The second was probably intended to be sung at a drinking-party by a student taking leave of his companions.  It is love that forces him to quit their society and to break with his studies.  The long rhyming lines, followed by a sharp drop at the close of each stanza upon a short disjointed phrase, seem to indicate discouragement and melancholy.

THE LOVER’S PARTING.

No. 43.

Sweet native soil, farewell! dear country of my birth! 
Fair chamber of the loves! glad home of joy and mirth! 
To-morrow or to-day I leave you, o’er the earth
To wander struck with love, to pine with rage and dearth

          
                                                      In exile!

Farewell, sweet land, and ye, my comrades dear, adieu! 
To whom with kindly heart I have been ever true;
The studies that we loved I may no more pursue;
Weep then for me, who part as though I died to you,

          
                                                      Love-laden!

As many as the flowers that Hybla’s valley cover,
As many as the leaves that on Dodona hover,
As many as the fish that sail the wide seas over,
So many are the pangs that pain a faithful lover,

          
                                                      For ever!

With the new fire of love my wounded bosom burns;
Love knows not any ruth, all tender pity spurns;
How true the proverb speaks that saith to him that yearns,
“Where love is there is pain; thy pleasure love returns

          
                                                      With anguish!”

Ah, sorrow! ah, how sad the wages of our bliss! 
In lovers’ hearts the flame’s too hot for happiness;
For Venus still doth send new sighs and new distress
When once the enamoured soul is taken with excess

          
                                                      Of sweetness!

The third introduces us to a little episode of medieval private life which must have been frequent enough.  It consists of a debate between a father and his son upon the question whether the young man should enter into a monastic brotherhood.  The youth is lying on a sickbed, and thinks that he is already at the point of death.  It will be noticed that he is only diverted from his project by the mention of a student friend (indicated, as usual, by an N), whom he would never be able to see again if he assumed the cowl.  I suspect, however, that the poem has not been transmitted to us entire.

IN ARTICULO MORTIS.

No. 44.

Son. 
    Oh, my father! help, I pray! 
    Death is near my soul to-day;
    With your blessing let me be
    Made a monk right speedily!