Stood the tree in fields where grew Painted flowers of every hue, Grass that flourished with the dew, Fresh with shade where breezes blew; Plato, with his style so rare, Could not paint a spot more fair. Runs a babbling brook hard by, Chants the nightingale on high; Water-nymphs with song reply. "Sure, 'tis Paradise," I cry; For I know not any place Of a sweeter, fresher grace. While I take my solace here, And in solace find good cheer, Shade from summer, coolness dear, Comes a shepherd maiden near-- Fairer, sure, there breathes not now-- Plucking mulberries from the bough. Seeing her, I loved her there: Venus did the trick, I'll swear! "Come, I am no thief, to scare, Rob, or murder unaware; I and all I have are thine, Thou than Flora more divine!" But the girl made answer then: "Never played I yet with men; Cruel to me are my kin: My old mother scolds me when In some little thing I stray:-- Hold, I prithee, sir, to-day!" A fourth, consisting of a short conventional introduction in praise of Spring, followed by a dialogue between a young man and a girl, in which the metre changes for the last two stanzas, may be classed among the pastorals, although it is a somewhat irregular example of the species. THE WOOING. No. 26. All the woods are now in flower, Song-birds sing in field and bower, Orchards their white blossoms shower: Lads, make merry in Love's hour! Sordid grief hath flown away, Fervid Love is here to-day; He will tame without delay Those who love not while they may. _He._ "Fairest maiden, list to me; Do not thus disdainful be; Scorn and anger disagree With thy youth, and injure thee. "I am weaker than thou art; Mighty Love hath pierced my heart; Scarce can I endure his dart: Lest I die, heal, heal my smart!" _She._ "Why d'you coax me, suitor blind? What you seek you will not find; I'm too young for love to bind; Such vain trifles vex my mind. "Is't your will with me to toy? I'll not mate with man or boy: Like the Phoenix, to enjoy Single life shall be my joy." _He._ "Yet Love is tyrannous, Harsh, fierce, imperious! He who man's heart can thus Shatter, may make to bow Maidens as stern as thou!" _She._ "Now by your words I'm 'ware What you wish, what you are; You know love well, I swear! So I'll be loved by you; Now I'm on fire too!" XVI. Some semi-descriptive pieces, which connect the songs of Spring with lyrics of a more purely personal emotion, can boast of rare beauty in the original. The most striking of these, upon the theme of Sleep and Love, I have tried to render in trochaic verse, feeling it impossible, without knowledge of the medieval melody, to reproduce its complicated and now only half-intelligible rhythms.