"The beautiful spring delights me well, When flowers and leaves are growing; And it pleases my heart to hear the swell Of the birds' sweet chorus flowing In the echoing wood; And I love to see, all scattered around, Pavilions and tents on the martial ground; And my spirit finds it good To see, on the level plains beyond, Gay knights and steeds caparisoned." [Footnote 3: M. Raynouard, _Poesies de Troubadours_, II. 209.] But as the Troubadour nestles more warmly into the rhythm of his verse, the birds are all forgotten, and the beautiful spring, and there is a sturdy clang of battle, that would not discredit our own times:-- "I tell you that nothing my soul can cheer, Or banqueting or reposing, Like the onset cry of 'Charge them!' rung From each side, as in battle closing; Where the horses neigh, And the call to 'aid' is echoing loud, And there, on the earth, the lowly and proud In the foss together lie, And yonder is piled the mingled heap Of the brave that scaled the trenches steep. "Barons! your castles in safety place, Your cities and villages, too, Before ye haste to the battle-scene: And Papiol! quickly go, And tell the lord of 'Yes and No' That peace already too long hath been!"[4] [Footnote 4: I cannot forbear taking a bit of margin to print the closing stanzas of the original, which carry the clash of sabres in their very sound. "Ie us dic que tan no m' a sabor Manjars ni beure ni dormir Cum a quant aug cridar: A lor! D'ambas las partz; et aug agnir Cavals voitz per l'ombratge, Et aug cridar: Aidatz! Aidatz! E vei cazer per los fossatz Paucs e grans per l'erbatge, E vei los mortz que pels costatz An los tronsons outre passatz. "Baros, metetz et gatge Castels e vilas e ciutatz, Enans q' usquecs no us guerreiatz. "Papiol, d'agradatge Ad _Oc e No_ t' en vai viatz, Dic li que trop estan en patz." It would seem that the men of that time, like men of most times, bore a considerable contempt for people who said "Yes" one day, and "No" the next.] I am on my way to Italy, (it may as well be confessed,) where I had fully intended to open my rainy day's work; but Turner has kept me, and then Auvergne, and then the brisk battle-song of a Troubadour.