The Happy Pair
by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
It came and went so lightly,
That pleasant summer rain;
Now see, dear wife, how brightly
Laughs out our own domain.
Far, far into the distance
The eager eye can roam,
But here is true existence,
And here a happy home.
Down fly the pigeons cooing,
The pretty graceful things!
So gentle in their wooing,
Beside the fairy springs,
Where, gathering flowers together,
A garland first I wove,
In bright and sunny weather,
For thee, my only love!
Another wreath I plaited,
As well rememberest thou,
That day when we were mated,
And took the happy vow.
The world was all before us,
To make or choose our way;
And years have stolen o'er us,
Since that most blessed day.
The vow which then was spoken,
A thousand times we've seal'd,
By many a tender token,
In thicket and in field;
On Alpine heights we've tarried,
Together still were we;
Yea, Love for us hath carried
His torch across the sea.
Contented and caressing,
What could we wish for more?
God sent a greater blessing,
We counted three and four;
Two more have join'd the party,
The little prattling elves!
But now they're strong and hearty,
And taller than ourselves.
That story needs no telling;
I see you looking down
On yonder new-built dwelling,
Amid the poplars brown.
May all good angels guide him!
For there our eldest sits,
His winsome wife beside him,
Our own beloved Fritz.
How pleasant is the clatter,
'Tis like a measured reel,
As yonder falling water
Goes foaming o'er the wheel!
In many a song and ditty,
Are miller's wives called fair;
But none are half so pretty
As our dear daughter there.
Ah yes! I do not wonder
Your eye should rest e'en now,
Upon the hillock yonder,
Where dark the fir-trees grow.
There lie our babes together,
Beneath the daisied sod;
But they have seen Our Father,
And pray for us to God!
Look up! look up! for, glancing,
The glint of arms appears;
And sound of music dancing,
Strikes full upon my ears!
With trophies carried o'er them,
In freedom's battle won,
Who walks so proud before them?
'Tis Carl! it is my son!
The Rose he loves so dearly
Is blushing on his breast—
Oh, wife! what follows nearly?
Our hero's marriage-feast!
Methinks I see the wedding,
The dancers and the glee,
And merriest measure treading,
Our youngest children three!
The happy faces round us
Will then recall the tide,
The blessed day that bound us
As bridegroom and as bride.
Nay, tarry here and listen!
Ere yet the year is done,
Our good old priest shall christen
A grandchild and a son.