467 
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF FRENCH 
LITERATURE. 
IV.—_ON THE TENSONS, AND THE COURTS OF LOVE. 
“ Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace, whom all commend.”—L’ Allegro. 
Havine now traced the rise and progress of Provencal literature, 
with all its chivalrous accompaniments of love and gallantry, and 
having likewise stated the apparent causes to which we may attri- 
bute its decline and ultimate decay, it remains for us to notice, at 
greater length, the various forms of composition which distinguish 
the poetry itself. 
Of the literary reliques of the Troubadours, the most nume- 
rous, if not the most instructive and interesting, are decidedly 
the Tensons.* In these compositions, two or more rival poets, 
* These compositions will be read with a two-fold interest, when we re- 
member that the recitation of one of them liberated from his foreign prison 
our own Richard “ of the Lyone’s Hearte.” We have already (page 106) 
regretted the loss of this interesting production; it may, however, not be 
uninteresting here to notice the tenson which has been generally ascribed to 
Richard, and has been treated as such by Bishop Percy and Dr. Burney, and 
printed in their works. The source, however, from which they have derived 
it, is of an entirely fabulous nature, being a series of songs entitled, “ La 
Tour Tenebreuse et les Jours lumineux, Contes Angloises, &c. composées par 
Richard, surnommé Ceur de Lion,” &c. Paris, 1705. "The whole work is, 
however, a mere fabrication; and the tenson of Richard has been unnoticed 
both by Sismondi and Walpole. As it may not, however, be altogether un- 
interesting to some readers, we give the song in the Provengal, with the 
translation by Dr. Burney. 
BLONDEL. BLONDEL. 
Domna vostra beutas Your beauty, lady fair, 
Elas bellas faissos None views without delight ; 
Els bel oils amoros But still so cold an air 
Els gens cors ben taillats No passion can excite : 
Don sieu empresenats Yet this I patient see 
De vostra amor que mi lia. While all are shunned like me. 
