“How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land,
The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand,
A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side,
And, for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride!
Alone, alone—yet not alone, for God is with me there,
The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere,
While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as spirits calm and mild,
Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild!”

— Martin Farquhar Tupper

Adventure, l. 1-8.
Ballads for the Times (1851)

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Martin Farquhar Tupper 31

English writer and poet 1810–1889

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What bliss to think it is my own!
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“And since my malady
Will not be
Cured at all
Without you, sweet enemy.
Who are glad
At my torment.
With folded hands I pray
To your heart, since it forgets me.
That it should kill me quickly.
For I languish too long.
Sweet pretty lady.
For God's sake do not think
That any one has authority
Over me but you alone.”

Guillaume de Machaut (1300–1377) French poet and composer

Et quant ma maladie
Garie
Ne sera nullement
Sans vous, douce anemie,
Qui lie
Estes de mon tourment,
A jointes mains deprie
Vo cuer, puis qu'il m'oublie,
Que temprement m'ocie,
Car trop langui longuement.
Douce dame jolie,
Pour dieu ne penses mie
Que nulle ait signourie
Seur moy fors vous seulement.
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A fly like thee?
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For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.”

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Martin Farquhar Tupper 31

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