A fox carried her off, and now I have none. The fox has carried her off from the sill of my door, And more than that, I think, he has done me disgrace. But I perceive Jean le Ri and also Herod, And I ask them, have you not seen my pullet. And I pass my head out of the front room window. I see my pullet, who on the village green is dancing, And the fox by her side with a Flanders basket; With pears and with apples he is treating my pullet. Next to cradle songs, the creations of motherly affection, come the songs of youthful passion, when the instinct of love wakes in the hearts of the young man and the maid; and they sing, also, as naturally and simply as birds do in pairing time. There is often a touching inconsequence in these simple strains, a transcript of nature as it speaks to the heart, and finds almost inarticulate utterance in emotions of joy and sorrow, which is like the warbling of a bird, often ending its trill of gladness with a plaintive note. And the verses entitled The Song of the Nightingale, with its inconsequent but natural imageries at the close, which has an effect beyond the reach of art, has this penetrating and realistic effect:-- THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE. Sing, sing, nightingale, it is early you are singing. Not earlier than you, young man. Hunting are you going? Good luck to you, little comrade. I am not going a-hunt ing. I am on my way to Kerlosquet, where my love is dwelling. The nightingale then asked him, being a curious gossip, There are many houses at Kerlosquet, to which one are you going? The young man answered her in a tone of humor, Good luck to you, little comrade, I am not at confession. In a moment after he saw his mistress coming; By her color and her looks he saw that she was ailing. Anxiously he asked her, feeling for her sadness, Are you sick at heart, or sick in your spirit? And she answered, with a little smile so gracious, I am not subject to sickness, no, by the mercy of Jesus. --The spider does well to spin his web, To spin and to spread it and to dry it on the meadow. A breath of wind will come and bear it away. The hearts of young men are like it.