Which ran beside the cypress tree,
Where their glad meetings wont to be.
She marked her eye's dim darkened blue,
The cheek which had forgot its hue
Of summer rose—the faded brow!
"Alas! he would not love me now!"
And hope departed from that hour—
But not with hope declined love's power;
It was changed to a mournful feeling,
The deeper from its deep concealing
Fond thoughts, and gentle prayers that strove
To make a piety of love.
And then there came a wish to die
Unknown, but still beneath his eye;—
At first 'twas but a fear, a thought—
A dream of thousand fancies wrought;
It haunted still—at last she gave
Her tresses to the wind and wave:
Then as a page she sought his train,
And looked on Raymond's face again.
There was a revel held that night
In honour of the lady bright,
Who was next day, by Raymond's side,
To wear the white veil of a bride;
And from the gallery, Christine
Gazed with the crowd on that gay scene.
There were high dames, with raven curls
Falling from the snow wreath of pearls;
