"Time? You have lots!"
"No, no—she expects me, you know."
"Who—not——!"
"Yes, Belle-bouche. Take care of yourself, my dear knight," said Jacques with friendly interest; "good-by."
And touching his horse with the spurs, he went on, pursued by the maledictions of Sir Asinus. He had cause. Jacques had charged him with lunacy; said he designed assassinating the King; kept from him the very names of the combatants; and was going to see his sweetheart![(Back to Table of Content.)]
CHAPTER XVII.
CORYDON GOES A-COURTING.
Have you never, friendly reader, on some bright May morning, when the air is soft and warm, the sky deep azure, and the whole universe filled to the brim with that gay spirit of youth which spring infuses into this the month of flowers, as wine is squeezed from the ripe bunch of grapes into the goblet of Bohemian glass, all red and blue and emerald—at such times have you never suffered the imagination to go forth, unfettered by reality, to find in the bright scenes which it creates, a world more sunny, figures more attractive than the actual universe, the real forms around you? Have you never tried to fill your heart with dreams, to close your vision to the present, and to bathe your weary forehead in those golden waters flowing from the dreamland of the past? The Spanish verses say the old times were the best; and we may assert truly that they are for us at least the best—for reverie.
This reverie may be languid, luxurious, and lapped in down—enveloped in a perfume weighing down the very senses, and obliterating by its drowsy influence every sentiment but languid pleasure; or it may be fiery and heroic, eloquent of war and shocks, sounding of beauteous battle, and red banners bathed in slaughter. But there is something different from both of these moods—the one languid and the other fiery.
There is the neutral ground of fancy properly so called: a land which we enter with closed eyes and smiling lips, a country full of fruits and flowers—fruits of that delicious flavor of the Hesperides, sweet flowers odorous as the breezy blossoms which adorn the mountains. Advance into that brilliant country, and you draw in life at every pore—a thousand merry figures come to meet you: maidens clad in the gay costumes of the elder time, all fluttering with ribbons, rosy cheeks and lips!—maidens who smile, and with their taper fingers point at those who follow them; gay shepherds, gallant in silk stockings and embroidered doublets, carrying their crooks wreathed round with flowers; while over all, the sun laughs gladly, and the breezes bear away the merry voices, sprinkling on the air the joyous music born of lightness and gay-heartedness.