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With her maidens by her side,
Smiling on the coming bride.
Her pet lamb, with comic mirth,
Licked her hand and scampered forth;
The fine sheep-dog, on the hearth,
Kindly eyed her for her worth.
X.
Up the air, across the moor,
As they left the cottage door,
Chimed the merry village-hells,
Music-wrapt the neighbouring fells,
Stirred the heart's awakened cells,
Like fine strains from fairy dells.
Past the orchard, down the lane,
By fresh wavy fields of grain,
By the brook, that told its love
To the pasture, glen, and grove—
Sacred haunts, that well could prove
Vows enregistered above.
By the restless mill, where stood,
Bowing in his amplest mood,
The old miller, hat in hand,
Rich in goodness, rich in land,
On whose features, grave and bland,
Glowed a blessing for the band.