THE TROUBADOUR.
175
But when those leaves and flowers were raised,
A lamp beneath their covering blazed.
She led through a small path whose birth
Seem'd in the hidden depths of earth,—
'Twas dark and damp, and on the ear
There came a rush of waters near.
At length the drear path finds an end,—
Beneath a dark low arch they bend;
"Safe, safe!" the maiden cried, and prest
The red cross to her panting breast!
"Yes, we are safe!—on, stranger, on,
The worst is past, and freedom won!
Somewhat of peril yet remains,
But peril not from Moorish chains;—
With hope and heaven be our lot!"
She spoke, but Raymond answer'd not:
