The citron groves their fruit and flowers were strewing <br />Around a Moorish palace, while the sigh <br />Of low sweet summer-winds, the branches wooing, <br />With music through their shadowy bowers went by; <br />Music and voices, from the marble halls, <br />Through the leaves gleaming, and the fountain-falls. <br /> <br />A song of joy, a bridal song came swelling, <br />To blend with fragrance in those southern shades, <br />And told of feasts within the stately dwelling, <br />Bright lamps, and dancing steps, and gem-crown'd maids; <br />And thus it flow'd;-yet something in the lay <br />Belong'd to sadness, as it died away. <br /> <br />'The bride comes forth! her tears no more are falling <br />To leave the chamber of her infant years; <br />Kind voices from distant home are calling; <br />She comes like day-spring-she hath done with tears; <br />Now must her dark eye shine on other flowers, <br />Her soft smile gladden other hearts than ours! <br />-Pour the rich odours round! <br /> <br />'We haste! the chosen and the lovely bringing; <br />Love still goes with her from her place of birth; <br />Deep silent joy within her soul is springing, <br />Though in her glance the light no more is mirth! <br />Her beauty leaves us in its rosy years; <br />Her sisters weep-but she hath done with tears! <br />-Now may the timbrel sound!' <br /> <br />Know'st thou for whom they sang the bridal numbers? <br />-One, whose rich tresses were to wave no more! <br />One, whose pale cheek soft winds, nor gentle slumbers, <br />Nor Love's own sigh, to rose-tints might restore! <br />Her graceful ringlets o'er a bier were spread.- <br />-Weep for the young, the beautiful,-the dead!<br /><br />Felicia Dorothea Hemans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moorish-bridal-song/
