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superstition, and devoted herself to her husband and her family in a very different way from what she had done before.
“Here you may see, ladies, the good sense of the husband, and the weakness of one who was regarded as a woman of strict propriety. If you attend well to this example, I am persuaded that, in stead of relying on your own strength, you will learn to turn to Him on whom your honor depends."
“I am very glad,” said Parlamente, “ that you are become the ladies' preacher; you would be so with better right if you would address the same sermons to all those you hold discourse with.”
“Whenever you please to hear me," he replied, “I assure you I will speak the same language to you."
“That is to say,” observed Simontault, " that when you are not by he will talk to a different purpose."
“He will do as he pleases,” said Parlamente, “but, for my own satisfaction, I would have him always speak thus. The example he has adduced will at least be of service to those women who think that spiritual love is not dangerous; but to me it seems that it is more so than any other."
“I cannot think, however,” remarked Oisille, “that one should scorn to love a man who is virtuous and fears God; for, in my opinion, one cannot but be the better for it."
"I pray you to believe, madam," rejoined Parlamente, “that nothing can be more simple-willed and easy to deceive than a woman who has never loved; for love is a passion which takes possession of the heart before one is aware of it. Besides, this passion is so pleasing that, provided one can wrap one's self up in virtue as in a cloak, it will be scarcely known before some mischief will come of it.”
“What mischief can come of loving a good man?” said Oisille.
“There are plenty, madam,” replied Parlamente, “who pass for good men as far as ladies are concerned; but there are few who are so truly good before God that one may love them without any risk of honor or conscience. I do not believe that there is one such man living. Those who are of a different opinion, and trust in it, become its dupes. They begin this sort of tender intimacy with God, and often end it with the devil. I have seen many a one who, under color of talking about divine things, began an intimacy which at last they wished to break off, but could not, so fast were they held by the fine cloak with which it was covered. A vicious love perishes and has no long abode in a good heart; but decorous love has bonds of silk so fine and delicate that one is caught in them before one perceives them.”
“According to your views, then," said Ennasuite, “no woman ought ever to love a man. Your law is too violent; it will not last." “I know that,” replied Parlamente; “but for all that, it is desirable that every woman should be content with her own husband, as I am with mine."
A TRIO OF FRENCH RENAISSANCE POETS.
(Translations by Andrew Lang.)
JACQUES TAHUREAU, 1527–1586.
SHADOWS OF HIS LADY.
WITHIN the sand of what far river lies
The gold that gleams in tresses of my Love?
What highest circle of the Heavens above
With her red lips, that cannot kiss enough?
What dawn-lit garden knew the rose, whereof
What Parian marble that is loveliest,
When drew she breath from the Sabæan glade ?
The far-off splendid semblance of my maid !
The high Midnight was garlanding her head
With many a shining star in shining skies,
And, of her grace, a slumber on mine eyes,
A thin shrill clamor of complaints and cries;
And all the woods were pallid, in strange wise,
Then came my lady to that lonely place,
And hang upon my neck, and kissed me over;
Since night has made me such a happy lover.
JOACHIM DU BELLAY, 1550.
HYMN TO THE WINDS.
To you, troop so fleet,
Through the wide world pass,
In woods and grass,
Roses and dew;
Wind flowers too.
Round this retreat;
In the sun's heat.
A Vow to HEAVENLY VENUS. We that with like hearts love, we lovers twain,
New wedded in the village by thy fane, Lady of all chaste love, to thee it is We bring these amaranths, these white lilies, A sign, and sacrifice; may Love, we pray, Like amaranthine flowers, feel no decay; Like these cool lilies may our loves remain, Perfect and pure, and know not any stain; And be our hearts, from this thy holy hour, Bound each to each, like flower to wedded flower.
REMY BELLEAU, 1560.
APRIL, pride of woodland ways,
Of glad days,
Their bud sheath
April, pride of fields that be
Green and free,
April, pride of murmuring
Winds of spring,
April, by thy hand caressed,
From her breast
Buds and blooms,
April, joy of the green hours,
Clothes with flowers
With the blest
April, with thy gracious wiles,
Like the smiles, Smiles of Venus; and thy breath Like her breath, the gods' delight,
(From their height They take the happy air beneath).
It is thou that, of thy grace,
From their place
Glad to be
Daffodil and eglantine,
Lily, violet, and rose,
To the air,
Nightingales ye now may hear,
Chime and float,
April, all to welcome thee,
Spring sets free Ancient flames, and with low breath Wakes the ashes gray and old
That the cold Chilled within our hearts to death.
Thou beholdest, in the warm
Hours, the swarm
Her cool shadows May can boast,
Nay, but I will give my praise
To these days,
Came to be