pare the original of this song, printed in his third volume, p. 142, with that given in Sismondi.

Ieu m' escondisc, domna, que mal non mi er
De so qu'an dig de mi fals lauzengier; &c.

I CANNOT hide from thee how much I fear
The whispers breathed by flatterers in thine ear
Against my faith :—but turn not, oh! I pray,
That heart so true, so faithful, so sincere,
So humble and so frank, to me so dear,
O lady, turn it not from me away!

So

may

I lose my hawk ere he can spring,
Borne from my hand by some bold falcon's wing,
Mangled and torn before my very eye,
If every word thou utterest does not bring
More joy to me than fortune's favouring,
Or all the bliss another's love might buy!

So, with my shield on neck, mid storm and rain,
With vizor blinding me, and shorten'd rein,
With stirrups far too long, so may I ride;
So may my trotting charger give me pain,
So
may the ostler treat me with disdain,

As they who tell those tales have grossly lied!

When I approach the gaming board to play,
May I not turn a penny all the day;
Or may the board be shut, the dice untrue,
If the truth dwell not in me when I say,

No other fair e'er wiled my heart away
From her I've long desired and loved-from you!

Or, prisoner to some noble, may I fill,
Together with three more, some dungeon chill,
Unto each other odious company ;-

Let master, servants, porters, try their skill,
And use me for a target if they will,
If ever I have loved aught else but thee!

So

may another knight make love to you,
And so may I be puzzled what to do;
So may
I be becalm'd 'mid oceans wide;
May the king's porter beat me black and blue,
And may I fly ere I the battle view,

As they that slander me have grossly lied!

ALPHONSO II., KING OF ARRAGON.

ALPHONSO was the son of Raymond Berengar IV., count of Barcelona, who married the heiress of Arragon, and inherited the poetic taste and reputation of his illustrious family. He attained the crown in 1162, and died in 1196. He was a Troubadour, and therefore his cotemporary poets overlooked his kingly vices and worthlessness: he was a king; and therefore we give place here to a song which has few other claims to our notice.

Per mantas guizas m' es datz
Joys e deport e solatz;

Que per vergiers e per pratz,

E per fuelhas e per flors,

E pel temps qu' es refrescatz,

Vei alegrar chantadors;

Mas al meu chan neus ni glatz

No m' ajuda, ni estatz,

Ni res, mas dieus et amors.

MANY the joys my heart has seen,
From varied sources flowing,

From gardens gay and meadows green,

From leaves and flowerets blowing,

And spring her freshening hours bestowing,

All these delight the bard: but here
Their power to sadden or to cheer
In this my song will not appear,

Where nought but love is glowing.

And though I would not dare despise
The smiling flowers, the herbage springing,
The beauteous spring's unclouded skies,
And all the birds' sweet singing:

Yet my heart's brightest joy is springing
From her, the fairest of the fair;
Beauty and wit are joined there,

And in my song I'll honour her,

My ready tribute bringing.....

When I remember our farewell,
As from her side I parted,
Sorrow and joy alternate swell,

To think how broken-hearted,

While from her eyelids tear-drops started,

"O soon," she said, "my loved one, here, O soon, in pity, re-appear!"

Then back I'll fly, for none so dear

As her from whom I parted.

ARNAUD DE MARVEIL.

THIS Troubadour, whom Petrarch styles "il men famoso Arnaldo," (though he certainly appears to us to be the one who deserved to be the most so,) flourished in the latter end of the 12th century. He was one of the class of roving poets of low origin who sought their subsistence at the courts of the South: 66 car no podia viure per las suas letras, el s'en anet per lo mon; e sabia ben trobar e s'entendia be." His adventures show strikingly the license given to those who possessed poetic talent, and the equality with his rivals of whatever rank, to which, in all matters connected with his art, it raised the minstrel. Every singer must have a lady for his theme; and when Arnaud had chosen the countess of Beziers, even Alphonso IV. of Castille was his avowed rival, and became so jealous of the pretensions of the strolling minstrel, that the banishment of the latter was found to be the only remedy.

Belh m' es quan lo vens m' alena
En Abril ans qu' intre Mays,
E tota la nuegz serena

Chanta 'l rossinhols e 'l jays;
Quecx auzel en son lenguatge,
Per la frescor del mati,
Van menan joy d' agradatge,

Com quecx ab sa par s'aizi!