Explore "The Pilgrims of the Rhine" by Edward Bulwer-lytton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Trite were the tale I tell of love and doom, / (Whose life hath loved not, whose not mourned a tomb? ) / But fiction draws a poetry from grief, / As art its healing from the withered leaf.
Play thou, sweet Fancy, round the sombre truth, / Crown the sad Genius ere it lower the torch! / When death the altar and the victim youth, / Flutes fill the air, and garlands deck the porch.