Hark! hark to the knell of the loud marriage-bell!

For while tuning its summons of joyance and glee, It has changed to the time of the funeral chime,

And, sweet lady, it calls for thy lord and thee.

And though now for a while thou may'st seem to smile,
While thine eyes are so bright and thy features so fair;
Yet thine eye shall wax weak, and as for thy cheek,
The worm shall soon feed on the roses there.

And those garments so fine shall no longer be thine,
Thou must quit them, fair lady, and change them away
For a vesture as white as those robes of delight,
But less fair and less fit for a bride than they.

For thy hood, and thy veil, and thy robe shall be pale,
But dark is the mantle to thee that's allow'd;

For the folds of the pall shall be worn over all,

When thy kerchief and gown are the sheet and the shroud!

And the coffin shall be the dark bride-bed for thee,
And the chamber it lies in, the depths of the tomb;
And the maidens to wait on thy couch in its state,

Shall be friends and relations who weep for thy doom!

Aye turn thee, as now, to thy bridegroom, and vow

That nought from his side shall have power to sever ; For they, lady, that wed in thy bridal bed,

They meet, but they part no more for ever.

Then come to that bed, it is folded and spread,
And prepared for the couch of the fair and the brave;
On thy true lover's breast, thou may'st lay thee, and rest
In that soundest of slumbers, the sleep of the grave.

And haste thee, gay lord, from thy wine-crowned board,
And haste thee, sweet lady, the harper cried;

And soon as that call was heard in the hall,
The knight and the lady they fainted and died!

Then, face to face, as they fell in embrace,

They were borne to their couch of the downiest feather: So that virgin bride, and her lord by her side,

They slept the death-bed sleep together!

THE SABBATH.BELL.

WRITTEN IN SEVERE ILLNESS.

HARK! Hark! methought that o'er mine ear
Some distant strain of music fell;

And now it comes more soft, more near,
It is thy chime, sweet Sabbath-bell!

Blest sound! how oft with willing feet
Have I obey'd thy sacred spell;
And loved to join, where pilgrims meet,
Obedient to the Sabbath-bell.

Its distant echoes faint and fleet,
Could music's softest tones excel;
Nor knew mine ear a strain so sweet

As thine, harmonious Sabbath-bell!

Of holy hopes, of joys refined,

The pensive murmur seem'd to tell; And spoke of countless joys combined In that sole thought, the Sabbath-bell!

And now my spirit spurns the thrall,
That binds me to my pillowy cell;

And fain would hasten to the call,

That vibrates from the Sabbath-bell.

The holy fane, the sacred rite,

The hallow'd joys I loved so well ; Say, shall they bless again my sight, At summons of the Sabbath-bell?

Ah, no! that hope I fear is o'er,
I bid the dear deceit farewell;

And scarce may hope to hear once more
The music of the Sabbath-bell.

Soon, soon its meek and mournful strains
May vibrate in my funeral knell ;
Yet, while a thought of life remains,

"Twill ne'er forsake the Sabbath-bell.

And if, beyond this mortal lot,

On former joys the soul may dwell, My spirit still shall haunt the spot

That echoes to the Sabbath-bell !