Taking the Bride Home

I’ll go not alone, my sweetheart dear!
With me thou must go now
To the cheery, old, and cosy room
In the dreary cold abode of gloom,
Where at the door my mother keeps guard,
And for her son’s return looks hard.

“Away from me, thou gloomy man!
Who bid thee come hither?
Thy hand’s like ice, thine eye glows bright,
Thy breath is burning, thy cheek is white;--
But I would rather my time beguile
With smell of roses and sun’s sweet smile.”

The roses may smell, and the sun may shine,
My darling sweetheart!
Throw thy spreading white veil thy figure around,
Make the chords of the echoing lyre resound,
And sing a wedding song to me;
The night-wind pipes the melody.