244
THE TROUBADOUR.
And it was Eva's fairy hand
Met Raymond's in the saraband,
And it was Eva's ear that heard
Many a low and love-tuned word.—
And life seem'd as a sunny stream,
And hope awaked as from a dream;
But what has minstrel left to tell
When love has not an obstacle?
My lute is hush'd, and mute its chords,
The heart and happiness have no words!
My tale is told, the glad sunshine
Fell over its commencing line,—
It was a morn in June, the sun
Was blessing all it shone upon,
The sky was clear as not a cloud
Were ever on its face allow'd;
