How How gracefully the young Bertine With Jaques, her lover, dances!
See how like sunbeams 'neath the trees She flies, and then advances;
And yet she sings in a minor key
The old Provençal melody,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
As if some sadness came to her With love's dear smiles and glances.
The Sieur de Courcy comes that way And 'neath the walnut lingers,
He marks her instep clean and high, Her white and dainty fingers;
He hears her sing in a minor key
The old Provençal melody,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
And thinks, as he fondly looks at her. Of the lays of the Minnesingers.
But hark the call! the conscript drum! And Jaques, the number chosen;
No wonder that Bertine is dumb, The blood in her bosom frozen.
Brave Jaques strikes up in a stronger key
The old Provençal melody,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
And looking fondly back at her He said, "Dear love, be true to me!"
SUMMER.
The king said gayly, "Je m'ennuie," Nor heard if the people grumbled;
What cared that gallant Majesty If some plain lives were humbled?
The next age sang in a different key,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
Of Pompadour and the Parc aux Cerfs,
And greeted the great with a bitter laugh When heads in the basket tumbled.
For when the sun lay on the vines Bertine the grapes was tying,
The tendril round her brow entwines, The summer days were flying!
Well may she sing in a minor key
The old Provençal melody,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
For the news was coming back to her Of the field where Jaques lay dying.
What, then, was history but a page Of romance, love, and glory?
Chimeras of the golden age When life was worth the story!
Woman still sings in a minor key
The old Provençal melody,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
That is the tale Time tells to her, And will till he is hoary.
AUTUMN.
The Sieur de Courcy came to woo, His voice was low and tender;
He drove the wolf and the king away — "Let me be thy defender!"
And when she sang in a minor key
The old Provençal melody,
'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
The gentleman knelt down to her And kissed her fingers slender.
"Who is my rival?" laughed the king, His gallant, gay eyes lighting;
"Now I will do a graceful thing To show I bear her slighting!
We'll change that mournful monody,
The old Provençal melody,
'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
And life shall not be spoiled for her Because my love is blighting!"
So went he forth to take the air, His perfumed locks were streaming,
His brow was gay, as if no care Could blight that face so beaming.
He sang as he rode, in a minor key,
The old Provençal melody,
'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
But took the road which led to her — The courtiers guessed his seeming.
"I came," said he, as they bent the knee, "All doubts and cares to banish;
Leave chains of rank and cares of state — For one day — let them vanish!
And, dear Bertine, sing now for me
The old Provençal melody,
'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
And then he lightly told to her A drama from the Spanish.
"Rise! my proud subject," said the king, "Rise! Marquise St.; Aulaire!
I give the title and the ring To this thy consort fair.
Now all my courtiers sound the key
Of the old Provençal melody,
'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
And one and all bow down to her, The new court lady there.
All gratefully the sad Bertine 'Neath her long lashes glances.
How much the tear that steals between The eyes' dark gleam enhances!
And yet she sings in a minor key
Of the old Provençal melody,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
The king gave Courcy's hand to her, Who, lover-like, advances.
WINTER.
O'er castle walls, with banners hung, The crescent moon is peeping,
And on the ground, in sadness flung, A mournful man is weeping.
On a white cross — what words to see! —
He reads the sad, old monody,
"Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
He breathes his last farewell to her, For there Bertine lies, sleeping.
