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 MIREIO. 
 
 A PROVE NQAL POEM, 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERIC MISTRAL. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY HARRIET W. PRESTON. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1872.
 
 \ 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
 
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 \^ TO LAMARTINE. 
 
 TE CONSECRE MIEEIO: ES MOUN COE E MOUH AMO, 
 ES LA FLOUR DE MIS AH. 
 j ES UN RAISIN DE CRAU QU'EME TOUTO 3A RAMO, 
 
 TE PORGE UN PAISAN. 
 
 I OFFER THEE MIREIO: IT IS MY HEART AND SPIRIT, 
 
 THE BL05S0M OF MY YEARS. 
 
 A CLUSTER OF CRAU GRAPES, WITH ALL THE GREEN LEAVES NEAR IT, 
 
 TO THEE A PEASANT BEARS.
 
 P31EFACE. 
 
 'T^HE words, "Translated from the Provengal," 
 su2:""est to the ordinary reader only a confused 
 and dazzling image of medieval life amid southern 
 scenery, — troubadours and courts of love, knights, 
 ladies, and tournaments. Few of us have even been 
 aware that the long-bmied root of Romance poetry has 
 of late sent up a green and graceful shoot, and that 
 one of the most charming episodes of recent literary 
 history concerns what is known in France as the Pro- 
 ven9al revival. The story is thus told by Saint-Rene 
 Taillandier, in the "Revue des Deux Mondes," for 
 October, 1859: — 
 
 "This new Proven9al poetry, which has created a 
 certain sensation of late, had a very simple and touch- 
 ing origin. The son of a gardener of Saint-Remy, 
 educated in our French schools, wrote verses at the age 
 of twenty, as one fresh from college is apt to do, — 
 simple, unpretending verses, by no means poesie du 
 (liable^ as a witty critic calls the over-bold attempts of
 
 VIU 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 youth, but rather poesie de famille, which was des- 
 tined never to transojress the limits of the fireside. 
 These verses the gardener's son designed for his mother, 
 and he sat up Late one night to read them to her. But 
 the youth was under a strange ilkision. The jDoor 
 woman had long since forgotten the little French which 
 she had learned at school, and the verses which she had 
 inspired were written in a tongue she could not under- 
 stand. The humble rainstrel was a thoughtful soul, 
 and this discovery overwhelmed him with sadness. 
 'And so,' he mused, 'my mother is debarred from 
 those intellectual joys which delight me. When she 
 has finislied her day's toil, she may not listen to noble 
 thoughts expressed in a melodious form. In the middle 
 and north of France some few of the accents of our 
 poets may gladden the shop of the mechanic and 
 the cottage of the laborei'. A song, a strophe, a can- 
 ticle, a grand or joyous' strain, may possibly linger in 
 their memory ; but, with us, where is the jooetry of the 
 poor? Our Provencal tongue has been for centuries 
 dishonored by low singers, tavern catches, vulgar squibs, 
 uncouth and licentious rhymes. Such is the ground- 
 work of our popular literature ! Well, then, since our 
 mothers do not comprehend enough of French to un- 
 derstand the songs which filial tenderness has inspired, 
 let us sing in the language of our mothers ! Since we 
 have no po2:)ular literature save that of the ale-house,
 
 PREFACE. ix 
 
 let us create one for the hearths of our sires and grand- 
 sires.' The boy of Saint-Remy had written French 
 verses without the slightest literary pretension. Hence- 
 forth he will write Pro\-en9al verses, with the very 
 definite aim of substituting a fi-ank, healthful, honest, 
 yet gay and genuinely popular style of poetry for that 
 riot of coarse speech which had slain modesty in the ears 
 of the young. Such was the birth of that new Pro- 
 ven9al poetry which is to-day illustrated by the success 
 of ' Mireio.' " 
 
 The name of this gai-dener of Saint-Remy was Joseph 
 Roumanille. He was a country school-master, as well 
 as a rustic poet and a loving son ; and he contrived to 
 inspire with his own enthusiasm for their dishonored 
 dialect, and to enlist in an ardent crusade for its resto- 
 ration to literary honor, a class of apt and brilliant 
 pupils, the youngest and most remarkable of whom 
 was Frederic Mistral, the author of "Mireio." His 
 master and his comrades, the chief of whom are apos- 
 trophized by name in the beginning of the Sixth Canto, 
 had attempted only lyrics in their regenerate native 
 tongue. Mistral conceived the bolder idea of employing 
 it for the unfashionable uses of pastoral story, and of 
 making it the medium of a study from nature, of the 
 yet primitive and picturesque rural life of southern 
 France. Discarding all classical models, and seeking 
 to draw his inspiration straight from the soil, he pro-
 
 PRE FA CE. 
 
 duced a work at once beautiful and unique, and which 
 created a marvellous excitement in the orderly circles 
 of literary France. Critics of the sensational and 
 conjectural order shouted in ecstasy that this was 
 " jjriraeval poesy," a " draught from the fountain-head," 
 and, with the true French instinct for dramatic effect, 
 pi'oclaimed the author to be an unlettered peasant, a 
 daily farm-laborer. In truth M. Mistral was a youth 
 of fortune, the son of what we should call a "gentle- 
 man farmer" of Maiano-, or Maillane, and had received 
 a liberal education at the college of Montpellier, after 
 graduating from the tuition of Roumanille. 
 
