FROM Calatrava as I took my way At holy Mary's shrine to kneel and pray, And sleep upon my eyelids heavy lay, There where the ground was very rough and wild, I lost my path and met a peasant child: From Finojosa, with the herds around her, There in the fields I found her. Upon a meadow green with tender grass, With other rustic cowherds, lad and lass, So sweet a thing to see I watched her pass: My eyes could scarce believe her what they found her, There with the herds around her. I do not think that roses in the Spring Are half so lovely in their fashioning: My heart must needs avow this secret thing, That had I known her first as then I found her, From Finojosa, with the herds around her, I had not strayed so far her face to see That it might rob me of my liberty. I questioned her, to know what she might say: "Has she of Finojosa passed this way?" She smiled and answered me: "In vain you sue, Full well my heart discerns the hope in you: But she of whom you speak, and have not found her. Her heart is free, no thought of love has bound her, Here with the herds around her."