Phenix Gazette

From the Georgian
THE ORANGE FLOWER.

That most melancholy of all happy ceremonies.
All things have their season--and thine sweet flower!
Comes with the guests at the Bridal hour--

'Tis thine to adorn the fair young Bride,
When she steps forth in her joy and pride--
Thy buds must mix with the snow white pearls
She twines amid her clustering curls;
Thy perfum'd breath is borne on the air,
When she speaks the vow, and breathes the prayer;
The vow which binds, amid smiles and tears,
Her lot to one through all coming years,--
In youth and in age, in good and in ill.--
While life shall endure--unchanging still--
The prayer that calls on Heaven to bless
The object of her heart's tenderness--

'Tis an hour of joy! yet gaze in her eyes!--
A mist of tears o'er their brightness lies;
And her voice is low, and her cheek is pale
As the light folds of her floating veil--
Does she weep because she must bid adieu
To the home where her happy childhood flew?
Does she mourn that her girlhood's glee is gone,
And that sterner tasks must now come on?
Does she send her spirit through coming years,
When the joy of this hour will be quench'd in tears?
Does her fancy paint that mournful day,
When one fond heart shall be torn away;
When bitter drops from eyes must flow.--
Or else be herself in the grave laid low?
Yes! such feelings will come, unbidden guests,
When all seems gay to human breasts
But thou, fair Flower! in thy beauty bright--
Bloom'st fairer still in Beauty's light:--
Thou baskest in the sun's warm ray,
And smilest thy little life away,
Protected by His bounteous care,
Who made thee in thy beauty there.