 "Mireio" first appeared at Paris in September, 1859,^ 
 having beside the Proven9al a parallel French version 
 of the author's own, or rather a prose translation 
 divided into verses to correspond with the stanzas of 
 the original. This translation is absolutely literal, fol- 
 lowing the very order of the Provenpal words, even 
 when least consonant with French usage; and strange 
 French it is, as French, to one who knows only the 
 acknowledged models, — artless, abrupt, homely, not to 
 say sauvage, but always poetical and always fascinating. 
 Indeed the critic quoted above does not hesitate to 
 affirm his belief that M. Mistral wrote from the first 
 wdth an eye to his Parisian audience, and even manipu- 
 
 1 A single edition of the Proven9al alone had previously been 
 prmted at Avignon.
 
 ■I- 
 
 PREFACE. xi 
 
 lated his Proven9al verse in order to make the French 
 rendering of it more effective. " Remarkable," he says, 
 " as this translation seems, it is most artfully adapted 
 to impress a cultivated audience. Its very strangeness 
 recommends it; just as in reading a literal translation 
 of a German or English poem, we are always tempted 
 to believe that the brusquerie of form, the abrupt and 
 grotesque turns of expression, attest the vigor of the 
 original text. But, strange or not, the translation has 
 captivated the critics. The Proven9al is not always 
 understood, and that not by the common people 
 merely, but even by those most accomplished in the 
 language. And this is why the success of ' Mireio,' ^ 
 instead of being announced to Paris by Provence, 
 was not imposed upon but certainly recommended to 
 Provence by the suffrages of Paris." 
 
 No doubt there is a degree of truth in this. A 
 young poet, — and Mistral was but twenty-seven when 
 "Mireio" first appeared, — however earnestly devoted 
 to the restoration of a decayed literature, must needs 
 be principally influenced in his work by the hope of 
 winning personal fame ; and fame in Mistral's case de- 
 pended on a Parisian success. But it matters little 
 comparatively with what view he wrote, seeing that he 
 produced the most original poem of modern times, — a 
 poem rustic in theme, unconventional in treatment, full 
 of the sunshine and the untaught grace of out-door
 
 xii PBEFACE. 
 
 life, yet stamped with the inalienable dignity of high 
 literary descent. M. Mistral seldom reminds us of any 
 other author. When he does, it is of the greatest. 
 Vincen and Mireio occasionally recall Romeo and 
 Juliet ; but only, it may be, through their youth, their 
 abandon, their southern precocity, and their similar mis- 
 fortunes, while their passion has far more of childlike 
 innocence than that of the immortal lovers of Verona. 
 xVnd if it seem, at first sight, audacious in our author 
 to declare himself even a humble pupil of Homer, it 
 should be remembered that, in one respect at least, — 
 Matthew Arnold would call it a capital one, — he sig- 
 nally justifies the pretension. Lively and simple, — 
 whether by instinct or by art, — he is invariably noble. 
 How far I have been able to preserve these traits in 
 the ensuing version the reader shall decide. 
 
 I must, however, hasten to disclaim any thing ap- 
 proaching to a critical knowledge of the rich and 
 charming Proven5al dialect, — or rather language, for 
 it is more than a dialect. I know it only through a 
 close comparison of the original " Mireio " with the 
 parallel French version before mentioned, assisted by 
 occasional references to Raynouard's " Resume de la 
 Grammaire Romaine." I had first learned to admire 
 " Mireio " through the English prose-version of Mr. C. 
 H. Grant, to which I feel myself not a little indebted. 
 In artlessness of narrative, in vigor and felicity of ex-
 
 PREFACE. xiii 
 
 pression, I have never hoped to surpass this unrhymed 
 and unmeasured version, which needed, as it seemed to 
 me, only a rhythmic form to render it worthy of the 
 essentially musical original. 
 
 What that form should be, I found, when I came 
 myself to think of translating " Mireio " into verse, a 
 question of no little difficulty. The Provengal measure 
 is very un-English and alluring, — highly ornate in 
 melody, abounding in double and trij^le rhymes, echoes 
 and assonances ; in general effect most like the elab- 
 orate Latin metres invented by the monks of the Mid- 
 dle Age, as Bernard of Cluny's in " De Contemptu 
 Mundi." I can think of no English verse at all resem- 
 bling it unless it be Whittier's in one of the best of his 
 earlier poems, — Lines written at Hampton Beach : — 
 
 " So when Time's veil shall fall asunder 
 
 The soul may know 
 No sudden change, no curious wonder. 
 Nor sink tlie weight of mystery under, 
 
 But with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow." 
 
