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The day was named, the guests invited;
The bride-groom, at the gate, alighted;
When up the windings of the dell
A pastoral pipe was heard to swell,
And lo, an humble Piedmontese,
Whose music might a lady please,
This message thro' the lattice bore,
(She listened, and her trembling frame
Told her at once from whom it came)
"Oh let us fly-to part no more!"

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THAT morn ('twas in Ste. Julienne's cell, As at Ste. Julienne's sacred well

Their dream of love began)

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That morn, ere many a star was set,
Their hands had on the altar met

Before the holy man.

-And now, her strength, her courage spent,

And more than half a penitent,

She comes along the path she went.

And now the village gleams at last;
The woods, the golden meadows passed,
Where, when Toulouse, thy splendour shone,
The Troubadour would journey on
Transported—or, from grove to grove,
Framing some roundelay of love,
Wander till the day was gone.
"All will be well, my Jacqueline!
Oh tremble not-but trust in me.
The Good are better made by Ill,
As odours crushed are sweeter still;
And gloomy as thy past has been,
Bright shall thy future be!"

So saying, thro' the fragrant shade
Gently along he led the maid,

While Manchon round and round her played:
And, as that silent glen they leave,

Where by the spring the pitchers stand, Where glow-worms light their lamps at eve, And fairies dance-in fairy-land,

(When Lubin calls, and Blanche steals round,

Her finger on her lip, to see;

And many an acorn-cup is found

Under the greenwood tree)
From every cot above, below,
They gather as they go-
Sabot, and coif, and collerette,

The housewife's prayer, the grandam's blessing!

Girls that adjust their locks of jet,

And look and look and linger yet,

The lovely bride caressing;
Babes that had learnt to lisp her name,
And heroes he had led to fame.

But what felt D'Arcy, when at length
Her father's gate was open flung?
Ah, then he found a giant's strength;
For round him, as for life, she clung!
And when, her fit of weeping o'er,
Onward they moved a little space,
And saw an old man sitting at the door,
Saw his wan cheek, and sunken eye
That seemed to gaze on vacancy,
Then, at the sight of that beloved face,
At once to fall upon his neck she flew;
But not encouraged-back she drew,
And trembling stood in dread suspense,
Her tears her only eloquence!

All, all the while--an awful distance keeping;

Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs ;
And one, his little hand in hers,

Who weeps to see his sister weeping.


Then Jacqueline the silence broke.
She clasped her father's knees and spoke,
Her brother kneeling too;

While D'Arcy as before looked on,
Tho' from his manly cheek was gone
Its natural hue.

"His praises from your lips I heard,
Till my fond heart was won;

And, if in aught his Sire has erred,
Oh turn not from the Son!-

She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed;
Who climbed and called you father first,
By that dear name conjures-
On her you thought-but to be kind!
When looked she up, but you inclined?
These things, for ever in her mind,
Oh are they gone from yours?
Two kneeling at your feet behold;
One-one how young;-nor yet the other old.
Oh spurn them not-nor look so cold—

If Jacqueline be cast away,

Her bridal be her dying day.

Well, well might she believe in you!—
She listened, and she found it true."

He shook his aged locks of snow;
And twice he turned, and rose to go.
She hung; and was St. Pierre to blame,
If tears and smiles together came?

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