Charles d'Orléans made good roundels and songs, as in "Dieu qui la fait" and in "Quand j'oie la tambourine," as did also Jean Froissart before him in:
Reviens, ami; trop longue est ta demeure: Elle me fait avoir peine et doulour. Mon esperit te demande à toute heure. Reviens, ami; trop longue est ta demeure.
Car il n'est nul, fors toi, qui me sequerre, Ne secourra, jusques à ton retour. Reviens, ami; trop longue est ta demeure: Elle me fait avoir peine et doulour.
Le corps s'en va, mais le cœur vous demeure.
On doit le temps ainsi prendre qu'il vient: Tout dit que pas ne dure la fortune. Un temps se part, et puis l'autre revient: On doit le temps ainsi prendre qu'il vient.
Je me comforte en ce qu'il me souvient Que tous les mois avons nouvelle lune: On doit le temps ainsi prendre qu'il vient: Tout dit que pas ne dure la fortune.
Which is much what Bernart de Ventadour has sung:
"Per dieu, dona, pauc esplecham d'amor Va sen lo temps e perdem lo melhor."
And Campion was the last, but in none of the later men is there the care and thought of En Arnaut Daniel for the blending of words sung out; and none of them all succeeded, as indeed he had not succeeded in reviving and making permanent a poetry that could be sung. But none of them all had thought so of the sound of the words with the music, all in sequence and set together as had En Arnaut of Ribeyrac, nor had, I think, even Dante Alighieri when he wrote "De Eloquio."
And we find in Provence beautiful poems, as by Vidal when he sings:
"Lo clar temps vei brunezir E'ls auzeletz esperdutz, Que'l fregz ten destregz e mutz E ses conort de jauzir. Donc eu que de cor sospir Per la gensor re qu'anc fos, Tan joios Son, qu'ades m'es vis Que folh' e flor s'espandis. D'amor son tug miei cossir...."
and by Bertrans de Born in "Dompna puois di me," but these people sang not so many diverse kinds of music as En Arnaut, nor made so many good poems in different fashions, nor thought them so carefully, though En Bertrans sings with more vigor, it may be, and in the others, in Cerclamon, Arnaut of Marvoil, in de Ventadour, there are beautiful passages. And if the art, now in France, of saying a song--_disia sons_, we find written of more than one troubadour--is like the art of En Arnaut, it has no such care for the words, nor such ear for hearing their consonance.