MRS. GEORGIANA IVES COMSTOCK,

I saw a brilliant bridal.

All that cheers

And charms the leaping heart of youth was there;

And she, the central object of the group,

The cherished song-bird of her father's house,

Array'd in beauty, was the loved of all.

Would I could tell you what a world of flowers

Were concentrated there — how they o'erflow' d

In wreaths and clusters — how they climb'd and swept

From vase to ceiling, with their gay festoons

Whispering each other in their mystic lore

Of fragrance, and consulting how to swell,

As best they might, the tide of happiness.

A few brief moons departed and I sought

The same abode. There was a gather'd throng

Beyond the threshold stone. A few white flowers

Crept o'er a bosom and a gentle hand

That clasp'd them not. A holy hymn awoke

In plaintive melody; but she who breath'd

The very soul of music from her birth,

Lay there with close-seal'd lips.

And the same voice

That in the flushing of the autumnal rose

Gladly pronounced the irrevocable words

“What God hath join'd together let no man

Asunder put,” now, in the chasten'd tones

Of deep humility and tenderness,

Strove, from the armory of Heaven, to gird

The hearts that freshly bled.

At close of day,

In the lone, sadden'd hour of musing thought,

I seem'd to view a scene where, side by side,

Bridals and burials gleam'd — the smile and tear —

Anguish and joy — peace in her heavenly vest,

And brazen-throated war — and heard a cry,

“Such is man's life below.”

I would have wept,

Save that a symphony of harps unseen

Broke from a hovering cloud; “Lo! we are they

Who from earth's tribulation rose and found

Our robes made white. Henceforth we grieve no more.”

List! List! She mingleth in that raptur'd strain

Who said so sweetly to her spirit's-guide,

That the dear Lord whom she had early serv'd

Stood near in her extremity, and gave

Her soul full willingness to leave a world

All bright with beauty, and requited love.

And so Death lost his victory, tho’ he snatched

The unwither'd garland out of Hymen's hand,

And wound it in cold mockery round the tomb.