Page:Troubadour.pdf/41

Rh

With both it was a favourite spot, And names and histories which had not A record save in the dim light Tradition throws on memory's night To them were treasures; they could tell What from the first crusade befell.

There could not be a solitude More fitted for a pensive mood Than this old gallery,—the light Of the full moon came coldly bright— A silvery stream, save where a stain Fell from the pictured window pane,— A ruby flush, a purple dye, Like the last sun-streak on the sky, And lighted lip, and cheek of bloom Almost in mockery of the tomb.