Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

They fancy time for them stands still,

And pity me my hairs of gray,
And smile to hear how once their sires

To me could kneeling homage pay.

And I, too, smile, to gaze upon These butterflies in youth elate,
So heedless, sporting round the flame

Where thousand such have met their fate.

THE AUTHOR OF THE PARADIS D' AMOUR.

The "Paradis d'Amour" is a romance of the 13th century, of which Le Grand d'Aussy published a selected abridgement, and which Mr. Way translated with still greater deviations from the original. Le Grand gave only the first verse of the following song; but M. Roquefort has published the whole, from the MS. in the king's library, in his "Etat de la Poesie Francoise dans les XIIe & XIIP siècles." It will be best to introduce the song with Mr. Way's translation of the preceding context.

[graphic]

He! aloete,
Joliete,
Petit t' est de mes maus.

S' amour venist a plesir
Que me vousissent sesir

De la blondette,

Saverousette,
J'en feusse plus baus.

He! aloete,

Joliete,
Petit t' est de mes maus.

The livelong night, as was my wonted lot,
In tears had pass'd, nor yet day's orb was hot,
When forth I walk'd, my sorrows to beguile,
Where freshly smelling fields with dewdrops smile.

Already with his shrilling carol gay

The vaulting skylark hail'd the sun from far;

And with so sweet a music seem'd to play

My heart-strings round, as some propitious star

Had chased whate'er might fullest joyaunce mar:

Bath'd in delicious dews that morning bright,

Thus strove my voice to speak my soul's delight:—

Hark! hark!
Thou merry lark!
Reckless thou how I may pine;
Would but love my vows befriend,
To my warm embraces send That sweet fair one, Brightest, dear one,
Then my joy might equal thine.

Hark! hark!

Thou merry lark! Reckless thou how I may pine; Let love, tyrant, work his will, Plunging me in anguish still:

Whatsoe'er

May be my care, True shall bide this heart of mine.

Hark! hark!

Thou merry lark! Reckless thou what griefs are mine; Come, relieve my heart's distress, Though in truth the pain is less,

That she frown,

Than if unknown
She for whom I ceaseless pine.

Hark! hark!

Thou merry lark! Reckless thou how I may pine. FRAIGNE.

This poet belongs to the 14th century :—See Laborde, from whom the following specimen is taken.

Et ou vas tu, petit soupir,
Que j'ai oui si doulcement?
T'en vas tu mettre a saquement
Quelque povre amoureux martir?
Vien-ca, dy moy tost, sans mentir,
Ce que tu as en pensement.
Et ou vas tu, petit soupir,
Que j'ai oui si doulcement?

Dieu te conduye a ton desir,
Et te ramene a sauvement;Mais je te requiers humblement,
Que ne faces ame mourir.
Et ou vas tu, petit soupir,
Que j'ai oui si doulcement?

And where then goest thou, gentle sigh,
Passing so softly by?
Goest thou to carry misery

To some poor wretched lover?
Come, tell me all without deceit,
Thy secret aim discover;
And whither goest thou, gentle sigh,
Passing so softly by?

Now Heaven conduct thee safely on,

According to thy will;
One boon alone I ask of thee,

Wound—but forbear to kill.
And where then goest thou, gentle sigh,

Passing so softly by?

CHRISTINE DE PISAN.

It may be said that both this lady, and Charles duke of Orleans, who is noticed next, belong to a period rather later than the one which this volume purports to illustrate. Some license will, however, be taken on this occasion; and it is assumed with the less ceremony, because the works of neither of these poets have ever been printed, we believe, except in a few extracts, (such as those contained in the second volume of " Les Poetes Francois depuis le XIP siecle jusqu'a. Malherbe,") and because we should otherwise wholly fail in what we promised (p. 81), under the expectation of much more extensive MS. research in this department. Our selections from Christine de Pisan are taken from a very fine richly illuminated

« VorigeDoorgaan »