Part 6 (2/2)

O'er cliff and ocean the white dawn appeareth It pa.s.seth vigil and the shadows cleareth.

Forth from out Arcturus, North Wind bloweth The stars of heaven sheathe their glory And sun-driven forth-goeth Settentrion.

_Ref._

O'er sea mist, and mountain is the dawn display'd It pa.s.seth watch and maketh night afraid.

From a tenth-century MS.

From Syria

The song of Peire Bremon ”Lo Tort” that he made for his Lady in Provenca: he being in Syria a crusader.

In April when I see all through Mead and garden new flowers blow, And streams with ice-bands broken flow, Eke hear the birds their singing do; When spring's gra.s.s-perfume floateth by Then 'tis sweet song and birdlet's cry Do make mine old joy come anew.

Such time was wont my thought of old To wander in the ways of love.

Burnis.h.i.+ng arms and clang thereof, And honour-services manifold Be now my need. Whoso combine Such works, love is his bread and wine, Wherefore should his fight the more be bold.

Song bear I, who tears should bring Sith ire of love mak'th me annoy, With song think I to make me joy.

Yet ne'er have I heard said this thing: ”He sings who sorrow's guise should wear.”

Natheless I will not despair That sometime I'll have cause to sing.

I should not to despair give way That some while I'll my lady see.

I trust well He that lowered me Hath power again to make me gay.

But if e'er I come to my Love's land And turn again to Syrian strand, G.o.d keep me there for a fool, alway!

G.o.d for a miracle well should Hold my coming from her away, And hold me in His grace alway That I left her, for holy-rood.

An I lose her, no joy for me, Pardi, hath the wide world in fee.

Nor could He mend it, if He would.

Well did she know sweet wiles to take My heart, when thence I took my way.

'Thout sighing, pa.s.s I ne'er a day For that sweet semblance she did make To me, saying all in sorrow: ”Sweet friend, and what of me to-morrow?”

”Love mine, why wilt me so forsake?”

ENVOI

Beyond sea be thou sped, my song, And, by G.o.d, to my Lady say That in desirous, grief-filled way My nights and my days are full long.

And command thou William the Long-Seer To tell thee to my Lady dear, That comfort be her thoughts among.

The only bit of Peire Bremon's work that has come down to us, and through its being printed with the songs of Giraut of Bornelh he is like to lose credit for even this.--E.P.

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