Part 1 — PART I

When Flora ’gins to deck the fields With colours fresh and fine, Then holy clerks their matins sing To good Saint Valentine! The King of France that morning fair He would a-hunting ride: To Artois forest prancing forth In all his princely pride. To grace his sports a courtly train Of gallant peers attend; And with their loud and cheerful cries The hills and valleys rend. Through the deep forest swift they pass, Through woods and thickets wild; When down within a lonely dell They found a new-born child; All in a scarlet kercher laid Of silk so fine and thin; A golden mantle wrapt him round, Pinned with a silver pin. The sudden sight surprised them all; The courtiers gathered round; They look, they call, the mother seek; No mother could be found. At length the King himself drew near, And as he gazing stands, The pretty babe looked up and smiled, And stretched his little hands. “Now, by the rood,” King Pepin says, “This child is passing fair; I wot he is of gentle blood; Perhaps some Prince’s heir. “Go bear him home unto my Court With all the care ye may: Let him be christened Valentine, In honour of this day. “And look me out some cunning nurse; Well nurtured let him be; Nor aught be wanting that becomes A bairn of high degree.” They looked him out a cunning nurse, And nurtured well was he; Nor aught was wanting that became A bairn of high degree.