# Littell's Living Age/Volume 137/Issue 1775/Adieu, Mon Cœur!

* ﻿ADIEU, MON CŒUR!
* EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
* SPRING.
* How How gracefully the young Bertine
* With Jaques, her lover, dances!
* See how like sunbeams 'neath the trees
* She flies, and then advances;
* And yet she sings in a minor key
* The old Provençal melody,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* As if some sadness came to her
* With love's dear smiles and glances.
* The Sieur de Courcy comes that way
* And 'neath the walnut lingers,
* He marks her instep clean and high,
* Her white and dainty fingers;
* He hears her sing in a minor key
* The old Provençal melody,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* And thinks, as he fondly looks at her.
* Of the lays of the Minnesingers.
* But hark the call! the conscript drum!
* And Jaques, the number chosen;
* No wonder that Bertine is dumb,
* The blood in her bosom frozen.
* Brave Jaques strikes up in a stronger key
* The old Provençal melody,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* And looking fondly back at her
* He said, "Dear love, be true to me!"
* SUMMER.
* The king said gayly, "Je m'ennuie,"
* Nor heard if the people grumbled;
* What cared that gallant Majesty
* If some plain lives were humbled?
* The next age sang in a different key,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* Of Pompadour and the Parc aux Cerfs,
* And greeted the great with a bitter laugh
* When heads in the basket tumbled.
* For when the sun lay on the vines
* Bertine the grapes was tying,
* The tendril round her brow entwines,
* The summer days were flying!
* Well may she sing in a minor key
* The old Provençal melody,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* For the news was coming back to her
* Of the field where Jaques lay dying.
* What, then, was history but a page
* Of romance, love, and glory?
* Chimeras of the golden age
* When life was worth the story!
* Woman still sings in a minor key
* The old Provençal melody,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* That is the tale Time tells to her,
* And will till he is hoary.
* AUTUMN.
* The Sieur de Courcy came to woo,
* His voice was low and tender;
* He drove the wolf and the king away —
* "Let me be thy defender!"
* And when she sang in a minor key
* The old Provençal melody,
* 'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
* The gentleman knelt down to her
* And kissed her fingers slender.
* "Who is my rival?" laughed the king,
* His gallant, gay eyes lighting;
* "Now I will do a graceful thing
* To show I bear her slighting!
* We'll change that mournful monody,
* The old Provençal melody,
* 'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
* And life shall not be spoiled for her
* Because my love is blighting!"
* So went he forth to take the air,
* His perfumed locks were streaming,
* His brow was gay, as if no care
* Could blight that face so beaming.
* He sang as he rode, in a minor key,
* The old Provençal melody,
* 'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
* But took the road which led to her —
* The courtiers guessed his seeming.
* "I came," said he, as they bent the knee,
* "All doubts and cares to banish;
* Leave chains of rank and cares of state —
* For one day — let them vanish!
* And, dear Bertine, sing now for me
* The old Provençal melody,
* 'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
* And then he lightly told to her
* A drama from the Spanish.
* "Rise! my proud subject," said the king,
* "Rise! Marquise St.; Aulaire!
* I give the title and the ring
* To this thy consort fair.
* Now all my courtiers sound the key
* Of the old Provençal melody,
* 'Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!'"
* And one and all bow down to her,
* The new court lady there.
* All gratefully the sad Bertine
* 'Neath her long lashes glances.
* How much the tear that steals between
* The eyes' dark gleam enhances!
* And yet she sings in a minor key
* Of the old Provençal melody,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* The king gave Courcy's hand to her,
* Who, lover-like, advances.
* WINTER.
* O'er castle walls, with banners hung,
* The crescent moon is peeping,
* And on the ground, in sadness flung,
* A mournful man is weeping.
* On a white cross — what words to see! —
* He reads the sad, old monody,
* "Tais-toi, mon cœur! Adieu, mon cœur!"
* He breathes his last farewell to her,
* For there Bertine lies, sleeping.
* Sunday World.M. E. W. S..