III.

    Ascending from the golden east, The sun had gained his zenith height, The guests were gathered to the feast, Prepared to grace the marriage rite； The youthful and the old were there, The rustic swain and bashful fair； The aged, reverend and gray, Yet hale, and garrulous, and gay, Each told, to while the time away, Some tale of his own wedding day； The youthful, timorous and shy, Spoke less with lip than tell-tale eye, That, in its stolen glances, sends The language Love best, comprehends. The noontide hour goes by, and yet The bridegroom tarries——why？ and where？ Sure he could not his vows forget, When she who loves him is so fair！

    And then his honour, faith, and pride, Had bound him to a meaner bride, If once his promise had been given；

    But she, so pure, so far above The common forms of earthly mould, So like the incarnate shapes of love, Conceived, and born, and nursed in heaven, His love for her could ne'er grow cold！ And yet he comes not. Half way now, From where, at his meridian height, He pours his fullest, warmest light, To where, at eve, in his decline, The day-god sinks into the brine, When his diurnal task is done, Descends his ever burning throne, And still the bridegroom is not, there——

    Say, why yet tarries he, and where？