Then, stranger, marvel not that I
Have claimed so long thy listening ear;
I could not pass in silence by
Themes to my memory so dear,
As those which make my story's close--
Mazelli's love, Mazelli's woes.

III.

Ascending from the golden east,
The sun had gained his zenith height,
The guests were gathered to the feast,
Prepared to grace the marriage rite;
The youthful and the old were there,
The rustic swain and bashful fair;
The aged, reverend and gray,
Yet hale, and garrulous, and gay,
Each told, to while the time away,
Some tale of his own wedding day;
The youthful, timorous and shy,
Spoke less with lip than tell-tale eye,
That, in its stolen glances, sends
The language Love best, comprehends.
The noontide hour goes by, and yet
The bridegroom tarries--why? and where?
Sure he could not his vows forget,
When she who loves him is so fair!
And then his honour, faith, and pride,
Had bound him to a meaner bride,
If once his promise had been given;