THE TROUBADOUR.
201
And Leila, loveliest! can it be
Such destiny is made for thee?
Yes, it is written on thy brow
The all thy lip may not avow,—
All that in woman's heart can dwell,
Save by a blush unutterable.
Alas! that ever Raymond came
To light thy cheek and heart to flame,—
A hidden fire, but not the less
Consuming in its dark recess.
She had leant by his couch of pain,
When throbbing pulse and bursting vein
Fierce spoke the fever, when fate near
Rode on the tainted atmosphere;
And though that parch'd lip spoke alone
Of other love, in fondest tone,
