* * * * * BROTHERS and men that shall after us be, Let not your hearts be hard to us: For pitying this our misery Ye shall find God the more piteous. Look on us six that are hanging thus, And for the flesh that so much we cherished How it is eaten of birds and perished, And ashes and dust fill our bones’ place, Mock not at us that so feeble be, But pray God pardon us out of His grace. Listen, we pray you, and look not in scorn, Though justly, in sooth, we are cast to die; Ye wot no man so wise is born That keeps his wisdom constantly. Be ye then merciful, and cry To Mary’s Son that is piteous, That His mercy take no stain from us, Saving us out of the fiery place. We are but dead, let no soul deny To pray God succour us of His grace. The rain out of heaven has washed us clean, The sun has scorched us black and bare, Ravens and rooks have pecked at our eyne, And feathered their nests with our beards and hair. Round are we tossed, and here and there, This way and that, at the wild wind’s will, Never a moment my body is still; Birds they are busy about my face. Live not as we, nor fare as we fare; Pray God pardon us out of His grace. L’ENVOY. Prince Jesus, Master of all, to thee We pray Hell gain no mastery, That we come never anear that place; And ye men, make no mockery, Pray God pardon us out of His grace. HYMN TO THE WINDS. DU BELLAY, 1550. The winds are invoked by the winnowers of corn. * * * * * TO you, troop so fleet, That with winged wandering feet, Through the wide world pass, And with soft murmuring Toss the green shades of spring In woods and grass, Lily and violet I give, and blossoms wet, Roses and dew; This branch of blushing roses, Whose fresh bud uncloses, Wind-flowers too. Ah, winnow with sweet breath, Winnow the holt and heath, Round this retreat; Where all the golden morn We fan the gold o’ the corn, In the sun’s heat. A VOW TO HEAVENLY VENUS. DU BELLAY, 1500 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. TO HIS FRIEND IN ELYSIUM. DU BELLAY, 1550.