O HOW Sweet the breeze of April,
Breathing soft, as May draws near!
While through nights serene and gentle,
Songs of gladness meet the ear;
Every bird his well-known language
Warbling in the morning's pride,
Revelling on in joy and gladness
By his happy partner's side.

When around me all is smiling,

When to life the young birds spring, Thoughts of love I cannot hinder Come, my heart inspiriting:

Nature, habit, both incline me

In such joys to bear my part;

With such sounds of bliss around me,
Who could wear a sadden'd heart?

Fairer than the far-famed Helen,
Lovelier than the flowerets gay ;-
Snow-white teeth, and lips truth-telling,
Heart as open as the day,

Golden hair, and fresh bright roses :

Heaven, that form'd a thing so fair,

Knows that never yet another

Lived, who could with her compare.............

PIERRE VIDAL.

VIDAL, who has been called the Don Quixotte of Troubadours, died in 1229. He was the son of a tradesman of Toulouse, but rose to the first eminence. The jealousy of a nobleman of Marseilles drove him from his native country, on which occasion the second of the following pieces was written. He then followed Richard Coeur de Lion to Palestine, where chivalry, and perhaps misfortune, turned his brain; and the trick of marrying him to a sham niece of the Emperor of the East was played upon him. The old Provençal historian gives his character thus succinctly : "Cantava mielhs c'om del mon, e fo bon trobaires; e fo dels plus fols home que mais fossen." The first of the following pieces is an union of two fragments.

La lauzeta e 'l rossinhol

Am mais que nulh' autr' auzel,
Que pel joy del temps novel
Comenson premier lur chan :
Et ieu, ad aquel semblan,
Quan li autre trobador
Estan mut, ieu chant d' amor
De ma dona Na Vierna.

Of all sweet birds, I love the most

The lark and nightingale ;

For they the first of all awake,

The opening spring with songs to hail.

And I, like them, when silently

Each Troubadour sleeps on,
Will wake me up, and sing of love
And thee, Vierna, fairest one!....

The rose on thee its bloom bestow'd,
The lily gave its white,

And nature, when it plann'd thy form,
A model framed of fair and bright.

For nothing sure that could be given
To thee hath been denied ;

That there each thought of love and joy
In bright perfection might reside.

Ab l'alen tir vas me l'aire
Qu' ieu sen venir de Proensa;
Tot quant es de lai m'agensa,
Si que, quan n' aug ben retraire,
Ieu m' o escout en rizen,

E 'n deman per un mot cen,

Tan m' es bel quan n'aug ben dire.

R

242

I EAGERLY inhale the breeze

From thee, sweet Provence, blowing;
And all that's thine delights me so,

Such pleasant thoughts bestowing,
That if thy very name is named
I listen joyously,

And ask a hundred words for one-
So sweet to hear of thee.

And surely none can name a spot
So sweet in memory biding,
As 'twixt the Durance and the sea,
Where the swift Rhone is gliding:
There ever fresh delights abound,
There, midst its people gay,

I left my heart with one whose smile
Would drive each grief away.

Ne'er let the day be lightly named
When first I saw that lady:
From her my joy and pleasure flows;
And he whose tongue is ready
To give her praise, whate'er he says,
Of fair or good, is true:

She is the brightest, past compare,

That e'er the wide world knew.

If aught of goodness or of grace
Be mine, hers is the glory;
She led me on in wisdom's path,

And set the light before me :
In her I joy, in her I sing,

If ever, pleasantly;

The sweetness there is not my own,
But hers in whom I joy.

PIERRE D'AUVERGNE.

PIERRE D'AUVERGNE was a Troubadour of some note at the beginning of the 13th century. When the following translation was made, the original had not been published; but it has since appeared in "Le Parnasse Occitanien,” and also in M. Raynouard's fifth volume. Our version was formed from Millot's prose translation, and will be found materially to abridge the prolixity of the original; but it represents the burden of the song tolerably well, and is therefore left as it is.