Poems (Cary)/Adelyn

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ADELYN.
Come, comb my hair, good Hepsiba, The sun is going down,And I, within an hour must wear My pretty wedding-gown!
'T is bleachéd white upon the grass, The rainy grass of May,Go bring it, my good Hepsiba, It is my wedding-day.
And Hepsiba looks out and sees, Behind the windy hill,The cloudy sun go down, and hastes To do the bride's sweet will.
And from her sick-bed Adelyn Was softly lifted down,To have her black hair combed so smooth, And wear her wedding-gown.
Oh! never o'er the windy hills Came clouds so fast and dread,And never beat so wild a rain Above a marriage-bed.
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Unpastured o'er the dry, brown sands, The noisy billows crept,The cattle lowed, but Adelyn Through all the tumult slept.
Upon her sweet shut eyes they laid The roses from her hair,And when the bridegroom kissed her cheek, She never looked so fair.
At morning, he who came to meet The bridal train so brave,Hung willows in his boat, and rowed A corse across the wave.
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