TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF LE CHEVALIER DE

Châtelain, by HENRY GRAZEBROOK.

o breakfast, O, corne little sparrows,

The table is ready for y ou, — Of white bread I hâve little morsels,

Corne, — gather the harvest anew.

To breakfast, O, corne little sparrows,

With your voices so silvery sweet, You will pay back my outlay in singing

Your songs the glad morning to greet.

Corne to me, corne to me, little sparrows,

Near my balcony I can display Nice cakes and choice bits of good eating,

Make them quickly to vanish away.

Corne to me, corne to me, little sparrows, Corne to one who would heal ail your strife,

Corne my pets, corne my joys, with your twitter, Pretty rebels of wandering life.

in.

Corne to me, corne to me, little darlings,

To Castelnau Lodge ail repair, For you and the clustering starlings

Warm friendship at ail times is there.

Corne tell me your loves and your flirtings,

Corne sing me your story aright, — You are always to me, in my musing,

The symbol of tender delight !

Corne to me, corne to me, little sparrows,

I hâve so great a weakness for you That if I could hear not the echoes

Your songs and their message tell true, I should feel myself robbed of my pleasure,

I should long for this région no more, — Then corne, shed the bountiful measure

On me, — of a poor troubadour.