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The moisture from the ground;
There fell from the lark a note,
In her sleep Annie heard the call,
Soon on her lids the sun,
Thus warmly roused from repose
Before to her bridal she goes,
Pure are the orange blooms twined
The priest chants the solemn prayers
The mother's arms now enfold
The last she will shed to-day;
And Alfred clasps his bride
But I lead to the mother's knee
A figure veiled in white,
A figure fair as can be,
But subdued in the draperies' light;
Yet all that there is to see,
Is delicate, graceful, and bright.
The father raises the veil,
Eva is clasped to his heart:
Then a mother's feelings prevail,
And then all are weeping apart.
Quickly she tells her tale,
And they pardon deceit on our part.
Such happy meetings repay
Then to the festive board we move,
Let me leave the lay
Till again my harp shall ring,
Dear girls, when in the spring we met,
Though having seen who could forget 1
And now at length the task is done;
On reading these, my hopes are won.
Or Annie's lips express delight,
Or meteor on November's night.
These then are yours. Do not refuse,
That waked to life my humble muse.