3. The Two Lovers
(Les Deus Amanz)
Marie de France
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There came from Normandy an old |
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Story that was often told |
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Of how because two children tried |
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To win the right to love, they died. |
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A Breton lai preserves their fame; |
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The Two Lovers is its name. |
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As proof of the story, you can see |
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In the country we call Normandy |
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A mountain marvelously high |
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On top of which the children lie. |
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Close to the mountain, on one side, |
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There is a city, once the pride |
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Of Pître-”so was named that land |
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By the king whose very wise command |
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Had built it. Honoring his will |
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The city is called Pître still, |
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And people even now are living |
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In the dominions of that king. |
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The valley of Pître that we know |
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Remains as it was so long ago. |
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The king had just one child, a daughter |
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Gentle and fair; he turned to her |
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For comfort when her mother died, |
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And kept her always at his side. |
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People did not approve of this; |
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The king-s own household took it amiss.[1] |
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Hearing them openly complain |
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Caused him to suffer bitter pain. |
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With craft to meet his need he planned |
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How none should win his daughter-s hand |
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Yet he himself be free from blame. |
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He ordered heralds to proclaim |
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Near and far to everyone |
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How the princess could be won. |
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The king would let his child be married, |
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But first, she had to be carried |
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Up the high mountain near the town |
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Before her suitor set her down. |
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As soon as they heard about the test, |
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Suitors hastened to request |
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A chance to win the promised bride. |
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Not one, no matter how he tried, |
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Could ever get beyond half way |
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Before exhaustion made him lay |
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His burden and his hopes to rest; |
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All were defeated in their quest. |
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The princess found herself a prize |
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To which no one dared lift his eyes. |
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In that country lived a youth, |
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The son of a count, and in all truth |
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Noble, courteous, and fair. |
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To become the best knight anywhere |
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Was what he wanted most to do. |
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Living much at court, he knew |
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And loved the princess. Eloquent, |
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He urged her many times to consent |
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To his desire, trying to earn |
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Her trust, have her love him in return. |
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She knew his valor, his gentle ways, |
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And that he had won her father-s praise, |
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And so she said that she would be |
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His love, for which he thanked her humbly. |
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Often they would talk together, |
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Taking great care, although they were |
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So much in love, never to show |
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Their feelings, and let no one know. |
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But having to hide their love, they grieved. |
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The boy was prudent; he believed, |
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Whatever the cost, they must refuse |
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To venture all too soon and lose. |
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But very great was his distress. |
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One day it drove him to confess |
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How much he suffered to his friend, |
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Pleading with her to put an end |
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To their unhappiness and run |
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Away with him. That seemed the one |
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Way possible-”he could no longer |
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Live in torment there with her. |
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But surely, if he asked for her hand |
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In marriage, the king-s love would stand |
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Between them: he would not agree |
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To lose his daughter willingly, |
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Unless the suitor, to win his bride, |
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Carried her up the mountainside. |
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-I know too well,- she said, -dear friend, |
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How that trial would have to end-” |
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You are not strong enough to win. |
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But there is no good either in |
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Running away. I couldn-t forgive |
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Myself if I should ever give |
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My father such good cause to grieve. |
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I love him too much; I couldn-t leave |
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Knowing his rage and suffering. |
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I think there is only one thing |
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To do: I have an aunt I know |
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Could help, but you would have to go |
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To Salerno-”she has lived there more[2] |
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Than thirty years. She-s famous for |
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Her learning, and rich. For every kind |
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Of sickness she knows how to find |
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Medicine in roots and plants; |
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Surely this is our only chance. |
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If you agree, I-ll write a letter |
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For you to take and give to her, |
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And you can tell our story too. |
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She will know how to counsel you |
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And give you some kind of medicine |
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To make you strong enough to win. |
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Then you can come back to this land |
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And ask my father for my hand. |
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He-ll say that you are young and foolish, |
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And he-ll consent to grant your wish |
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According to his own decree: |
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Only if you can carry me |
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All the way up to the top |
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Of the mountain, and you do not stop.- |
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For the prudent counsel he heard |
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The boy gave joyful thanks, and answered |
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That he would, that very day, |
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With her consent, be on his way. |
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He went to his own home and hurried |
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To assemble all that he would need-” |
