The day is o'er and twilight's shade,
Is darkening forest, glen and glade;
It steals within the old church door,
And casts its shadows on the floor;
It throws its gloom upon the bride,
And on her partner by her side:
But ah! It has no power to screen
The loveliest form that ever was seen.
Sweet tones as from the angels' lyre,
Came pealing from the ancient choir;
They rouse the brain with magic power,
And fill with light that twilight hour,
Some artist's soul one easily sees,
Inspires the hands that touch the keys;
A genius sits and wakes the soul,
With sounds that o'er the passions roll.
"Till death we part,"
repeats the bride,
She shuddered visibly and sighed;
And as she leaves the altar rail,
She's startled, end her features pale,
For in the ancient choir above,
The man who sits and plays of love,
Has held her heart for many a year.
Alas! her life is sad and drear.
He never dreamed he roused a thrill,
Within that heart that seemed so still;
He never knew the hours of pain,
That racked that tired and troubled brain.
He could not see that bleeding heart,
From which his face would not depart;
He never could have known her grief,
From which, alas! there's no relief.
At last she thought the fire had cooled,
And love's strong guardian she had ruled;
'Twas then she vowed to be the bride
Of him who stands at her side.
Ill-fated hour! She sees too late,
This man she cannot help but hate'
He, whom she promised to obey,
Until from earth she's called away.
This life is sometimes dark and drear,
No lights within the gloom appear.
Gerarda smiled and danced that night,
As though her life had been all bright;
And no one knew a battle waged,
Within that heart so closely caged.
The few who've never felt love's dart,
Know not the depth of woman's heart.