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,