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Felicia Dorothea Hemans - Moorish Bridal Song
Work rating: Low

The citron groves their fruit and flowers were strewing
    Around a Moorish palace, while the sigh
    Of low sweet summer-winds, the branches wooing,
    With music through their shadowy bowers went by;
    Music and voices, from the marble halls,
Through the leaves gleaming, and the fountain-falls.

    A song of joy, a bridal song came swelling,
    To blend with fragrance in those southern shades,
    And told of feasts within the stately dwelling,
    Bright lamps, and dancing steps, and gem-crown`d maids;
    And thus it flow`d;—yet something in the lay
Belong`d to sadness, as it died away.

    "The bride comes forth! her tears no more are falling
    To leave the chamber of her infant years;
    Kind voices from distant home are calling;
    She comes like day-spring—she hath done with tears;
    Now must her dark eye shine on other flowers,
Her soft smile gladden other hearts than ours!
—Pour the rich odours round!

    "We haste! the chosen and the lovely bringing;
    Love still goes with her from her place of birth;
    Deep silent joy within her soul is springing,
    Though in her glance the light no more is mirth!
    Her beauty leaves us in its rosy years;
Her sisters weep—but she hath done with tears!
—Now may the timbrel sound!"

    Know`st thou for whom they sang the bridal numbers?
    —One, whose rich tresses were to wave no more!
    One, whose pale cheek soft winds, nor gentle slumbers,
    Nor Love`s own sigh, to rose-tints might restore!
    Her graceful ringlets o`er a bier were spread.—
—Weep for the young, the beautiful,—the dead!
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