Where are the echoes that bore the strains
    Each to his nearest neighbour;
  And all the valleys and all the plains
  Where all the nymphs and their love-sick swains
    Made merry to pipe and tabor?

  Where are they gone?  They are gone to sleep
    Where Fancy alone can find them;
  But Arcady’s times are like the sheep
  That quitted the care of Little Bo-peep,
    For they’ve left their tales behind them!

THE SECRETS OF THE HEART [Sidenote:  Austin Dobson]

“Le coeur mene ou il va”

SCENE—­A Chalet covered with honeysuckle

NINETTE NINON

NINETTE
This way—­

NINON
No, this way—­

NINETTE
This way, then.

(They enter the Chalet)
You are as changing, child,—­as men.

NINON
But are they?  Is it true, I mean? 
Who said it?

NINETTE
Sister Seraphine. 
She was so pious and so good,
With such sad eyes beneath her hood,
And such poor little feet,—­all bare! 
Her name was Eugenie la Fere. 
She used to tell us,—­moonlight nights,—­
When I was at the Carmelites.

NINON
Ah, then it must be right.  And yet,
Suppose for once—­suppose, Ninette—­

NINETTE
But what?

NINON
Suppose it were not so? 
Suppose there were true men, you know!

NINETTE
And then?

NINON
Why, if that could occur,
What kind of men should you prefer?

NINETTE
What looks, you mean?

NINON
Looks, voice and all.

NINETTE
Well, as to that, he must be tall,
Or say, not “tall”—­of middle size;
And next, he must have laughing eyes;
And a hook-nose,—­with, underneath,
Oh! what a row of sparkling teeth!

NINON (touching her cheek suspiciously)
Has he a scar on this side?

NINETTE
Hush! 
Some one is coming.  No; a thrush: 
I see it swinging there.

NINON
Go on.

NINETTE
Then he must fence (ah, look, ’tis gone!)
And dance like Monseigneur, and sing
“Love was a Shepherd,”—­everything
That men do.  Tell me yours, Ninon.

  NINON
  Shall I?  Then mine has black, black hair ... 
  I mean, he should have; then an air
  Half sad, half noble; features thin;
  A little royale on the chin;
  And such a pale, high brow.  And then,
  He is a prince of gentlemen;—­
  He, too, can ride and fence and write
  Sonnets and madrigals, yet fight
  No worse for that—­

NINETTE
I know your man.

NINON
And I know yours.  But you’ll not tell,—­
Swear it!

NINETTE
I swear upon this fan,—­
My grandmother’s!

NINON
And I, I swear
On this old turquoise reliquaire,—­
My great-great-grandmother’s!—­
(After a pause)