210
THE TROUBADOUR.
Oh, vanity! that the stone wall
May sooner than a blossom fall;
The tower in its strength may be
Laid low before the willow tree.
There stood the wood, subject to all
The autumn wind, the winter fall,—
There stood the castle which the rain
And wind had buffetted in vain,—
But one in ruins stood beside
The other green in its spring pride.
And Raymond paced the lonely hall
As if he feared his own footfall.
It is the very worst, the gloom
Of a deserted banquet-room,
To see the spider's web outvie
The torn and faded tapestry,—
