ODE FOR THE MARRIAGE SEASON.

Sing now in festal rhyme
Of Hymen's harvest-time,
The happy chances
When Cupid's fragrant torch
Leads to the sacred porch
And the bells' wedding chime
Crowns young romances.

Here, whispering somewhat loud,
Gathers the wonted crowd;
Matrons with heart still young
Happily tearful,
Critics of dress, avow'd,
Too sibilant of tongue,
And, thick the throng among,
Damsels expectant still
Of love, their lives to fill,
Chatty and cheerful.

See, there the bridegroom waits
Till at the flow'r-strewn gates
His love descendeth,
And all ears listening,
And some eyes glistening,
Fiction's romances pale
While of a real love-tale
First chapter endeth.

The choir-boys, open-eyed,
Forget their psalter
For gazing at the bride,
Childlike yet dignified,
There by her lover's side,
Before the altar.

Here to the shrine they bring
That old pure offering
Of all religions,
Hallowing their first, young loves—
A pair of turtle-doves,
Or two young pigeons.

Never since Adam's primal banns were cried
By every bird in Eden's leafy minster,
Has such a bridegroom taken such a bride,
So true a Bachelor, so sweet a Spinster.

A DISAPPOINTMENT.

[To perambulate, v.n., in German spazieren; in French, se promener; in Italian, passeggiare.]

Johann Schmidt. "Ach! vat a bitty, Mister Chones! Zen ve must not go therein to Berampulate?"