A shepherd life, methinks, is best, Whose care is for his flock alone; And when he folds them safe and warm, He knows no grief, he dreams no harm.

"If you, dear Marion, would be mine, No king could be so blest as I; My thoughts, hopes, wishes, should combine, To make your life pa.s.s happily; Caresses, fondness, love, and glee, Should teach you soon to love like me."

Another very favourite song is the "Au mounde nou y a nat Pastou,"[52]

in which mention is made of the national dances for which Bearn is celebrated, as well as the _Pays Basque_ which produces _baladins_, famous throughout France for their feats of agility and grace. There is a great variety of these dances, and those executed by the young men of St. Savin are remarkable in their kind: bands of the dancers go from village to village in the times of _fetes_, and are much sought after: they appear very like our May-day mummers, or morrice-dancers, and have probably the same, namely, an eastern, origin: instead of Robin Hood, the Chevalier Bayard is the personage represented in their disguise, and a female always appears amongst them, who answers to our Maid Marian: they are covered with flaunting ribbons, and hold little flags in their hands.

[Footnote 52: There are two songs beginning with the same words: both favourites.]

SONG.

"There's not a shepherd can compare With him who loves me well and true; French he can speak, with such an air, As if the ways of courts he knew: And if he wore a sword, you'd say, It was the King who pa.s.s'd this way.

"If you beheld, beneath our tree, How he can dance the Mouchicou,-- Good Heaven! it is a sight to see His Manuguet and Pa.s.se-pie too!

His match for grace no swain can show In all the Valley of Ossau.

"Lest Catti, in the summer day, The noon-day sun too hot should find, A bow'r with flow'rs and garlands gay, By love's own tender hand entwined, Close to our fold, amidst the shade, For me that charming shepherd made."

There is considerable variety of style and expression in the poetry of Despourrins, although his subject does not change--being "love, still love."

The following might pa.s.s for a song by a poet of the school of Suckling:--

SONG.

"Malaye quoan te by!"

"OH! when I saw thee first, Too beautiful, and gay, and bland, Gathering with thy little hand The flow'r of May, Oh! from that day My pa.s.sion I have nurst-- 'Twas when I saw thee first!

"And ever since that time, Thy image will not be forgot, And care and suff'ring are my lot; I know not why So sad am I, As though to love were crime-- Oh! ever since that time!

"Those eyes so sweet and bright, Illume within my trembling breast, A flame that will not let me rest; Oh! turn away The dazzling ray-- They give a dang'rous light, Those eyes so sweet and bright!

"Thou hast not learnt to love, But, cruel and perverse of will, Thou seek'st but to torment me still.

Faithful in vain I bear my chain, Only, alas! to prove Thou hast not learnt to love!"

But, perhaps, one of the most striking of all Despourrins' poems, from the beauty of the _patois_ and the pretty conceits, is the "Deus attraits d'uc youenne pastoure," which reminds one of Ronsard's "Une beaute de quinze ans, enfantine."

POEM.

"Tis to a maiden young and fair, That my poor heart has fall'n a prey, And now in tears and sighs of care Pa.s.s all my moments, night and day.

"The sun is pale beside her face, The stars are far less bright than she, They shine not with so pure a grace, Nor glow with half her charms to me.

"Her eyes are like two souls, all fire; They dazzle with a living ray; But ah! their light which I desire Is turn'd from me by Love, away.

"Her nose, so delicate and fine, Is like a dial in the sun, That throws beneath a shadowy line To mark the hours that love has run.

"The fairies form'd her rosy mouth, And fill'd it with soft words at will, And from her bosom breathes the South-- Sweet breath! that steals my reason still.

"Her waist is measured by the zone The Graces long were wont to wear; And none but Love the comb can own, That smooths the ringlets of her hair.

"And when she glides along like air, Her feet so small, so slight are seen, A little pair of wings, you'd swear, Were flutt'ring where her step has been.

"Dear object of my tender care, My life, my sun, my soul thou art, Oh! listen to the trembling pray'r, That woos thee from this breaking heart."

A QUARREL.

"Adechat! las mies amous."

_He_.--MY pretty Margaret, good day!

The mountain air is chill; And if you guide your lambs this way, The cold will do you ill.

_She_.--No, gentle friend, tho' cold I seem, The air I need not fear; It is the chillness of your stream That runs so fresh and clear.

_He_.--The c.o.c.k had not begun his song; When with my flocks I came; To meet you here I waited long-- Your haste was not the same.

_She_.--My lambs and I were in the mead Before the break of day; And you, methinks, have little need To blame _me_ for delay.

_He_.--My sheep, with many a ruddy streak, And bells of jocund sound, Heav'n knows, a lively music make, Which can be heard far round.

Come, let our flocks be hither led, Beneath this shade repair; For you have b.u.t.ter, I have bread, And we our meal will share.

Feed, pretty lambs, and feed, my sheep, Awhile her flock beside, And, as on flow'rs ye browse and sleep, We'll leave you for a tide.

Thou, G.o.d of Love, who in the air, Art hov'ring in our view, Guard well our flocks, and to thy care Oh! take two lovers too!

_She_.--No,--farewell till to-morrow, dear, I may not now abide; For if I longer tarry here, My friends will surely chide.

DESPOURRINS.

"Y Atau quoan la rose ey nabere."

"When first the rose her perfume threw, And spread her blossoms to the day, I saw thee, Phillis, blooming too, With all the charms that round her play.

"Pure as the sun, thy glace of power, Thy voice has music's softest swell,-- I saw thee in an evil hour, Or never should have loved so well!

"Though from thy presence I remove, While I lament I still adore,-- Oh! what can absence do to love, But to increase the feeling more!

"Ye simple swains, who know not yet What pleasure and what pain may be, Guard well your hearts from Love's regret, If you would live from danger free."

DESPOURRINS.

"Au mounde nou-y-a nad Pastou, T'a malhurous coum you!"