ODE FOR THE MARRIAGE SEASON.

Sing now in festal rhyme Of Hymen's harvest-time, The happy chances When Cupid's fragrant torch Leads to the sacred porch And the bells' wedding chime Crowns young romances. Here, whispering somewhat loud, Gathers the wonted crowd; Matrons with heart still young Happily tearful, Critics of dress, avow'd, Too sibilant of tongue, And, thick the throng among, Damsels expectant still Of love, their lives to fill, Chatty and cheerful. See, there the bridegroom waits Till at the flow'r-strewn gates His love descendeth, And all ears listening, And some eyes glistening, Fiction's romances pale While of a real love-tale First chapter endeth. The choir-boys, open-eyed, Forget their psalter For gazing at the bride, Childlike yet dignified, There by her lover's side, Before the altar. Here to the shrine they bring That old pure offering Of all religions, Hallowing their first, young loves— A pair of turtle-doves, Or two young pigeons. Never since Adam's primal banns were cried By every bird in Eden's leafy minster, Has such a bridegroom taken such a bride, So true a Bachelor, so sweet a Spinster.