the minstrel.
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Yet one there is, whose ear has caught The faintest murmur of that strain:One, whose fond, faithful heart has sought Long for that low-breathed song, in vain.
No slumber may her eyelids close, Now that she hears the minstrel's song.Her heart with rapture overflows, As thoughts most blest its fountains throng.
Softly she seeks the window nigh, And gazes on the scene around.With breath suppressed, her anxious eye Seeks whence proceeds that welcome sound.
And not in vain. The moon's pale light Shines calmly down on hill and plain;And now there meets her gazing sight, The minstrel of the gentle strain.
Where is the taper's light, which shone So lately in the lofty tower?Its dim and flickering flame is gone, And dark is now the lady's bower.
Soon to her casement she returns, To watch in speechless rapture there.Quickly, love's eagle eye discerns Whose is that proud and manly air.
The minstrel lover nearer draws: And now has ceased his gentle strain.
