The Troubadour

Gayly the Troubadour touched his guitar,

As he was hastening home from the war,

Singing, "From Palestine hither I come,—

Lady-love, lady-love, welcome me home!"

She for her Troubadour hopelessly wept,

Sadly she thought on him while 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,

Lady-love, lady-love, welcome me home!"