162
THE TROUBADOUR.
He saw how deeply Amirald fear'd
To touch a wound not heal'd but sear'd:
His gentle care was not in vain,
And Amirald learn'd to think again
Of hope, if not of happiness;
And soon his bosom pined to press
The child whom he so long had left
An orphan doubly thus bereft.
He mark'd with what enamour'd tongue
Raymond on Eva's mention hung,—
The softened tone, the downward gaze,
All that so well the heart betrays;
And a reviving future stole
Like dew and sunlight on his soul.
Soon the Crusaders would be met
Where winter's rest from war was set;