 But this is far simpler than Mistral's. Hopeless as 
 the notion seemed, I did make an attempt to transfer 
 this florid measure to our sober English tongue, but 
 soon became convinced that a few pages at most would 
 exhaust its possibihties and render it Avofully tedious. 
 Only the plainest and most transparent of English 
 metres could, I thought, endure and adapt itself with
 
 xiv PREFACE. 
 
 sustained facility to the abrupt action and widely vary- 
 ing emotion of the original. The one finally selected, 
 which is essentially the same as that employed by 
 Mr. William Morris in the "Earthly Paradise," seemed 
 to me on the whole best adapted to the j)urposes of 
 English narrative-verse.^ 
 
 And in general with regard to this matter of ad- 
 hering to the metre of the original in poetical transla- 
 tions, I suspect it to be imperative chiefly in lyric poetry 
 or where the two languages are near akin. I have 
 never yet seen a German metre which could not, by 
 means of a little patience and ingenuity, be trans- 
 ferred to English ; but with the liquid, lingering rhythm 
 of the Latin tongues it is quite otherwise. There the 
 genius of our language is defied, and it is useless rebel- 
 ling against jjhilological fate. I cannot better illustrate 
 than by a reference to Mr. Duffield's laborious, and, in 
 
 1 I subjoin the opening stanzas of the poem in Provencal, and 
 my own attempt to imitate their metre, premising, for the benefit 
 of the unskilled, that in Proven9al every letter sounds, — the vowels 
 as in French, while of the consonants g and j before e and i are 
 pronounced like ds, and ch always like ts. A final vowel is elided, 
 in scanning, before another vowel ; and the tonic accent is strongly 
 marked. 
 
 Cante uno chato de Prouvfen90, 
 Dins lis amour de la jouvenfo, 
 A traves da la Crau, vers la mar, dins li bla, 
 Umble escoulan d'ou grand Oumero, 
 le'u la vole segui. Coume ero 
 Ren qu'uno chato de Prouven9o, 
 En foro de la Crau se n'es gaire parla.
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 some sort, highly successful rendering into similar 
 English verse, of Bernard of Cluny's hymn mentioned 
 above, where the sad and stately melody of, — 
 
 " Hie breve vivitur, hie breve plangitur, 
 Hie breve fletur, 
 Non breve vivere, non breve plangere, 
 Retribuetur," 
 
 Emai soun front noun lusiguesse 
 
 Que de jouinesso ; emai n'aguesse 
 Ni diadcmo d'or ni manteu de Daraas, 
 
 Vole qu'en glori fugue aussado 
 
 Coune uno reino, e caressado 
 
 Per nosto lengo mespresado 
 Car cantan que per vautre, o pastre e gent di mas ! 
 
 Or thus : — 
 
 A maiden of Provence I sing; 
 
 I tell the love-tale of her spring, 
 Across La Crau's wide wheat-fields follow her to the sea. 
 
 Mine be the daring aspiration 
 
 To sing of her in Homer's fashion, 
 
 My lady of the lowly station, 
 Unknown beyond the prairies of lone La Crau was she. 
 
 What though her brow was never crowned 
 
 Save with the youth that rayed it round ? 
 What though she bore no golden crown and wore no damask cloak 1 
 
 Yet I would have her raised in glory 
 
 As a queen is, and set before me 
 
 In our poor speech to tell her story, 
 Because I sing for you alone, shepherds and farmer-folk ! 
 
 But the thought of keeping this up for twelve cantos was 
 appalling, and suggestive of notliing so much as the nursery 
 romance of " The Little Man and Little Maid."
 
 XVI ' PREFACE. 
 
 so sweetly echoed in Dr. Neale's familiar, — 
 " Brief life is here our portion," &c., 
 
 becomes in the bands of the exact (?) translator, — 
 
 " Briefly we tarry hero, briefly are harried here, 
 Here is brief sorrow ; 
 But not to brevity comes our longevity 
 Due on that morrow," 
 
 the movement whereof I have heard com23ared by a 
 sensitive critic to the clanking of chains. 
 
 A second English translation of "Mireio," by H. 
 Crichton, was published by Macmillan & Co., London, 
 in 1868. Tliis version, which I examined with interest 
 after my own was completed, is a metrical one, but 
 seems to have failed to win English readers to an 
 , adequate appreciation of " Mireio." 
 
 One word about my imperfect rhymes, the rather 
 as there is a species of critic whose peculiar aliment 
 such rhymes seem to be. I hope I have not strained 
 too far that by-law of prosody which authorizes their 
 occasional employment. In a long poem composed 
 like this of consecutive rhyming lines, and where the 
 poverty of our language in perfect rhymes soon be- 
 comes painfully apparent, they are, I venture to think, 
 not only allowable, but agreeable. Rhymes in which 
 the consonant sounds correspond, while the vowel 
 sounds only approximate, — and this is the only kind
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 XV 11 
 
 of imperfect rhyme I have ever employed, — are the 
 counterpart of assonances in which the vowels corre- 
 spond, but not the consonants. They have, it seems 
 to me, their precise equivalent in minor harmonies, 
 and relieve the ear in a long composition no less 
 than they. 
 
