--Charles d'Orleans. Tr. by Longfellow. THE BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES. Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman? Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man, Only heard on river and mere,-- She whose beauty was more than human? .... But where are the snows of yester-year? Where's Heloise, the learned nun, For whose sake Abeillard, I ween, Lost manhood and put priesthood on? (From love he won such dule and teen!) And where, I pray you, is the Queen Who willed that Buridan should steer Sewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine? .... But where are the snows of yester-year? White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies, With a voice like any mermaiden,-- Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice, And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,-- And that good Joan whom Englishmen At Rouen doomed and burned her there,-- Mother of God, where are they then? .... But where are the snows of yester-year? Nay, never ask this week, fair lord, Where they are gone, nor yet this year, Save with thus much for an overword,-- But where are the snows of yester-year? --Villon. Tr. by D. G. Rossetti. LYRIC POETRY--PROVENCAL. Modern scholars separate the treatment of Provencal literature from that of French. It was written in a different dialect, was subject to somewhat different laws of development, and after a short period of activity died almost completely away. Provencal literature is that produced in ancient Provence or Southern France. Its period of life extended from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries, its middle and only important period being that of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. This literature contains examples of all the varieties of French literature of the Middle Ages, but the only work that is original and important is its lyric poetry. This was composed by the troubadours (corresponding to the French trouveres) and sung by jongleurs or minstrels. The names of 460 Provencal poets and 251 anonymous pieces have come down to us. The one great theme of troubadour-singing--one, too, upon which he was original and a master--was that of passionate love. With this as subject, these poets united an eagerness for form, and were the first to perfect verse in any modern language. PIERRE ROGIERS. Twelfth Century. Who has not looked upon her brow Has never dreamed of perfect bliss, But once to see her is to know What beauty, what perfection, is. Her charms are of the growth of heaven, She decks the night with hues of day: Blest are the eyes to which 't is given On her to gaze the soul away! --Tr. by Costello. GUILLEM DE CABESTANH. Twelfth Century.