The priest beheld the bridal group before the altar stand,
And sigh'd as he drew forth his book with slow reluctant hand:
He saw the bride's flow'r-wreathed hair, and mark'd her streaming eyes,
And deem'd it less a Christian rite than a Pagan sacrifice;
And when he call'd on Abraham's God to bless the wedded pair,
It seem'd a very mockery to breathe so vain a pray'r.
I saw the palsied bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensigns drest;
A shroud were fitter garment far for him than bridal vest;
I mark'd him when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose his hold,
He held it with a miser's clutch—it was his darling gold.