 And so I take leave of " Mireo," my constant and 
 always lovable companion of last summer and autumn, 
 and resign her to the j)ublic. 
 
 HARRIET W. PRESTON, 
 Danveks, Feb. 27, 1872.
 
 conte:n^ts. 
 
 CANTO PAGE 
 
 I. Lotus Farm 1 
 
 II. The Leaf-Picking 26 
 
 III. TlIE COCOONING 46 
 
 IV. The Suitors 69 
 
 V. The Battle 89 
 
 VI. The Witch 109 
 
 VIL The Old Men 132 
 
 VIII. La Ckau 152 
 
 IX. The Muster 170 
 
 X. Camargue 187 
 
 XI. The Saints 204 
 
 XII. Death 225 
 
 Appendix 243
 
 M I R E I O. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 LOTUS ' FARM. 
 
 T SING the love of a Provengal maid; 
 
 How through the wheat-fields of La Crau^ she 
 strayed, 
 Followinsc the fate that drew her to the sea. 
 Unknown beyond remote La Crau was she ; 
 And I, who tell the rustic tale of her, 
 Would fain be Homer's humble follower. 
 
 What though youth's aureole was her only crown? 
 And never gold she wore nor damask gown ? 
 I '11 build her up a throne out of my song, 
 And hail her queen in our despised tongue. 
 Mine be the simple speech that ye all know, 
 Shepherds and farmer-folk of lone La Crau. 
 
 1
 
 MIRi:iO. [Cahto I. 
 
 God of my country, who didst have Tlay birth 
 Among poor shepherds when Thou Avast on earth, 
 Breathe fire into my song ! Thou knowest, my God, 
 How, when the lusty summer is abroad. 
 And figs turn ripe in sun and dew, comes he, — 
 Brute, greedy man, — and quite despoils the tree. 
 
 Yet on that ravaged tree thou savest oft 
 Some little branch inviolate aloft, 
 Tender and airy up against the blue. 
 Which the rude spoiler cannot win unto : 
 Only the birds shall come and banquet there, 
 When, at St. Magdalene's, the fruit is fair. 
 
 Methinks I see yon airy little bough : 
 
 It mocks me with its freshness even now ; 
 
 The light breeze lifts it, and it waves on high ' 
 
 Fruitage and foliage that cannot die. 
 
 Help me, dear God, on our Provengal speech, 
 
 To soar until the birds' own home I reach ! 
 
 Once, then, beside the poplar-bordered Rhone, 
 
 There lived a basket-weaver and his son, 
 
 In a poor hut set round with willow-trees 
 
 (For all their humble wares were made from these) ; 
 
 And sometimes they from farm to farm would wend, 
 
 And horses' cribs and broken baskets mend.
 
 Cakto I.] 
 
 LOTUS FARM. 
 
 And so one evening, as they trudged their round 
 
 With osier bundles on their shoulders bound, 
 
 " Father," young Vincen said, " the clouds look wild 
 
 About old Magalouno's ^ tower up-piled. 
 
 If that gray rampart fell, 'twould do us harm : 
 
 We should be drenched ere we had orained the farm.'" 
 
 "Nay, nay ! " the old man said, " no rain to-night ! 
 'Tis the sea-breeze that shakes the trees. All ri^ht ! 
 A western gale were different." Vincen mused : 
 " Are many ploughs at Lotus farmstead used ? " 
 " Six ploughs ! " the basket-weaver answered slow : 
 " It is the finest freehold in La Crau. 
 
 " Look ! There 's their olive-orchard, interraixt 
 With rows of vines and almond-trees betwixt. 
 The beauty of it is, that vineyard hath 
 For every day in all the yeai' a path ! 
 There 's ne'er another such the beauty is ; 
 And in each path are just so many trees." 
 
 " O heavens ! How many hands at harvest-tide 
 So many trees must need ! " young Vincen cried. 
 " Nay : for 'tis almost Hallowmas, you know. 
 When all the girls come flocking in from Baux,* 
 And, singing, heap with olives green and dun 
 The sheets ^ and sacks, and call it only fun."
 
 mir£io. 
 
 [Canto 1. 
 
 The sun was sinking, as old Ainbroi said ; 
 On high were little clouds a-flusli with red ; 
 Sideways ujDon their yoked cattle rode 
 The laborers slowly home, each with his goad 
 Erect. Night darkened on the distant moor ; 
 'Twas supper-time, the day of toil was o'er. 
 
 " And here we are ! " the boy cried. " I can see 
 The straw-heaped threshing-flfoor, so hasten we ! " 
 " But stay ! " the other. " Now, as I 'm alive. 
 The Lotus Farm 's the place for sheep to thrive, — 
 The pine-woods all the summer, and the sweep 
 Of the great plain in winter. Lucky sheep ! 
 
 " And look at the great trees that shade the dwelling, 
 
 And look at that delicious stream forth wellino; 
 
 Inside the vivary ! And mark the bees ! 
 
