standing there were none who could dispute with him, either in rank or in merit. In point of fact, he was less afraid of the nobles than of the humbler persons about the court, and imagined her more likely to take a fancy to a simple shepherd than to a prince who was so near to the throne. It would be difficult to recount all the reflections to which this gave rise. How he reproached his heart—that heart which till now had never loved, which had never thought any one worthy of him, had now bestowed itself on a girl of such obscure origin, that he could never own his passion without a blush. He determined to struggle with it; and, persuading himself that absence was an unfailing remedy, particularly in the case of a dawning affection, he avoided the sight of the shepherdess. He followed his favourite amusement of hunting, and other sports. Wherever he caught sight of sheep, he turned from them as though they had been serpents; so that, after some little time, the wound he had received appeared less painful to him. But on one of the hottest of the dog-days, Constancio, fatigued by a long run with the hounds, finding himself on the banks of the river, followed its course under the shade of the lote-trees,[1] that mixed their branches with the willows, and rendered this spot as cool as it was lovely. He fell into a profound reverie; he was alone, and he thought no longer of all those who were waiting for him; when suddenly he was struck by the charming tones of a voice, which seemed to him celestial. He stopped to listen, and was not a little surprised to hear these words:—
"Alas! I had vowed I would live without Love,
But perjured the God has resolved I should prove,
I feel in my bosom his torturing dart,
Constancio, master he makes of my heart!
"When weary with hunting, oppress'd by the heat,
He sought the cool shade of this tranquil retreat,
Methought, as I breathlessly gazed on him there,
My eyes ne'er had feasted on vision so fair.
"Mute, motionless, lost, in that moment of bliss,
The treacherous archer his mark could not miss;
Too sweet is the pain that I since have endured,
I joy in a wound that can never be cured."
His curiosity prevailed over the pleasure he experienced in listening to so sweet a voice; he advanced quickly. He had
- ↑ See note, page 28.
