voice, calling out my Artidoro's beloved name, and to say, "Come, my joy, I am the true Teolinda, who longs for you and loves you more than herself!" But fear lest my words might be heard by another than him, made me keep more silent than I should have wished. And so, after I had traversed once and yet again all the bank and wood of the gentle Henares, I sat me down, wearied, at the foot of a green willow, waiting until the bright sun should with his rays spread over all the face of the earth, so that in his brightness there might not remain thicket, cave, copse, cottage, or hut where I might not go seeking my joy. But scarcely had the new light given opportunity to distinguish colours, when straightway a rough-barked poplar, which was before me, presented itself to my eyes: on it and on many others I saw some letters written, which I at once recognised to be from Artidoro's hand, set there; and rising in haste to see what they said, I saw, fair shepherdesses, that it was this: Shepherdess, alone in thee Do I find that beauty rare Which to naught can I compare Save to thine own cruelty. Thou wert fickle, loyal I, Thus thou sowedst with open hand Promises upon the sand; Down the wind my hope did fly. Never had I thought to know That thy sweet and joyous "yes" Would be followed--I confess-- By a sad and bitter "no." Yet I had not been undone, Had the eyes that gazed on thee Kept in sight prosperity, Not thy loveliness alone. But the more thy mystic grace Speaks of promise and of gladness, All the more I sink in sadness, All my wits are in a maze. Ah, those eyes! they proved untrue, Though compassionate in seeming. Tell me, eyes so falsely beaming, How they sinned that gaze on you. Is there man, cruel shepherdess, But thou couldst beguile his fancies By thy staid and modest glances, By thy voice's sweet caress? This indeed have I believed, That thou couldst have, days ago, Held me, hadst thou wished it so, Captive, vanquished, and deceived. Lo, the letters I shall write On the rough bark of this tree-- Firmer than did faith with thee, Will they grow in time's despite. On thy lips thy faith was set, On thy promises so vain; Firmer 'gainst the wind-tossed main Is the rock the gale hath met. Fearsome art thou, full of bane As the viper which we press Under foot--ah, shepherdess, False as fair, my charm and pain! Whatsoe'er thy cruelty Biddeth, I without delay Will perform; to disobey Thy command was ne'er in me.