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 schuro. 

 Are you satisfied, senor ? " 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 : 



* * # # * 

 A los que amor no sab en 



Ofreces las dulzuras 

 Y a mi las amarguras 

 Que s'e lo que es arnar. 



Las gracias al me certe 



Eran cuadro de flores 

 Te cantaban amores 



For hacerte callar. 



