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MY BETROTHED, by                    
First Line: Oh! Come, my betrothed, to thine anxious bride
Last Line: That you ever shall find in me!


OH! come, my betrothed, to thine anxious bride,
Too long have they kept thee from my side;
Sure I sought thee by meadow and mountain, astor,
And I watch'd and I wept till my heart was sore,
While the false to the false did say, --
We will lead her away by the mound and the rath,
And we'll nourish her heart in its worse than death,
Till her tears shall have traced a pearly path,
For the work of a future day.

Ah! little they knew what their guile could do --
It has won me a host of the stern and true,
Who have sworn by the eye of the yellow sun,
That my home is their hearts till thy hand be won;
And they've gathered my tears and sighs;
And they've woven them into a cloudy frown,
That shall gird my brow like an ebony crown,
Till these feet, in my wrath, shall have trampled down
All, all that betwixt us rise.

Then come, my betrothed, to thine anxious bride!
Thou art dear to my breast as my heart's red tide;
And a wonder it is you can tarry so long,
And your soul so proud, and your arm so strong,
And your limb without a chain;
And your feet in their flight like the midnight wind,
When he laughs at the flash that he leaves behind;
And your heart so warm, and your look so kind --
Oh! come to my arms again!

Oh, my dearest has eyes like the noontide sun;
So bright that my own dare scarce look on;
And the clouds of a thousand years gone by,
Brought back, and again on the crowded sky,
Heaped haughtily pile o'er pile,
Then all in a boundless blaze outspread,
Rent, shaken, and tossed o'er their flaming bed,
Till each heart by the light of the heavens was read,
Were as nought to his softest smile!

And to hear my love in his wild mirth sing
To the flap of the battle-god's fiery wing!
How his chorus shrieks through the iron tones
Of crashing towers and creaking thrones,
And the crumbling of bastions strong!
Yet, sweet to my ear as the sigh that slips
From the nervous dance of a maiden's lips,
When the eye first wanes in its love eclipse,
Is his soul-creating song!

Then come, my betrothed, to thine anxious bride!
Thou has tarried too long, but I may not chide;
For the prop and the hope of my home thou art,
Ay, the vein that suckles my growing heart:
Oh, I'd frown on the world for thee!
And it is not a dull, cold, soulless clod,
With a lip in the dust at a tyrant nod,
Unworthy one glance of the Patriot's God,
That you ever shall find in me!





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