 Autumn makes havoc in their colonies ; 
 
 But every year, when comes the bright May weather, 
 
 Yon lotus-grove a hundred swarms will gather." 
 
 " And one thing more ! " cried Vincen, eagerly, 
 " The very best of all, it seems to me, — 
 I mean the maiden, father, who dwells here. 
 Thou canst not have forgotten how, last year, 
 She bade us bring her olive-baskets two. 
 And fit her little one Avith handles new."
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FARM. 
 
 So saying, they drew the farm-house door a-nigh, 
 And, in the dewy twilight, saw thereby 
 The maid herself. Distaff in hand she stood, 
 Watching her silk-worms at their leafy food. 
 Then master Ambroi let his osiers fall. 
 And sang out cheerily, " Good-even, all ! " 
 
 " Father, the same to you ! " the damsel said. 
 
 " I had come out ray distaff-point to thread. 
 
 It grows so dark. Whence come you now, I pray? 
 
 From Valabrego ? " ® Ambroi answered, " Yea. 
 
 I said, when the fast-coming dark I saw, 
 
 'We '11 sleep at Lotus Farm, upon the straw.'" 
 
 Whereat, with no more words, fxther and son 
 Hard by upon a roller sat them down, 
 And fell to their own work right busily, 
 A half-made cradle chanced the same to be. 
 Fast through the nimble fingers of the two 
 The supple osier bent and crossed and flew. 
 
 Certes, our Vincen was a comely lad. 
 
 A bright face and a manly form he had, 
 
 Albeit that summer he was bare sixteen. 
 
 Swart were his cheeks; but the dark soil, I ween. 
 
 Bears the fine Avheat, and black grapes make the Avine 
 
 That sets our feet a-dance, our eyes a-shine.
 
 MIRt:iO. 
 
 [Canto I. 
 
 Full well he knew the osier to prepare, 
 And deftly wrought : but ofttimes to his share 
 Fell coarser work ; for he the panniers made 
 Wherewith the farmers use their beasts to lade, 
 And divers kinds of baskets, huge and rough, 
 Handy and light. Ay, he had skill enough ! 
 
 And likewise brooms of millet-grass, and such, — 
 And baskets of split-cane. And still his touch 
 Was sure and swift ; and all his wares were strong. 
 And found a ready sale the farms among. 
 But now, from fallow field and moorland waste, 
 The laborers were trooping home at last. 
 
 Then hasted sweet Mireio to prepare, 
 
 With her own hands and in the open air, 
 
 Their evening meal. There was a broad flat stone 
 
 Served for a table, and she set thereon 
 
 One mighty dish, where each man plunged his ladle. 
 
 Our weavers wrought meanwhile upon their cradle. 
 
 Until Ramoun, the master of the farm, 
 
 Cried, "How is this?" — brusque was his tone and 
 
 warm. 
 " Come to your supper, Ambroi : no declining ! 
 Put up the crib, my man : the stars are shining. 
 And thou, Mireio, run and fetch a bowl : 
 The travellers must be weary, on my soul ! "
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FABM. 
 
 Wherefore the basket-weaver, well-content, 
 Rose with his son and to the table went. 
 And sat him down and cut the bread for both ; 
 "While bright Mireio hasted, nothing loth, 
 Seasoned a dish of beans with olive oil, 
 And came and sat before them with a smile. 
 
 Not quite fifteen was this same fair Mireio. 
 Ah, me ! the purple coast of Font Vieio,"^ 
 The hills of Baux, the desolate Crau plain, 
 A shape like hers will hardly see again. 
 Child of the merry sun, her dimpled face 
 Bloomed into laughter with ingenuous grace. 
 
 Eyes had she limpid as the drops of dew ; 
 And, when she fixed their tender gaze on you, 
 Sorrow was not. Stars in a summer night 
 Are not more softly, innocently bright : 
 And beauteous hair, all waves and rings of jet; 
 And breasts, a double peach, scarce ripened yet. 
 
 Shy, yet a joyous little sprite she was ; 
 And, finding all her sweetness in a glass. 
 You would have drained it at a single breath. 
 But to our tale, which somewhat linofereth. 
 When every man his day's toil had rehearsed 
 (So, at my father's farm, I heard them first), —
 
 8 MIREW. [Caxto I. 
 
 "Now, Arabroi, for a song!" they all began : 
 
 " Let us not sleep above our supper, man ! " 
 
 But he, " Peace ! peace ! My friends, do ye not know 
 
 On every jester, God, they say, doth blow 
 
 And sets him spinning like a top along ? 
 
 Sing yourselves, lads, — you who are young and strong." 
 
 "No jest, good father, none!" they answered him. 
 « But, since the wine o'erflows your goblet's brim. 
 Drink with us, Ambroi, and then to your song ! " 
 " Ay, ay, when I was young — but that was long 
 Ago — I 'd sing to any man's desire ; 
 But now my voice is but a broken lyre." 
 
