Page 58 - The model orator, or, Young folks' speaker : containing the choicest recitations and readings from the best authors for schools, public entertainments, social gatherings, Sunday schools, etc. : including recitals in prose and verse ...
P. 58

Was  gone,  and  he  turned  to  his  beautiful bride
                                      With  a  radiant smile  and  a glance  of pride :
                                                And  his  eye  was  bright,
                                                 And  his  step  was  light,
                                      A s  would  beseem  with  her  by  his  side.
                                      Oh,  his  smile  is  glad,  and  his  heart  is  brave !
                                      What  cares  he  for  the  dead  on  the  gr;tve?
                                      The  faded  shawl,  and  faded  gown,
                                      And  unsmoothed  hair  or golden  brown?

                                      W hy should  the  face  on the  tombstone  gray
                                      Trouble  him  on  his  wedding-day ?
                                      Forgotten  words that  were  long  since  spoken,
                                      Thoughts  of vows that  were  made  to  be  broken?
                                                Fling  them  away !
                                                Be joyous  and  gay!
                                      Death  will  never a  secret  betray.
                                      Quaff the  red  wine,  the  glasses  ring ;

                                      Drink I  till  the  gloomy thoughts  take  wing;
                                      Drink  and  be  merry,  merry  and  glad I
                                      With  a  bride so  lovely,  who  would be  sad ?

                                      H ark !  the  wedding bells  are ringing,
                                      Over the hills  their  echoes  flinging ;

                                      Carried  away  on  the  morning  breeze
                                      Over  the  moorland,  over  the  leas,
                                      Riding back  on  the  zephyr’s  wing,
                                      Joyously,  merrily,  on  they  ring!
                                      But she will  not  wake,  her sleep  is  deep,
                                      And  death  can  ever  a  secret  keep.
                                      Ah  !  thy  smile  may be  glad  and  thy  heart  may  be  brave,
                                      And  the  secrct be  kept betwixt  thee and  the  grave ;
                                      But  shouldst  thou  forget  it  for  one  short  day,
                                      In  the  gloom  of night,  from  the tombstone  gray,
                                                W ill  come the  sound  of a wailing  cry—
   53   54   55   56   57   58   59   60   61   62   63