De Tristan et de la reine,
De leur amour qui tant fut fine,
Dont ils eurent mainte doulour
Puis en moururent en un jour.
The naive sentiment of these poems forms a delicious contrast to the
contemporaneous mature and subtile art of Provence, and the entire
erudite armoury of love.
A great baron declared that only the man who could carry his daughter in
his arms to the summit of a certain mountain--an impossible
feat--should win her hand in marriage. No man possessed strength to
carry her farther than half way. But the knight whom she loved secretly
went out into the world, and after years of searching, discovered a
magic potion able to endow him who quaffed it with enormous strength.
Full of joy he returned home and, his beloved in his arms, began the
laborious ascent. Strong and jubilant, he laughed at the potion. But
after a while, feeling his strength ebbing away, the maiden implored
him: "Drink, I beseech thee, beloved!" "My heart is strong, to drink
were waste of time.
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