THE TROUBADOUR.
39
Then fears of all too much revealing
Vanish'd with a reproachful feeling.
What, coldness! when another day
And Raymond would be far away,
When that to-morrow's rising sun
Might be the last he look'd upon!
"Come, Eva, dear! by the moonlight
We'll visit all our haunts to night.
I could not lay me down to rest,
For, like the feathers in my crest,
My thoughts are waving to and fro.
Come, Eva, dear! I could not go
Without a pilgrimage to all
Of garden, nook, and waterfall,—
