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| ASSEMBLE, all ye maidens, at the door, | |
| And all ye loves, assemble; far and wide | |
| Proclaim the bridal, that proclaim’d before | |
| Has been deferr’d to this late eventide: | |
| For on this night the bride, | 5 |
| The days of her betrothal over, | |
| Leaves the parental hearth for evermore; | |
| To-night the bride goes forth to meet her lover. | |
| |
| Reach down the wedding vesture, that has lain | |
| Yet all unvisited, the silken gown: | 10 |
| Bring out the bracelets, and the golden chain | |
| Her dearer friends provided: sere and brown | |
| Bring out the festal crown, | |
| And set it on her forehead lightly: | |
| Though it be wither’d, twine no wreath again; | 15 |
| This only is the crown she can wear rightly. | |
| |
| Cloke her in ermine, for the night is cold, | |
| And wrap her warmly, for the night is long, | |
| In pious hands the flaming torches hold, | |
| While her attendants, chosen from among | 20 |
| Her faithful virgin throng, | |
| May lay her in her cedar litter, | |
| Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold, | |
| Roses, and lilies white that best befit her. | |
| |
| Sound flute and tabor, that the bridal be | 25 |
| Not without music, nor with these alone; | |
| But let the viol lead the melody, | |
| With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan | |
| Of sinking semitone; | |
| And, all in choir, the virgin voices | 30 |
| Rest not from singing in skill’d harmony | |
| The song that aye the bridegroom’s ear rejoices. | |
| |
| Let the priests go before, array’d in white, | |
| And let the dark-stoled minstrels follow slow, | |
| Next they that bear her, honour’d on this night, | 35 |
| And then the maidens, in a double row, | |
| Each singing soft and low, | |
| And each on high a torch upstaying: | |
| Unto her lover lead her forth with light, | |
| With music, and with singing, and with praying. | 40 |
| |
| ’Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came, | |
| And found her trusty window open wide, | |
| And knew the signal of the timorous flame, | |
| That long the restless curtain would not hide | |
| Her form that stood beside; | 45 |
| As scarce she dared to be delighted, | |
| Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame | |
| To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted. | |
| |
| But now for many days the dewy grass | |
| Has shown no markings of his feet at morn: | 50 |
| And watching she has seen no shadow pass | |
| The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne | |
| Upon her ear forlorn. | |
| In vain has she looked out to greet him; | |
| He has not come, he will not come, alas! | 55 |
| So let us bear her out where she must meet him. | |
| |
| Now to the river bank the priests are come: | |
| The bark is ready to receive its freight: | |
| Let some prepare her place therein, and some | |
| Embark the litter with its slender weight: | 60 |
| The rest stand by in state, | |
| And sing her a safe passage over; | |
| While she is oar’d across to her new home, | |
| Into the arms of her expectant lover. | |
| |
| And thou, O lover, that art on the watch, | 65 |
| Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams, | |
| The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and snatch | |
| The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,— | |
| Thou, when the torchlight gleams, | |
| When thou shalt see the slow procession, | 70 |
| And when thine ears the fitful music catch, | |
| Rejoice, for thou art near to thy possession. | |
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