THE PILGRIM. AND Palmer, grey Palmer, by Galilee's wave, Oh! saw you him foremost on Mount Lebanon. * The ladye sat in her lonely tower, She woke not her lute, she touched not a flower; Though the lute wooed her hand with its silver string, And the roses were rich with the wealth of spring: But she thought not of them, for her heart was afar, It was with her knight in the Holy war. She look'd in the west;-it was not to see As rather that day than night were begun ; But it was that a star was rising there, Amid the rich and purple crowd That throng the west, is a single cloud, The cradle of far other gales Than the soft and southern airs, which bring It floats on and hides that lovely star, But the maiden had turned from sea and sky, Loose it flow'd on the summer air; |