52
No sweets, no music, rose to welcome her;
The birds did seem to dread such solitude:
Nor flowers could spring upon that dank cold earth.
Fierce o'er the snowy mountains swept the wind,
With wild lament; it seem'd the unearthly wail
Of unforgiven souls, or as the yell
Of evil spirits riding on the gale.
They gain'd an opener space; at distance seen,
Uprose a lighted tower; and where's the chief
Would not throw wide the hospitable gate,
And gladly hail the swords of Palestine?
Free was the welcome, fairly spread the feast;
Proudly the host receiv'd his honour'd guest:
But chill the damp upon Orlando’s heart—
Was it a dream!—he stood in Ethlin's hall!
