The songs have one peculiarity: almost all begin with the words _frunză verde_, that is, green leaf. To this follows sometimes “of the so and so.” This reminds us of the beginnings of the snatches of rhyme in Mr. Browning’s “Fra Lippo Lippi”: Flower o’ the clove, All the Latin I construe is _amo_, I love. Occasionally the _frunză verde_ is followed on by the name of a flower unconnected with it by any conjunction. Thus the following song begins with a line which, literally translated, is simply “green leaf, three violets;” but to make it intelligible we will borrow the form from Mr. Browning’s songs. The same phrase _frunză verde_ is frequently introduced into the middle of the poem. One might be tempted to suppose that when it is found there, it has been the result of the welding together of two different songs. But there are some instances where this certainly has not been the case. Now take for a specimen the following song, characteristic enough of the greater number of these village lays: Green leaf, green leaf of the violet, As of old, across the wold And round my house the wind sobs yet, Whispering longing and regret, For the loved ones who have fled. Breathes the wind among the grasses: I faint with wishing as it passes. Storm-gusts rise and fall again, And passion wrings my heart with pain. Breathes the wind, and small leaves move, I die with longing for my love. Over the mountain the mountain wind blows, My longing for my kindred grows. Blows the breeze the trees among, My brothers’ names shall fill my song. When it creeps the flowers through, My sisters sweet I think of you. Leaf o’ the maple branching fair, What cloud comes here, the wanderer— Hast thou told to her forsaken How her love’s for a conscript taken? Oh, little cloud, thou dost not carry Rain or snow, but the tears of Marie. Curious little conceits such as these, drawn from the common imagery of nature, are very characteristic of the poems. In that respect some of the songs resemble not a little some of the popular songs which one may hear in Italy, and resemble much less the popular songs of northern lands, wherein these conceits are more rare. Here is a still more simple fragment: Green leaf of holly, all are gone, The girls of the village, and I am alone.— Not all; for one remains for me; Only one my hope to be. My hope but she;— Frail as ice my trust will find her, To the trysting who can bind her? And here one which is far from ungraceful: “Undo, my dear, the charm which you have made, And let me now go free.” “To make you go my charm was never laid, But to make you marry me.” The following might seem like an imitation of Shakspere; but it is a quite true rendering from the mouth of peasants to whom Shakspere was not even a name: