158
THE TROUBADOUR.
But ill my burthen'd heart could bear
Its after loneliness of care;
The calmness round seem'd but to be
A mockery of grief and me,—
The azure flowers, the sunlit sky,
The rill, with its still melody,
The leaves, the birds,—with my despair,
The light and freshness had no share:
The one unbidden of them all
To join in summer's festival.
I wander'd first to many a shrine
By zeal or ages made divine;
And then I visited each place
Where valour's deeds had left a trace;
Or sought the spots renown'd no less
For nature's lasting loveliness.
