With regard to the religious events which are the theme of the _legends_, it is different. These compositions belong to the domain of historical songs and ballads, and owe their popularity to their being the expression of traditions already widely known among the people. We close our notice with the translation of a little poem by a young _kloarek_ of Léon. It is his farewell to earthly love--a farewell which is apparently made more easy by outward accidentals than can always be the case under similar circumstances. It is entitled ANN DROUK-RANS; OR, THE RUPTURE. Ah! knew I how to read and write as I know how to rhyme, A song all new I would indite, and in the shortest time! Behold my little friend, who comes! towards our house comes she, And, if the chance befals, she'll may-be speak awhile with me. "Sweet little friend, but you are changed since last I saw your face; 'Twas in the month of June, when you the _pardon_ went to grace." "And if, young man, so changed I am, what wonder can there be? When, since the _pardon_ of the Folgoät, death has stood by me; For 'twas a raging fever that has made the change you see." "Sweet friend, come with me to the garden; there a little rose First opened out its dewy bud when Thursday morning rose. Upon her stalk, so fair and gay, her new-born beauty shone; The morrow came--her beauty and her freshness all were gone. "Sweet friend, the door of your young heart I bade you well to close, That naught might enter to disturb that garden's still repose; But, ah! you did not listen, and you left ajar the door, And now the flower is withered up that showed so fair before. "For fairer things than love and youth this world has not to give, But in this world nor love nor youth have oft-times long to live; Our love was like a summer cloud that melts into the sky, And passing as a breath of wind that dies with scarce a sigh." FOOTNOTES: [43] In some versions, "To _Razar Brig_ thou comest at laste." [44] "Multitude of peasants, ... exhibiting wool, fleeces, forms of wax, etc." A VISIT TO THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE. It was a glorious September morning; the freshness of the night was still perceptible, although the rays of the sun were filling the air with a genial warmth, when, issuing from the fortified gates of the beautifully situated town of Grenoble, I turned my steps towards the celebrated monastery of the Grande Chartreuse.