One bright day in the month of May following was their wedding-day. The bride looked beautiful in her pure white dress of muslin, with a wreath of May-blossoms in her hair. Blessings were invoked on the youthful pair by all, both high and low, and sincere good wishes expressed for their future happiness. Here I will leave them, with the wish that the affection of early years may remain through life undimmed, and that the Christmas Garland, so linked with the history of their loves, may be their emblem.
HEADS OF THE POETS.
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.
I.—CHAUCER.
——Chaucer's healthy Muse,
Did wisely one sweet instrument to choose—
The native reed; which, tutored with rare skill,
Brought other Muses [1] down to aid its trill!
A cheerful song that sometimes quaintly masked
The fancy, as the affections sweetly tasked;
And won from England's proud and foreign [2] court,
For native England's tongue, a sweet report—
And sympathy—till in due time it grew
A permanent voice that proved itself the true,
And rescued the brave language of the land,
From that [3] which helped to strength the invader's hand.
Thus, with great patriot service, making clear
The way to other virtues quite as dear
In English liberty—which could grow alone,
When English speech grew pleasant to be known;
To spell the ears of princes, and to make
The peasant worthy for his poet's sake.
II.—SHAKSPEARE.
——'T were hard to say,
Upon what instrument did Shakspeare play—
Still harder what he did not! He had all
The orchestra at service, and could call
To use, still other implements, unknown,
Or only valued in his hands alone!
The Lyre, whose burning inspiration came
Still darting upward, sudden as the flame;
The murmuring wind-harp, whose melodious sighs
Seem still from hopefullest heart of love to rise,
And gladden even while grieving; the wild strain
That night-winds wake from reeds that breathe in pain,
Though breathing still in music; and that voice,
Which most he did affect—whose happy choice
Made sweet flute-accents for humanity
Out of that living heart which cannot die,
The Catholic, born of love, that still controls
While man is man, the tide in human souls.