Nor is it yet the spirit of the season—

The summer time—that makes my song so gay; But softer thoughts, and yet a sweeter reason—

Love,—that o'er all my happy heart hath sway; That with delight my soul will ceaseless turn

Tow'rd her, I ween of all the world the best: And if my songs be sweet, well may they learn

Sweetness from her whose love my heart has blest.

And since that love is rightfully my boon,

Well may I hold her chief within my soul,
Who helps my numbers, gives me song and tune,

And her own grace diffuses o'er the whole.
For when I think of those dear eyes of hers,

Whence the bright light of love is ever breaking, Delight and hope that happy thought confers,

And I am blest beyond the power of speaking.


Fauchet mentions this ancient "Chanteresse et Trouverre." That singular and interesting poem, the "Bible Guyot de Provins," (published in Barbazan,) which well deserves a careful commentator, thus mentions her as having been present at the court of the Emperor Conrad at Mentz:—

De Troye la bele Doete
Y chantait cette chansonette,
'Quant revient la saison
Que 1' herbe reverdoie.'

In the "Poesies de Marguerite-Eleonore Clotilde de Vallon-Chalys, depuis Madame de Surville, Poete Francois du XVe. siecle," is published the following piece, ascribed to Doete, and stated to have existed in MS. among the other specimens there given of a series of early French poetry. What degree of authenticity belongs to this book we do not know: undoubtedly, even if originals really existed, considerable liberties have been taken in their publication, as is plain from the extracts from Marie de France, which have since been correctly printed from the MSS. But the degree of coincidence with the undoubted originals that remains in those extracts, would incline the reader to believe that the basis of other pieces, which we have not the same means of comparing, is also genuine.

Quant revient la saison que l'herbe reverdoie
Que di fleons clerets la terre aime s'ondoie,

Qu'esjoissent oysels de lors gracieux chantz

Li bois, et la pré, e li chamz,
Soir et matin, filles, n' allez solicites
Quierre ez gazons derraines violettes;
Serpent y gist que n' y mord au talon,

Por ce n'est il, tendres poulettes,

Por ce n' est il que plus felon.

When comes the beauteous summer time,

And grass grows green once more,
And sparkling brooks the meadows lave

With fertilizing power ;—
And when the birds rejoicing sing

Their pleasant songs again,
Filling the vales and woodlands gay

With their enlivening strain ;—
Go not at eve nor morn, fair maids,

Unto the mead alone,
To seek the tender violets blue,

And pluck them for your own;
For there a snake lies hid, whose fangs

May leave untouch'd the heel,
But not the less—O not the less,

Your hearts his power shall feel.


This lady (said to owe her name to a Comte de Verrue who adopted her) is the only other of M. de Surville's list whom we shall select. To her he attributes the beautiful romance of " Aucassin et Nicolette," and some other pieces;—on what authority is not told. The following song is at any rate pleasing and natural.

Voyd son hyver venir li sages
Come al fins biau jor, belle nuict;
Scet que sont roses por toz ages
Si por toz ages sont ennuict.

The wise man sees his winter close
Like evening on a summer day;

Each age, he knows, its roses bears,
Its mournful moments and its gay.

Thus would I dwell with pleasing thought
Upon my spring of youthful pride;

Yet, like the festive dancer, glad
To rest in peace at eventide.

The gazing crowds proclaim'd me fair, Ere, autumn-touch'd, my green leaves fell:

And now they smile, and call me good;
Perhaps I like that name as well.

On beauty, bliss depends not; then
Why should I quarrel with old time?

He marches on:—how vain his power
With one whose heart is in its prime!

Though now perhaps a little old,
Yet still I love with youth to bide;

Nor grieve I if the gay coquettes
Seduce the gallants from my side.

And I can joy to see the nymphs

For fav'rite swains their chaplets twine,

In gardens trim, and bowers so green,
With flowerets sweet and eglantine.

I love to see a pair defy

The noontide heat in yonder shade; To hear the village song of love

Sweet echoing through the woodland glade.

I joy too (though the idle crew

Mock somewhat at my lengthen'd tale,)

To see how lays of ancient loves
The listening circle round regale.

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