Why weeps in her beauty The Flower of Provence?
She weeps for her lover, this night, are they met
To breathe a farewell, ’Neath love’s own holy star;
For to-morrow the crest of the young Lavalette,
Will float highest, and first in the van of the war.
Thus far sung Blondel, when a sudden tone,
of quivering harp-strings, on his ear upsprung;
It sounded, like an echo of his own:
So faintly, that mysterious [folio 6] music rung,
So sweet, it floated, those dark towers among,