150
THE TROUBADOUR.
I waken'd scarce to consciousness,—
Memory had fainted with excess:
I only saw that I was laid
Beneath an olive tree's green shade;
I knew I was where flowers grew fair,
I felt their balm upon the air,
I drank it as it had been wine;
I saw a gift of red sunshine
Glittering upon a fountain's brim;
I heard the small birds' vesper hymn,
As they a vigil o'er me kept,—
I heard their music, and I wept.
I felt a friendly arm upraise
My head, a kind look on me gaze!
Raymond, it has been mine to see
The godlike heads which Italy