 " But, Master Ambroi," urged Mireio, 
 
 " Sing one song, please, because 'twill cheer us so." 
 
 " My pretty one," the weaver said again, 
 
 " Only the husks of my old voice remain ; 
 
 But if these j^lease you, I cannot say nay," 
 
 And drained his goblet, and began straightw^ay : — 
 
 Our captain -was Bailly Suffren ; 
 We bad sailed from Toulon, 
 Five hundred sea-faring Provengaux, 
 
 Stout-hearted and strong ;
 
 Canto I] LOTUS FARM. 
 
 'Twas the sweet hope of meeting the English that made our 
 
 hearts burn, 
 And till we had thrashed them we vowed we woiild never 
 
 return. 
 
 II. 
 
 But all the first month of our cruise 
 
 We saw never a thing 
 From the shrouds, save hundreds and hundreds 
 Of gulls on the wing ; 
 And in the next dolorous month, we 'd a tempest to fight, 
 And had to be bailing out water by day and by night. 
 
 ni. 
 
 By the third, we were driven to madness 
 
 At meeting no foe 
 For our thundering cannon to sweep 
 From the ocean. When lo ! 
 " Hands aloft ! " Captain ci-ied. At the maintop one heard the 
 
 command, 
 And the long Arab coast on the lee-bow intently he scanned. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Till, " God's thunder ! " he cried. " Three big vessels 
 
 Bear down on us strong ; 
 Run the guns to tiie ports ! Blaze away ! " 
 Shouted Railly SulFren. 
 " Sharp, lads ! Of our Antibcs figs we will give them a taste, 
 And see how they like those," Captain said, " ere we offer the 
 rest ! "
 
 10 MiRi:io. [CA.NTO I. 
 
 V. 
 
 A crash fit to deafen ! Before 
 
 The words left his lips 
 We had sent forty balls through the hulls 
 Of the Englishers' ships ! 
 One was done for already. And now the guns only heard we, 
 The cracking of wood and perpetual groan of the sea. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And now we were closing. Oh, rapture f 
 
 We lay alongside. 
 And our gallant commander stood cool 
 On the deck, and he cried, 
 "Well done, my brave boys ! But enough ! Cease your firing, 
 
 I say. 
 For the time has come now to anoint them with oil of Aix." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then we sprang to our dirks and our hatchets, 
 
 As they had been toys ; 
 And, grapnel in hand, the Provencal 
 Cried, " Board 'em, my boys ! " 
 A shout and a leap, and we stood on the Englishers' deck; 
 And then, ah, 'twas then we were ready our vengeance to 
 wreak ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then, oh, the great slaughter ! The crash 
 
 Of the mainmast ensuing ! 
 And the blows and the turmoil of men 
 Fightinj: on 'mid the ruin ! 
 More than one wild Provencal I saw seize a foe in his place. 
 And hug till he strained his own life out in deadly embrace.
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FARM. 11 
 
 And then old Ambroi paused. " All, yes ! " said he, 
 " Yoix do not quite believe ray tale, I see. 
 Nathless these things all happened, understand : 
 Did I not hold the tiller with this hand ? 
 Were I to live a thousand years, I say, 
 I should remember what befell that day." 
 
 " What, father, you were there and saw the fun ? " 
 The laborers cried in mischief " Three to one. 
 They flattened you like scythes beneath the hammer!" 
 " Who, me ? The English ? '' the old tar 'gan stammer, 
 Upspringing; then, with smile of fine disdain, 
 Took up the burden of his tale again : — 
 
 IX. 
 
 So ■with blood-dabblod feet fought we on 
 
 Four hours, until dark. 
 Then, our eyes being cleared of the powder, 
 We missed from our bark 
 Fivescore men. But the king of the English lost ships of 
 
 renown : 
 Three good vessels with all hands on board to the bottom went 
 down. 
 
 X. 
 
 And now, our sides riddled with shot. 
 
 Once more homeward hie we, 
 Yards splintered, masts shivered, sails tattered; 
 
 But brave Captain Bailly
 
 12 MIR£I0. LCanto I. 
 
 Spake us words of good cheer. " My comrades, ye have done 
 
 well ! 
 To the great king of Paris the tale of your valor I '11 tell ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Well said. Captain dear ! " we replied : 
 
 " Sure the king will hear you 
 When you speak. But for us, his poor mariners, 
 What will he do, — 
 Who left our all gladly, our homes and our firesides,'' we said, 
 " For his sake, and lo ! now in those homes there is crying for 
 bread ? 
 
 xn. 
 
 "Ah, Admiral, never forget 
 When all bow before you. 
 With a love like the love of your seamen 
 None will adore you ! 
 Why, say but the word, and, ere homeward our footsteps we 
 
 turn. 
 Aloft on the tips of our fingers a king you are borne ! " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A Martigau,^ mending his nets 
 
 One eve, made /this ditty. 
 Our admiral bade us farewell, 
 And sought the great city. 
 Were they wroth with his glory up there at the court ? Who 
 
 can say ? 
 But we saw our beloved commander no more from that day !
 
