THE PILGRIM'S TALE.
125
Sudden and harsh the harp-strings rung,
As rough the hand now over them flung;
Loud as a warning, omen-like, drear,
Sank the deep tones on each listener's ear,
'T was a Palmer, that seem'd from the Holy Land,
That now sway'd the harp with his stern right hand;
None around could discover his name,
Nor tell whence that pilgrim minstrel came.
THE PILGRIM'S TALE.
I have gone east, I have gone west,
To seek for what I cannot find;
A heart at peace with its own thoughts,
A quiet and contented mind.
