 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
135
THE NEW TROUBADOURS
(AVIGNON, 1879)
They said that all the troubadours had flown—No bird to flash a wing or swell a throat!
But as we journeyed down the rushing Rhone
To Avignon, what joyful note on note
Burst forth beneath thy shadow, O Ventour!
Whose eastward forehead takes the dawn divine;—
Ah, dear Provence! ah, happy troubadour,
And that sweet, mellow, antique song of thine!
First, Roumanille, the leader of the choir,
Then graceful Matthieu, tender, sighing, glowing,
Then Wyse all fancy, Aubanel all fire,
And Mistral, mighty as the north-wind's blowing;
And youthful Gras, and lo! among the rest
A mother-bird who sang above her nest.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |