No! no! I'll never married be,
But love, and love,-and yet be free.

I often see a married pair,—

I know they curse their luckless fate:
I've seen a woman tear her hair,
And of connubial blessings prate;
Yet daily sink beneath despair.
No! no! I'll never married be;
But love, and love, and yet be free.

Böhl, N. 333.

SHARPLY I REPENT OF IT.

"Quien gentil Señora pierde."

He who loses gentle lady,
For a want of ready wit,
Sharply shall repent of it.

Once I lost her in a garden,

Gathering every flower that grows;
And her cheeks were red with blushes,
Red as is the damask rose:

All love's burning blushes those.
I was dumb,-so short of wit,-
Sharply I repent of it.

Once I lost her in a garden,
Gently talking of her love;
I, poor inexperienced shepherd,

Did not answer,-did not move.

If I disappointments prove,

I

may thank my frozen wit;

Sharply I repent of it.

Cancionero de Linares. Böhl, 213.

H

I'M A YOUNG AND FEARFUL MAID.

“Ten amor el arco quedo."

CUPID! let thy bow be staid;

I'm a young

and fearful maid.

Love they say has vanquish'd gods,
Ev'n the highest gods of heaven;
Entered the divine abodes,

All their portals forced and riven.
How can I oppose him? driven,
Driven by him,-alarm'd, afraid,—
I, a young and fearful maid.

Some have told me how he led
Pyramus and Thisbe erst;
Others, how by him betray'd,
Cleopatra's bosom burst.

If I dread his bow at first,
If dark fear my breast pervade,
I'm a young and timid maid.

I'm a young and timid maid,

Blown about by hope and fear; Jealous mysteries,-love's parade,― Sound but darkly on my ear. Dangerous follies, come not near: I'll retreat to safety's shade,

I'm a young

and fearful maid.

Romancero General, 1604, p.

252.

SONNET.

"Si mil almas tuviera con que amaros."

HAD I a thousand souls with which to love thee,
I'd throw them all, delighted, at thy feet;
Had I uncounted gold wherewith to move thee,
"Twould seem unworthy all, and incomplete:
I fain would be an Argus but to view thee,
And a Briareus round thy charms to cling;
Another Orpheus to play music to thee,
A Homer thy perfections all to sing.

I would be May, to clothe thee with its splendour,
And Love itself adoring to caress thee;

I'd call on fame, to speak my passion tender,

I'd fain be the world's king, to serve and bless thee,

A sun to be thy light and thy defender,

And heaven itself for ever to possess thee.

Romancero de Miguel de Madrigal.
Valladolid, 1605, p. 191.

YE DARK GREEN EYES.

"¡Ay ojuelos verdes !"

YE dark green eyes!
Heaven grant that he,
My dark green eyes,
May think of me!

When left alone,
Ah! ye were wet
With sad regret
That he was gone.

And still ye mourn,

With doubt distrest,

When sunk to rest,

Till day's return.
Heaven grant that he

May think of me!

My dark green eyes,

When grief and pain

And sorrows rise,

Ye feel them then. Hope smiles between Her favourite shade, For hope is made

Of colours green.