nd light,
Moved with sudden pleasure;
Half forget what brought them here,
Thralled by love and leisure;
Till once more the nightingale
Tuned her thrilling measure;
At that cry each girl again
Hugs her hidden treasure.

Round the middle of the grove
Was a place enchanted,
Which the god for his own rites
Specially had planted;
Fauns and nymphs and satyrs here
Flowery alleys haunted,
And before the face of Love
Played and leaped and chaunted.

In their hands they carry thyme,
Crowns of fragrant roses;
Bacchus leads the choir divine
And the dance composes;
Nymphs and fauns with feet in tune
Interchange their posies;
But Silenus trips and reels
When the chorus closes.

On an ass the elder borne
All the mad crew guideth;
Mirth and laughter at the view
Through Love's glad heart glideth.
"Io!" shouts the eld; that sound
In his throat subsideth,
For his voice in wine is drowned,
And his old age chideth.

'Mid these pleasant sights appears
Love, the young joy-giver;
Bright as stars his eyes, and wings
On his shoulders shiver;
In his left hand is the bow,
At his side the quiver;
From his state the world may know
He is lord for ever.

Leans the boy upon a staff
Intertwined with flowers,
Scent of nectar from his hair
Breathes around the bowers;
Hand in hand before him kneel
Three celestial Hours,
Graces who Love's goblet fill
From immortal showers.

It would surely be superfluous to point out the fluent elegance of
this poem, or to dwell farther upon the astonishing fact that anything
so purely Renaissance in tone should have been produced in the twelfth
century.

Cupid, as was natural, settles the dispute of the two girls by
deciding that scholars are more suitable for love than soldiers.

This would be the place to introduce another long descriptive poem, if
the nature of its theme rendered it fit for translation. It relates
the visit of a student to what he calls the _Templum Veneris_; in
other words, to the house of a courtesan. Her attendants are sirens;
and the whole poem, dealing with a vulgar incident, is conducted in
this mock-heroic strain.[31]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 31: _Carmina Burana_, p. 138.]

XVII.

We pass now to love-poems of a more purel