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!"

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.

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.

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.