第一部分。当植物的杜松子酒盖事业中ds With colours fresh and fine, Then holy clerkes their mattins sing To good Saint Valentine! The King of France that morning fair He would a hunting-ride, To Artois forest prancing forth In all his princelye pride. To grace his sports a courtly train Of gallant peers attend; And with their loud and cheerful cryes The hills and valleys rend. Through the deep forest swift they pass, Through woods and thickets wild; When down within a lonely dell They found a new-born child; All in a scarlet kercher lay'd Of silk so fine and thin; A golden mantle wrapt him round, Pinn'd with a silver pin. The sudden sight surpriz'd them all; The courtiers gather'd round; They look, they call, the mother seek; No mother could be found. At length the king himself drew near, And as he gazing stands, The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd, And stretch'd his little hands. 'Now, by the rood,' King Pepin says, 'This child is passing fair; I wot he is of gentle blood: Perhaps some prince's heir. 'Goe bear him home unto my court With all the care ye may Let him be christen'd Valentine, In honour of this day; 'And look me out some cunning nurse; Well nurtur'd let him bee; Nor ought was wanting that became A bairn of high degree. Thus grewe the little Valentine, Belov'd of king and peers, And shew'd in all he spake or did A wit beyond his years. But chief in gallant feates of arms He did himself advance, That ere he grewe to man's estate He had no peere in France. And now the early downe began To shade his youthful chin, When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, That he might glory win. 'A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, I beg a boon of thee! The first adventure that befalls May be reserv'd for mee.' 'The first adventure shall be thine;' The king did smiling say. Nor many days, when low! there came Three palmers cald in graye. 'Help, gracious lord,' they weeping say'd; And knelt, as it was meet; 'From Artoys forest we be come, With weak and wearye feet. 'Within those deep and drearye woods There wends a savage boy; Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield Thy subjects dire annoy. ''Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred; He lurks within their den; With beares he lives; with beares he feeds, And drinks the blood of men. 'To more than savage strength he joins A more than human skill; For arms, ne cunning may suffice His cruel rage to still.' Up then rose Sir Valentine And claim'd that arduous deed. 'Go forth and conquer,' say'd the king, 'And great shall be thy meed.' Well mounted on a milk-white steed, His armour white as snow: As well beseem'd a virgin knight, Who ne'er had fought a foe. To Artoys forest he repairs With all the haste he may; And soon he spies the savage youth A rending of his prey. His unkempt hair all matted hung His shaggy shoulders round; His eager eye all fiery glow'd; His face with fury frown'd. Like eagles' talons grew his nails; His limbs were thick and strong; And dreadful was the knotted oak He bare with him along. Soon as Sir Valentine approach'd, He starts with sudden spring; And yelling forth a hideous howl, He made the forests ring. As when a tyger fierce and fell Hath spied a passing roe, And leaps at once upon his throat; So sprung the savage foe; So lightly leap'd with furious force The gentle knight to seize, But met his tall uplifted spear, Which sunk him on his knees. A second stroke so stiff and stern Had laid the savage low; But springing up, he rais'd his club And aim'd a dreadful blow. The watchful warrior bent his head, And shun'd the coming stroke; Upon his taper spear it fell, And all to shivers broke. Then lighting nimbly from his steed, He drew his burnisht brand; The savage quick as lightning flew To wrest it from his hand. Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt; Three times he felt the blade; Three times it fell with furious force; Three ghastly wounds it made. Now with redoubled rage he roar'd; His eye-ball flash'd with fire; Each hairy limb with fury shook; And all his heart was ire. Then closing fast with furious gripe He clasp'd the champion round, And with a strong and sudden twist He laid him on the ground. But soon the knight, with active spring, O'erturn'd his hairy foe; And now between their sturdy fists Past many a bruising blow. They roll'd and grappled on the ground, And there they struggled long: Skilful and active was the knight; The savage he was strong. But brutal force and savage