By Elkton wood, where gurgling flood Impels the foamy mill, Where quarries loom, in solemn gloom, A mansion crowns the hill. A pharos true, light ever new Streams through its friendly pane, To guide and greet benighted feet Which thread the winding lane. Lofty and lone, that light has shone, Alike o'er green or snow, Since first a pair their nest built there, Two hundred years ago. Now, as we walk, with pleasant talk To cheer the dismal way, That light shall tell of marriage-bell, Of moon and merry sleigh. The ancient home to which we come These scenes revealed one night; As the beacon true, so old, yet new, Flung wide its cheery light. Go back threescore long years, or more: Old Time the latch shall lift, And, from his urn, once more return The home of love and thrift. A noble sire, with nerves of wire, Warm heart, and open hand,-- A worthy dame, nor shrewd, nor tame,-- Lead forth the phantom band; Three girls, three boys, with fun and noise, Next gather round the hearth; Reenter, then, dear friends, again All full of life and mirth. "My pretty nuns, 't is late! My sons, Bring out the 'Sliding Car.' For one fair bride, you all must ride The snows both fast and far." First darts away the bridegroom gay, Nor waits the well-aimed jest: To shed and stall they follow, all, To speed their sire's behest. In full array, the spacious sleigh Glides through the pillared gate: Each prancing steed, straining to lead, Draws no unwilling mate. Full moon and bright loops up the night Above the starry sky. Runner and heel, well shod with steel, Cut sharply as they fly. Along they go, o'er sparkling snow, Shrill bells to song oft ringing; By oak and birch, to Gladstone church A bridal party bringing. On time-worn walls the moonbeam falls, And silvers o'er the spire, While diamond-pane and giddy vane Repeat the heavenly fire. From lofty tower to maiden's bower, And wide o'er hill and dell, Of earthly heaven, to mortals given, Sweet chimes the marriage-bell. With open book, and solemn look, All robed in priestly lawn, The Rector stands,--but counts the sands, Right willing to be gone! (The evening mail and nut-brown ale, His pipe and rocking-chair, Are waiting long, while the bridal throng Still lingers unaware.) An ancient gloom fills all the room, And dims the lamps above, Though wall and aisle in verdure smile, Through wreath and Christmas grove. By branching pines and graceful vines, Slow glides the youthful pair To the altar green, with brow serene, And kneel together there. Soft breathes the vow, responsive now, In calm but earnest tone. The wedding-ring, strange, mystic thing! Fast binds the twain in one.