Than, every time thou goest to God,
To follow where thou lead’st the way.[20]
But of those a little longer and more elaborate a favorable specimen may be found in Camoens, who wrote such with tenderness and beauty, not only in his own language, but sometimes in Spanish, as in the following lines on a concealed and unhappy passion, the first two of which are probably a snatch of some old song, and the rest his own gloss upon them:—
Within, within, my sorrow lives,
But outwardly no token gives.
All young and gentle in the soul,
All hidden from men’s eyes,
Deep, deep within it lies,
And scorns the body’s low control.
As in the flint the hidden spark