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Money enough and fine clothing, |
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Packhorses, palfreys-”summoning |
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Those of his men he trusted most |
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To travel with him to the coast. |
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Once in Salerno, he visited |
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The princess-s aunt; when she had read |
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The letter from beginning to end, |
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She decided first to recommend |
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He stay with her a while. And so |
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She learned all that there was to know. |
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She gave him medicines to build |
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His strength, and by her arts distilled |
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A philter that would meet his need. |
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As soon as he drank it, however wearied |
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He might be, no matter how great |
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His burden, he-d not feel the weight |
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Because of the power that had flown |
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From his lips to his veins and bone. |
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She sent him back then to his trial; |
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He carried the philter in a phial. |
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When he reached his home, the boy, |
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Confident and full of joy, |
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Wasted no time at all, but went |
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To ask the king if he-d consent |
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To give him the princess for his bride; |
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He-d carry her up the mountainside. |
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The king had no reason to refuse; |
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He thought the boy would surely lose, |
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That it was madness to imagine |
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Someone of his age could win, |
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When men who were among the best |
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In valor had not passed the test. |
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The king then willingly proclaimed |
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The contest would be held, and named |
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A date. He summoned every friend, |
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Every vassal to attend |
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The ceremony. At his command |
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They gathered from throughout the land |
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To see the youth put to the trial |
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Of climbing up the mountain while |
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Holding in his arms the princess. |
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She, by eating less and less, |
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Prepared in the most useful way |
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She could. On the appointed day, |
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When no one had arrived as yet, |
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The boy was there. He didn-t forget |
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To bring the potion with him. Then, |
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In a meadow not far from the Seine, |
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The king led his daughter through |
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The great crowd assembled to view |
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The trial. The young princess wore |
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Only a shift and nothing more. |
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Taking her in his arms, the youth, |
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Trusting her as he should, in truth, |
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Gave the maiden the little phial |
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Which she would carry for a while. |
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However sure the outcome seems, |
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I fear he-ll go to such extremes |
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That the medicine will go to waste. |
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He reached the halfway point in haste, |
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Far too happy to remember |
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More than that he was close to her. |
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She felt his strength would not allow |
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Much more. -Please drink the philter now!- |
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She said, -My love, you cannot hide |
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Your weariness!- The boy replied, |
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-Dearest, my heart is very strong; |
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I will not stop to drink as long |
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As I can manage three steps more-” |
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Nothing can change my mind before! |
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We would be seen by all the crowd, |
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And, if they should shout aloud, |
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I-d be distracted. They-re too near; |
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I won-t take time to drink right here.- |
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Two thirds of the way up to the top |
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He stumbled and nearly let her drop. |
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Time and again the girl would plead, |
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-Here is the medicine you need!- |
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But trying, in pain, to reach the peak, |
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He didn-t even hear her speak. |
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Exhausted, he went on until |
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He fell at the top, and then lay still; |
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His heart-s strength had come to an end. |
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The maiden kneeled beside her friend. |
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He had only fainted, she thought, |
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And urgently, yet again, she sought |
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To help him, offering the philter. |
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But now he could not answer her. |
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Thus, as I have told, he died, |
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There upon the mountainside. |
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Crying aloud her grief, the girl |
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Picked up the phial again to hurl |
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The philter down. And it was worth |
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Much to that well-watered earth |
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And to the region all around, |
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For afterward the people found |
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Powerful herbs that flourished there. |
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The maiden, in her great despair, |
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Lay down beside her love, alone |
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With sorrow she had never known, |
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Now that he was lost forever. |
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So she held him close to her, |
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Tightly in her arms, and still |
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Kissing his eyes and mouth until |
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Her grief became a sword inside |
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Her heart. And so the maiden died |
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Who was so lovely and so wise. |
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Those waiting began to realize |
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That the two should long since have returned. |
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When they climbed the peak and learned |
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The truth, the king, in horror, fainted. |
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When he could speak, he mourned the dead, |
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And all the people shared his sorrow. |
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At last they let the children go; |
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Three days had passed. A marble coffin |
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Holding them both was buried in |
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The place that would forever tell |
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Their story. Then they said farewell. |
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Two Lovers is the name they gave |
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The mountain that was now a grave. |
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It all happened just this way |
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In truth and in a Breton lai. |
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