 Canto I.] 
 
 LOTUS FARM. 
 
 13 
 
 A timely ending thus the minstrel made, 
 Else the flist-coming tears his tale had stayed ; 
 But for the laborers, — they sat intent, 
 Mute all, with parted lips, and forward bent > 
 As if enchanted. Even when he was done, 
 For a brief space they seemed to hearken on. 
 
 " And such were aye the songs," said the old man, 
 " Sung in the good old days when Martha span.^ 
 Long-winded, maybe, and the tunes were queer. 
 But, youngsters, what of that ? They suit my ear. 
 Your new French airs mayhap may finer be ; 
 But no one understands the words, you see ! " 
 
 Whereon the men, somewhat as in a dream. 
 From table rose, and to the running stream 
 They led their patient mules, six yoke in all. 
 The long vine-branches from a trellised wall 
 Waved o'er them waiting, and, from time to time, 
 Humming some fragment of the weaver's rhyme. 
 
 Mireio tan-ied, but not quite alone. 
 
 A social spirit had the little one, 
 
 And she and Vincen chatted happily. 
 
 'Twas a fair sight, the two young heads to see 
 
 Meeting and parting, coming still and going 
 
 Like aster-flowers ^° when merry winds are blowing.
 
 ._ 
 
 14 MIREIO. . [Canto I. 
 
 " ISTow tell me, Vincen," thus Mireio, 
 " If oftentimes as you and Ambroi go 
 Bearing your burdens the wild country over, 
 Some haunted castle you do not discover, 
 Or joyous fete, or shining palace meet, 
 While we in the home-nest for ever sit ? " 
 
 " "Tis even so, my lady, as you think. 
 Why, currants quench the thirst as well as drink ! 
 What though we brave all weathers in our toil ? 
 Sure, we have joys that rain-drops cannot spoil 
 The sun of noon beats fiercely on the head, 
 But there are wayside trees unnumbered. 
 
 " And whensoe'er return the summer hours, 
 And olive-trees are all bedecked with flowers, 
 We hunt the whitening orchards curiously. 
 Still following the scent, till we descry 
 In the hot noontide, by its emerald flash. 
 The tiny cantharis upon the ash. 
 
 " The shops will buy the same. Or ofi" we tramp 
 And gather red-oak apples in the swamp,^^ 
 Or beat the ponds for leeches. Ah, that 's grand ! 
 You need nor bait nor hook, but only stand 
 And strike the water, and then one by one 
 They come and seize your legs, and all is done.
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FARM. 15 
 
 " And thou wert never at Li Santo ^'^ even ! 
 
 Dear heart ! The singing there must be like heaven. 
 
 'Tis there they bring the sick from all about 
 
 For healing ; and the church is small, no doubt : 
 
 But, ah, what ciies they lift ! what vows they jDay 
 
 To the great saints ! We saw it one fete-day. 
 
 " It was the year of the great miracle. 
 
 My God, that was a sight ! I mind it well, 
 
 A feeble boy, beautiful as Saint John, 
 
 Lay on the pavement, sadly calling on 
 
 The saints to give sight to his poor blind eyes, 
 
 And promising his pet lamb in sacrifice. 
 
 " ' My little lamb, with budding horns ! ' he said, 
 
 ' Dear saints ! ' How we all wept ! Then from o'erhead 
 
 The blessed reliquaries ^^ came down slowly. 
 
 Above the thronged people bending lowly, 
 
 And crying, ' Come, great saints, mighty and good ! 
 
 Come, save ! ' The church was like a wind-swept wood. 
 
 " Then the godmother held the child aloft. 
 Who spread abroad his fingers pale and soft, 
 And passionately grasped the reliquaries 
 That held the bones of the threo blessed Maries ; 
 Just as a drowning man, who cannot swim. 
 Will clutch a plank that tl^.e sea heaves to him.
 
 16 MIRiJIO. [Canto L 
 
 " And then, oh ! then, — I saw it \vith these eyes, — 
 By faith illumined, the blind boy outcries, 
 ' I see the sacred relics, and I see 
 Grandmother all in tears ! Now haste,' said he, 
 ' My lambkin with the budding horns to bring 
 To the dear saints for a thank-offering ! ' 
 
 " But thou, ray lady, God keep thee, I pray. 
 Handsome and happy as thou art to-day ! 
 Yet if a lizard, wolf, or horrid snake 
 Ever should wound thee with its fung, betake 
 Thyself forthwith to the most holy saints. 
 Who cure all ills and hearken all complaints." 
 
 So the hours of the summer evening passed. 
 Hard-by the big-wheeled cart its shadow cast 
 On the white yard. Afar arose and fell 
 The frequent tinkle of a little bell 
 In the dark marsh : a nightingale sang yonder ) 
 An owl made dreamy, sorrowful rejoinder. 
 
