Since I have just spoken of a shepherd, I will say that in Spain, the
class of individuals of both sexes destined to look after herds,
appeared to me always less further removed than in France, from the
pictures which the ancient poets have left us of the shepherds and
shepherdesses in their pastoral poetry. The songs by which they
endeavour to while away the tedium of their monotonous life, are more
remarkable in their form and substance than in the other European
nations to which I have had access. I never recollect without surprise,
that being on a mountain situated at the junction-point of the kingdoms
of Valencia, Aragon, and Catalonia, I was all at once overtaken by a
violent storm, which forced me to take refuge in my tent, and to remain
there squatting on the ground. When the storm was over and I came out
from my retreat, I heard, to my great astonishment, on an isolated peak
which looked down upon my station, a shepherdess who was singing a song
of which I only recollect these eight lines, which will give an idea of
the rest:--

* * * * *

A los que amor no saben
Ofreces las dulzuras
Y a mi las amarguras
Que s'e lo quo es amar.

Las gracias al me certé
Eran cuadro de flores
Te cantaban amores
Por hacerte callar.

Oh! how much sap there is in this Spanish nation! What a pity that they