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Translated by Sir Walter Scott
GLOWING with love, on fire for fame, | |
| A Troubadour that hated sorrow | |
| Beneath his lady’s window came, | |
| And thus he sung his last good-morrow: | |
| “My arm it is my country’s right, | 5 |
| My heart is in my true-love’s bower; | |
| Gayly for love and fame to fight | |
| Befits the gallant Troubadour.” | |
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| And while he marched with helm on head | |
| And harp in hand, the descant rung, | 10 |
| As faithful to his favorite maid, | |
| The minstrel-burthen still he sung: | |
| “My arm it is my country’s right, | |
| My heart is in my lady’s bower; | |
| Resolved for love and fame to fight, | 15 |
| I come, a gallant Troubadour.” | |
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| Even when the battle-roar was deep, | |
| With dauntless heart he hewed his way | |
| Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, | |
| And still was heard his warrior-lay; | 20 |
| “My life it is my country’s right, | |
| My heart is in my lady’s bower; | |
| For love to die, for fame to fight, | |
| Becomes the valiant Troubadour.” | |
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| Alas! upon the bloody field | 25 |
| He fell beneath the foeman’s glaive, | |
| But still, reclining on his shield, | |
| Expiring sung the exulting stave: | |
| “My life it is my country’s right, | |
| My heart is in my lady’s bower; | 30 |
| For love and fame to fall in fight, | |
| Becomes the valiant Troubadour.” | |
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