<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519726" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Troubadour</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Glowing with love, on fire for fame<br>A Troubadour that hated sorrow<br>Beneath his lady's window came,<br>And thus he sung his last good-morrow:<br>'My arm it is my country's right,<br>My heart is in my true-love's bower;<br>Gaily for love and fame to fight<br>Befits the gallant Troubadour.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And while he marched with helm on head<br>And harp in hand, the descant rung,<br>As faithful to his favourite maid,<br>The minstrel-burden still he sung:<br>'My arm it is my country's right,<br>My heart is in my lady's bower;<br>Resolved for love and fame to fight<br>I come, a gallant Troubadour.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even when the battle-roar was deep,<br>With dauntless heart he hewed his way,<br>'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep,<br>And still was heard his warrior-lay:<br>'My life it is my country's right,<br>My heart is in my lady's bower;<br>For love to die, for fame to fight,<br>Becomes the valiant Troubadour.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! upon the bloody field<br>He fell beneath the foeman's glaive,<br>But still reclining on his shield,<br>Expiring sung the exulting stave:-<br>'My life it is my country's right,<br>My heart is in my lady's bower;<br>For love and fame to fall in fight<br>Becomes the valiant Troubadour.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519726" data-title="The Troubadour de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="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, My heart is in my true-love's bower; Gaily for love and fame to fight Befit..."></div> </div> </div>

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