He left his home once more, and he embark'd
For the far Syrian land, but ere he reached

The wish'd-for shore, th' enfeebled frame had sunk
Beneath the spirit's conflict, and he came
A dying man to Tripoli; his voice

prayer

Had scarcely pow'r to breathe his one sole
To see his love once more, and then to die!
The princess heard his message, where she sat,
In the soft shadow of her garden bower,
Listening the music that its fountains made.
It was an arbour blooming with all sweets,
The scarlet-dyed anemone, the rose,

The rich ranunculus were there, and flowers
Sweetest in Syria's realm or Asia's clime.

She heard the messenger who brought the tale, With such high bearing as might suit a queen, Listing her vassal's prayer; "A gentle youth "Lay languishing," he said, " in yonder bark, "A Christian and a minstrel, one, indeed,

"On whom, in other times, her smile had beam'd

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Approval to his minstrelsy,—and now

"He had one only boon, it was to bear

"His sighs to her sole ear, and to avow

"In death a flame that life had ne'er reveal'd, "And ask a tear shed o'er the lost Rudel." There is a spell link'd with the loved one's name, Potent o'er heart and brow; the princess heard That minstrel's name, and see! her look of pride Is changed to very anguish, and her eye

Drowns all its scorn in sorrow; strait she bade Her damsels guide her to her minstrel's bark, And stood beside his couch.

Oh! Love thou art

The only conqu'ror-thy triumphal car
Is drawn alike by monarchs as by slaves!
She stood beside the pallet where he slept
The troubled sleep of suff'ring, yet his soul
Still owned divinest visions, and his lip

Breathed in convulsive tones the one loved name.
She heard, she answered; with instinctive grasp
She seized his chilling hand, and bade him wake
To life, and love, and happiness-alas!

Excess of joy was mortal, the sick youth

Heard, saw,

and knew his love; a moment's space He just reviv'd; and would have seized her hand,

To feed on it with kisses; would have blest

Her well-approv'd affection; would have own'd
The call to life and love,-but all was o'er,-
Lip, hand, and eye, refused their office now,
Yet his last sigh did syllable her name,

And he died blessing her!

The princess was

A life-long mourner to her lover's corse.

She gave all honour'd obsequies: Rudel

Sleeps with Knights Templars, in their holy shrine. She sought a convent then, and a meek nun,

Gave all her days to Sorrow and to Heaven!

THE DYING GIRL TO HER LOVER.

Go to the vale! where the spring is in blooming,
Blooming with blossoms that frailest be,

And think, while decay the meek flowers is entombing,
Oh think of me!

Go to our grove! in the soft spring weather,
And ling'ring there o'er flower and tree,
Think on the hours we have pass'd there together,
And think of me!

Go not to look on the day-beams of splendour,
For the visions of evening are fitter for thee;
Then look on the shadows of twilight so tender,
And think of me!

Go look on the sky which the night-fall is shading, While day and its glories all vanish and flee; And think, while its fast-fleeting visions are fading,

Oh think of me!

THE DYING GIRL TO HER LOVER.

Take thou my lute! while thy fingers are flying
O'er measures that softest and saddest be,
Think, while the strains of its music are dying,
Oh think of me!

Come to my tomb! at the still hour of even,
Yet come not to weep that my spirit is free;
But lift thy dim eye to the glories of heaven,
And think of me!

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Forget that I lived, that I loved!-oh forget me

Yet my mem'ry may still be endearing to thee; Then, oh! if it soothes but thy soul to regret me, Oh think of me!