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THE TROUBADOUR.
Gaze round the lonely place and see
Its silence and obscurity:
Then commune with thine heart, and say
These are the foot-prints of decay,—
And I, even thus shall pass away.
And Raymond turn'd him to depart,
With darken'd brow and heavy heart.
Can outrage or can time remove
The sting, the scar of slighted love?
He could not look upon the scene
And not remember Adeline,
Fair queen of gone festivity,—
Oh, where was it, and where was she!
At distance short a village lay,
And thither Raymond took his way,
