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234 THE FOLK-SONGS OF POITOU.
They murmur in the leafage,
Sweet tender-throated doves. They sing the whole day long, And love is all their song.
But there is a sadder note which makes itself heard in these songs of love in Poitou, as elsewhere,— the lamentation of the maiden who has listened too fondly to the words of her shepherd lover, and experienced his faithlessness. She must hide at home with her shame, and sadly find that only her dog is faithful.
IT WAS THE SPRING SIX MONTHS AGO.
It was the spring six months ago, And in the fresh, green fields below, My bleating flock around me fed, While watching them I spun my thread, And naught of sin or shame did know.
But Colin came one evening fair, With tender words beguiled me there ; " Dear shepherdess, come take my arm, Lest lonely roads should bring you harm, And ghosts or wolves in darkness scare."
In his my trusting hand I place, While love invades me with its grace ; I could not check his passion's strength, And wished the road of greater length, While listening with a blushing face. |
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