An Irish Poem
The bridal veil hangs o’er her brow;
The ring of gold is on her finger;
Her lips have breathed the marriage vow.
Why should she at the altar linger?
Why wears her gentle brow a shade?
Why dim her eye, when doubt is over?
Why does her slender form for aid
Lean tremblingly upon her lover?
Is it feeling of regret
For solemn vows lately spoken ?
fear, scarce own’d as yet.
That her new ties may soon broken ?
Ah, no! such causes darken not
The cloud that’s swiftly passing o’er her,
Her’s is a fair and happy lot
Ireland's Lore and Tales 