The Basque poet can seldom read or write: he owes nothing to education: nature alone is his instructress, and she inspires him with ideas the most graceful, tender, and, at the same time, correct, for nothing exceptionable is ever heard in his songs. In many of these there is a strain which might parallel some of the sweetest odes of the Persians; from whom, it is not impossible but that they may have derived them; if, indeed, the early troubadours from the East have not left their traces in such lays as this:
basque song.
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"Ezdut uste baden ceruan aingeruric," &c.
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I cannot think in heaven above
Immortal angels there may be,
Whose hearts can show so pure a love
As that which binds my soul to thee:
And when, my ceaseless suff'rings past,
The grave shall make me all forget,
I only ask thee, at the last,
One gentle sigh of fond regret.
Very often these songs take the form of dialogues: the following is one very well known in the country:
basque song.
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"Amodíoac bainarabila choriñoa aircan bezala," &c.
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The Lover.
Love lifts me gently in the air,
As though I were a bird to fly,
And nights to me, like days, are fair,
Because my gentle love is nigh.