The Troubadour
Gaily the Troubadour touched his guitar,
As he was hastening home from the war,
Singing, “From Palestine hither I come,—
Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!”
She for her Troubadour hopelessly wept,
Sadly she thought on him whilst others slept,
Sighing, “In search of thee, would I might roam,
Troubadour, Troubadour, come to thy home!”
Hark! ’twas the Troubadour breathing her name,
As under the battlement softly he came,
Singing, “From Palestine hither I come,
Ladye-love, ladye-love, welcome me home!”
Old Song.