But, perhaps, one of the most striking of all Despourrins' poems, from the beauty of the patois and the pretty conceits, is the "Deus attraits d'ûc youenne pastoure," which reminds one of Ronsard's "Une beauté de quinze ans, enfantine."
poem.
"Tis to a maiden young and fair,
That my poor heart has fall'n a prey,
And now in tears and sighs of care
Pass all my moments, night and day.
"The sun is pale beside her face,
The stars are far less bright than she,
They shine not with so pure a grace,
Nor glow with half her charms to me.
"Her eyes are like two souls, all fire;
They dazzle with a living ray;
But ah! their light which I desire
Is turn'd from me by Love, away.
"Her nose, so delicate and fine,
Is like a dial in the sun,
That throws beneath a shadowy line
To mark the hours that love has run.
"The fairies form'd her rosy mouth,
And fill'd it with soft words at will,
And from her bosom breathes the South—
Sweet breath! that steals my reason still.
"Her waist is measured by the zone
The Graces long were wont to wear;
And none but Love the comb can own,
That smooths the ringlets of her hair.
"And when she glides along like air,
Her feet so small, so slight are seen,
A little pair of wings, you'd swear,
Were flutt'ring where her step has been.
"Dear object of my tender care,
My life, my sun, my soul thou art,
Oh! listen to the trembling pray'r,
That woos thee from this breaking heart."