THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLÈ1 FROM THE GASCON OF JASMIN. Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland might Let me attempt it with an English quill; JASMIN, the author of this beautiful poem, is to the South of France what Burns is to the South of Scotland, the representative of the heart of the people,-one of those happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco pleno d'aouzelous). He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne; and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs! Those who may feel interested in knowing something about "Jasmin, Coiffeur"-for such is his calling-will find a description of his person and mode of life in the graphic pages of Béarn and the Pyrenees (Vol. i. p. 369, et seq.), by Louisa Stuart Costello, whose charming pen has done so much to illustrate the French provinces and their literature. I. AT the foot of the mountain height When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree This is the song one might perceive On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve: 'The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending, Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, Each one with her attendant swain, "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom, When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom, To sounds of joyous melodies, That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom, Gaily frolicking, A band of youngsters With fingers pressing, Till in the veriest Madness of mirth, as they dance, They retreat and advance, Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest: While the bride, with roguish eyes, Sporting with them, now escapes and cries: 66 Those who catch me Married verily This year shall be!" And all pursue with eager haste, And touch her pretty apron fresh and new, Meanwhile, whence comes it that among What lovers! they give not a single caress! These are grand people, one would say. F It is, that, half way up the hill, And you must know, one year ago, Love, the deceiver, them ensnared; The dread disease that none can stay, All at the father's stern command was changed; Returned but three short days ago, The golden chain they round him throw, To marry Angela, and yet Is thinking ever of Margaret. Then suddenly a maiden cried, 66 Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate! Here comes the cripple Jane!" And by a fountain's side A woman, bent and gray with years, But for this once the village seer And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue, Changing colour, as well he might, When the beldame, wrinkled and gray, Making the sign of the cross, doth say: 66 Thoughtless Angela, beware! Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, And she was silent; and the maidens fair What are two drops of turbid rain? Of verdurous valleys, They sang the refrain: "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, II. And by suffering worn and weary, But beautiful as some fair angel yet, Thus lamented Margaret, In her cottage lone and dreary:— "He has arrived! arrived at last! Yet Jane has named him not these three days past; And knows that of my night he is the star! For ever night! for ever night! No more of grief! no more of lassitude! Earth I forget,-and heaven, and all distresses, When seated by my side my hand he presses; But when alone, remember all! Where is Baptiste? he hears not when I call! A branch of ivy, dying on the ground, I need some bough to twine around! "Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken! He will return! I need not fear! Perhaps his heart, in this disguise, But some one comes! Though blind, my heart can see! And the door ajar is set, And poor, confiding Margaret Rises, with outstretched arms, but signdless eyes; "Tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries:Angela the bride has passed! 66 I saw the wedding guests go by; Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked? 66 Angela married! and not send To tell her secret unto me! O, speak! who may the bridegroom be?" A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing said; Descending, as her brother speaks, She stands beside the boy, now sore distressed, At length the bridal song again "Hark! the joyous airs are ringing! |