Ils viennent, ils viennent.
      Combien sont-ils? Enfant, compte-les bien.
Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf,
      dix, onze, douze,
Treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit,
      dix-neuf, vingt.
      Vingt, et des milliers encore.
      On perdrait son temps à les compter.
Unissons nos bras nerveux, déracinons les rochers,
   Lançons-les du haut des montagnes
      Jusque sur leurs têtes,
      Ã‰crasons-les, tuons-les.

      Le sang jaillit, les chairs palpitent,
      Oh, combien d'os broyés! quelle mer de sang!

         Ils fuient, ils fuient.

      Combien sont-ils? Enfant compte-les bien.
Vingt, dix-neuf, &c.
         Un! il n'y en a meine plus un.

La nuit les aigles viendront manger ces chairs
      Ã©crasées.
Et tous ces os blanchiront durant léternité.

[A cry has gone up from the hills of Escualdunacs.
They come, they come. . . How many come? Child!
count them well. One, two, &c. (up to twenty).
Twenty, and tens of thousands besides; it is loss of
time to count them. Let us unite our arms of
strength; let us uproot the rocks, and hurl them
from the heights, down on their heads; let us crush
them, let us kill them. . . And the blood spouted
forth, and the flesh quivered. How many were the
broken bones!— how great the sea of blood! . .
They fly, they fly. . . How many of them? Child,
count them well! Twenty, nineteen (down to one).
One! there is not even one. . . And in the night
the eagles shall come and feed on their mangled
flesh, and their bones shall whiten through eternity.]

Here, again, is a translation from the Basque
of one of their popular songs, which was taken
down from the lips of an old woman of Biarritz:

SANTA-CLARA.

Dans Ataratz, les cloches de l'église ont sonné
tristement d'elles-mêmes.  La jeune Santa-Clara part
demain. Les grands et les petits prennent le deuil:
Santa-Clara part demain. On dore la selle de son
cheval et sa valise d'argent.

"Mon père, vous m'avez vendue comme une vache
à un Espagnol.  Si j'avais encore ma mère vivante
comme vous, mon père, je ne serais pas allée en
Espagne, mais je serais mariée au château d'Ataratz."
ratz."

Au château d' Ataratz, deux oranges ont fleuri;
nombreuses sont les personnes qui les ont
demandées: on a toujours répondu qu'elles n'étaient
pas mûres.

"Mon père, partons gaiment: vous reviendrez
les yeux pleurants et le cœur triste, et vous vous
retournerez souvent pour regarder votre fille sous sa
pierre de tombe.

"Orisson, la longue montagne, je l'ai passée à
jeûn. En arrivant de l'autre côté, je trouvai une
pomme et je l'ai mangée; elle a touché tout mon
cœur.

"Ma sœur va à la chambre du troisième é'tage
pour voir s'il fait Egna ou Iparra. Si Iparra souffle,
tu le chargeras de compliments pour Sala, et si c'est
Egna, tu lui diras qu'il vienne chercher mon corps.

"Ma sœur, va chercher maintenant ma robe
blanche; va chercher ta robe noire."  Elle s'habille
en blanc, et sa sœur en noir. Elle monte à la
croisée pour voir si elle peut aperçevoir Sala. Elle
le voit arriver de loin: elle se précipite et tombe
morte. Personne n'a pu enlever le corps. Sala
seul a pu le relever.

[The church bells of Ataratz rang sadly of
themselves. The young Santa Clara goes away
tomorrow. All are mourning, young and old: Santa
Clara goes away to-morrow. They are gilding the
saddle of her palfrey, and her travelling-bags are of
silver.

"Oh, father! you have sold me like a beast to a
Spaniard. If my mother were but alive, like you,
my father, I should not be sent into Spain, but I
should be married at home, in the Castle of Ataratz."

At the Castle of Ataratz two orange- trees
flowered; many a one came to ask for them, but
each was told that the fruit was not ripe.*
* Referring to Santa Clara and her sister.

"Father, let us set off merrily; you will come
home with weeping eyes and a heavy heart, and you
will go back many a time to look at the headstone
of your daughter's grave.

"I was hungry when I climbed over Orisson, that
weary hill. On the other side I found an apple, and
I ate it; the taste thereof went all through my
heart.†
† " Eating an apple" is a proverbial expression
for falling innocently in love.

"Sister, go up to the little bedroom, high up in
the third storey. Look out! see if it blows south, or
south-west. If the south-west breeze whispers,
freight, it with love for Sala; but if it is south, send
him word to come and fetch my corpse.

"Sister, go and seek my white robe; go and seek
thine own that is black."

She is dressed in white, her sister in black. She
goes up to the casement to try and see Sala. She
sees him coming afar off. She throws herself down,
and lies dead. No one can lift up her body Sala
alone can lift it up.]

A sergeant of engineers, stationed in the
department of the Pyrenées Orientales, has picked
up and sent to the commission many little
popular fragments in the Catalonian dialect,
which is rather a variation of the Provençal
than, as we are inclined to suppose from the
name, a Spanish patois. Among these fragments
is a pretty little burden to a love-song,
with an ending not repeated in the report, as it
savours of the burlesque; which, however, only
proves it the more to have originated in the
people of the district.

                    Baîchate montagne
                    Baisse-toi, montagne,
                    Lève-toi, vallon;
                Vous m'empêchez de voir
                    Ma Jeanneton.
                   [Bow down, O hill!
                   And rise up, valley!
                   You hinder my sight
                   Of my Jeanneton.]

The commission extends its researches into
Corsica, where a peculiar kind of funeral chant
(vocero), and the better-known class of poetry