How sour it is Never Argenteuil piquette Was to my palate sour as this! And yet the vintage was good, in sooth; The self-same juice, the self-same cask! It was you, O gayety of my youth, That failed in the autumnal flask! FRIAR LUBIN BY CLEMENT MAROT To gallop off to town post-haste, So oft, the times I cannot tell; To do vile deed, nor feel disgraced,-- Friar Lubin will do it well.
But a sober life to lead, To honor virtue, and pursue it, That's a pious, Christian deed,-- Friar Lubin can not do it.
To mingle, with a knowing smile, The goods of others with his own, And leave you without cross or pile, Friar Lubin stands alone.
To say 't is yours is all in vain, If once he lays his finger to it; For as to giving back again, Friar Lubin cannot do it.
With flattering words and gentle tone, To woo and win some guileless maid, Cunning pander need you none,-- Friar Lubin knows the trade.
Loud preacheth he sobriety, But as for water, doth eschew it; Your dog may drink it,--but not he; Friar Lubin cannot do it.
ENVOY When an evil deed 's to do Friar Lubin is stout and true; Glimmers a ray of goodness through it, Friar Lubin cannot do it.
RONDEL BY JEAN FROISSART Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Naught see I fixed or sure in thee! I do not know thee,--nor what deeds are thine: Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Naught see I fixed or sure in thee! Shall I be mute, or vows with prayers combine?
Ye who are blessed in loving, tell it me: Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Naught see I permanent or sure in thee! MY SECRET BY FELIX ARVERS My soul its secret has, my life too has its mystery, A love eternal in a moment's space conceived; Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history, And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed.
Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived, Forever at her side, and yet forever lonely, I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only Daring to ask for naught, and having naught received.
For her, though God has made her gentle and endearing, She will go on her way distraught and without hearing These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend, Piously faithful still unto her austere duty, Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty, "Who can this woman be ?" and will not comprehend.
FROM THE ITALIAN THE CELESTIAL PILOT PURGATORIO II.

13-51.
And now, behold! as at the approach of morning, Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red Down in the west upon the ocean floor Appeared to me,--may I again behold it! A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled.
And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor, Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.
Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared I knew not what of white, and underneath, Little by little, there came forth another.
My master yet had uttered not a word, While the first whiteness into wings unfolded; But, when he clearly recognized the pilot, He cried aloud: "Quick, quick, and bow the knee! Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! Henceforward shalt thou see such officers! See, how he scorns all human arguments, So that no oar he wants, nor other sail Than his own wings, between so distant shores! See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven, Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!" And then, as nearer and more near us came The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, So that the eye could not sustain his presence, But down I cast it; and he came to shore With a small vessel, gliding swift and light, So that the water swallowed naught thereof.
Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot! Beatitude seemed written in his face! And more than a hundred spirits sat within.
"In exitu Israel de Aegypto!" Thus sang they all together in one voice, With whatso in that Psalm is after written.
Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, And he departed swiftly as he came.
THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE PURGATORIO XXVIII.

1-33.
Longing already to search in and round The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, Which tempered to the eyes the newborn day, Withouten more delay I left the bank, Crossing the level country slowly, slowly, Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance.
A gently-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead, No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze, Whereat the tremulous branches readily Did all of them bow downward towards that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain; Yet not from their upright direction bent So that the little birds upon their tops Should cease the practice of their tuneful art; But with full-throated joy, the hours of prime Singing received they in the midst of foliage That made monotonous burden to their rhymes, Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells, Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, When Aeolus unlooses the Sirocco.
Already my slow steps had led me on Into the ancient wood so far, that I Could see no more the place where I had entered.
And lo! my further course cut off a river, Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its little waves, Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are, Would seem to have within themselves some mixture, Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal, Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.
BEATRICE.
PURGATORIO XXX.

13-33, 85-99, XXXI.

13-21.
Even as the Blessed, at the final summons, Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave, Wearing again the garments of the flesh, So, upon that celestial chariot, A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis, Ministers and messengers of life eternal.
They all were saying, "Benedictus qui venis," And scattering flowers above and round about, "Manibus o date lilia plenis." Oft have I seen, at the approach of day, The orient sky all stained with roseate hues, And the other heaven with light serene adorned, And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed, So that, by temperate influence of vapors, The eye sustained his aspect for long while; Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, Which from those hands angelic were thrown up, And down descended inside and without, With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil, Appeared a lady, under a green mantle, Vested in colors of the living flame.
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