Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride
      at the doorway,
  Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. 
  Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine,
  Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation; 985
  There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste
      of the sea-shore. 
  There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows;
  But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden,
  Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound
      of the ocean.

  Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, 990
  Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying,
  Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncompleted. 
  Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder,
  Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla,
  Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master. 995
  Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils,
  Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. 
  She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday;
  Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. 
  Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, 1000
  Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband,
  Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. 
  “Nothing is wanting now,” he said with a smile, “but the distaff;
  Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha!”

  Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, 1005
  Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. 
  Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest,
  Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love through
      its bosom,
  Tremulous, floating in air, o’er the depths of the azure abysses. 
  Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, 1010
  Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended,
  Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and
      the fir-tree. 
  Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol.[59]
  Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages,
  Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca
      and Isaac,[60] 1015
  Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always,
  Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. 
  So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession.

      —­Longfellow.