Classic Poem

Let me wed thee where my wooing
Sanctified this mossy glade,
Where above us ring-doves cooing
Long their leafy nest delayed.

Do not think my soul would falter
To proclaim thy heart my prize,
But a crowd before an altar
Minds me of a sacrifice,

Where no Dian moved to pity
Swift bears off the dooméd maid,
As when in the Aulic city
Calchas dropped his baffled blade.

Let the hermit, e'en now telling
Soft his beads in yonder hut,
Breathe the prayer thy fears dispelling,
Tie the knot man shall not cut.

Let no vain misgivings daunt thee,
Freely, bravely, plight thy troth;
Wilt not have, should worldlings taunt thee,
My sword, and yon friar's oath?