28 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF FRANCIS ARAGO. 
ulate in a loud voice the solemn words lo Juro! As he 
did not know how to pronounce the J he said sehuro. 
Are you satisfied, sefior?” I answered him, “ Yes, yes. 
I see that vanity and pride are not dead in this country.” 
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 shepherd- 
esses 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 :— 
* e # * * 
A los que amor no saben 
Ofreces las dulzuras 
Y a mi las amarguras 
Que s’e lo que es amar. 
Las gracias al me certé 
Eran cuadro de flores 
Te cantaban amores 
Por hacerte callar. 
