tell the field in which the Sophi From the Tartar won a trophy-- What he read with such delight of, Thought he could as eas'ly write of-- But his over-young invention Kept not pace with brave intention. Twenty suns did rise and set, And he could no further get; But, unable to proceed, Made a virtue out of need, And, his labors wiselier deem'd of, Did omit _what the queen dream'd of_.