 " N'ow, since the night is moonlit, so the mere 
 And trees are glorified, wilt thou not hear," 
 The boy besought, " the story of a race 
 In which I hoped to win the prize ? " — " Ah, yes I " 
 The little maiden sighed ; and, more than glad, 
 Still gazed with parted lips uj)on the lad.
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FARM. 17 
 
 " "Well, then, Mireio, once at Nismes," he said, 
 " They had foot-races on the esplanade ; 
 And on a certain day a crowd was there 
 Collected, thicker than a shock of hair. 
 Some shoeless, coatless, hatless, were to run : 
 The others only came to see the fun. 
 
 " When all at once upon the scene appears 
 
 One Lagalanto, prince of foot-racers. 
 
 In all Provence, and even in Italy, • 
 
 The fleetest-footed far behind left he. 
 
 Yes : Lagalanto, the great Marseillais, — 
 
 Thou wilt have heard his name before to-day. 
 
 " A leg, a thigh, he had would not look small 
 By John of Cossa's," the great seneschal ; 
 And in hi§ dresser many a pewter plate. 
 With all his victories carved thereon in state ; 
 And you 'd have said, to see his scarfs, my lady, 
 A wainscot all festooned with rainbows had he. 
 
 " The other runners, of whate'er condition. 
 Threw on their clothes at this dread apparition : 
 The game was up when Lagalanto came. 
 Only one stout-limbed lad, Lou Cri by name, 
 WJio into Nismes had driven cows tliat day, 
 Durst challenge the victorious Marseillais.
 
 18 MIB£lO. [Canto I. 
 
 "Whereon, 'Oh, bah!' cried foolish little I 
 (Just think ! — I only chanced to stand thereby), 
 ' I can run too ! ' Forthwith they all surround me : . 
 ' Run, then ! ' Alas ! ray foolish words confound me ; 
 For I had run with partridges alone, 
 And only the old oaks for lookers-on. 
 
 " But now was no escape. ' My poor boy, hasten,' 
 Says Lagalanto, ' and your latchets fasten.' 
 Well, so I did. And the great man meanwhile 
 Drew o'er his mighty muscles, with a smile, 
 A pair of silken hose, whei'eto were sewn 
 Ten tiny golden bells of sweetest tone. 
 
 " So 'twas Ave three. Each set between his teeth 
 
 A bit of willow, thus to save his breath ; 
 
 Shook hands all round ; then, one foot on th^ line, 
 
 Tremblinof and eao;er we await the sim 
 
 For starting. It is given. Off we fly ; 
 
 We scour the plain like mad, — 'tis you ! 'tis I ! 
 
 " Wrapped in a cloud of dust, with smoking hair. 
 We strain each nerve. Ah, what a race was there ! 
 They thoiTght we should have won the goal abreast, 
 Till I, presumptuous, sprang before the rest : 
 And that was my undoing ; for I dropped 
 Pale, dying as it seemed. But never stopped
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FARM. 19 
 
 " The others. On, on, on, with steady gait, 
 Just like the pasteboard horses ^^ at Aix fete. 
 The famous Marseillais thousfht he must win 
 (They used to say of him he. had no spleen) ; 
 But, ah! my lady, on that day of days, 
 He found his man, — Lou Cri of Mouries. 
 
 " For now they pass beyond the gazing line. 
 And almost touch the goal. O beauty mine ! 
 Couldst thou have seen Lou Cri leap forward then ! 
 Never, I think, in mountain, park, or glen, 
 A stag, a hare, so fleet of foot you 'd find. 
 Howled hke a wolf the other, just behind. 
 
 "Lou Cri is victor! — hugs the post for joy. 
 Then all of Nismes comes flocking round the boy, 
 To learn the birthplace of this wondrous one. 
 The pewter plate is flashing in the sun. 
 The hautboys flourish, cymbals clang ajiace. 
 As he receives the guerdon of the race." 
 
 e' 
 
 "And Lagalanto?" asks Mireio. 
 " Why, he upon the ground was sitting low, 
 Amid the dust raised by the gathering throng, 
 Clasping his knees. With shame his soul was stung; 
 And, with the drops that fx'om his forehead fell, 
 Came tears of bitterness unspeakable.
 
 20 MIRiJIO. [Canto I. 
 
 " Lou Cri approached, and mad^ a modest bow. 
 ' Brother, let 's to the ale-house arbor now, 
 Behind the amphitheatre. Why borrow, 
 Upon this festive day, tears for the morrow ? 
 The money left we '11 drink together thus : 
 There 's sunshine yet enough for both of us.' 
 
 " Then trembling rose the runner of Marseilles, 
 And from his limbs made haste to tear away 
 The silken hose, the golden bells. ' Here, lad ! ' 
 Raising his pallid face, ' take them ! ' he said. 
 ' I am grown old : youth decks thee like a swan ; 
 So put the strong man's gear with honor on.' 
 
 " He turned, stricken like an ash the storm bereaves 
 
 In summer-time of all its tower of leaves. 
 
 The king of runners vanished from the place ; 
 
 And never more ran he in any race, 
 
 Nor even leaped on the inflated hide. 
 
 In games at Saint John's or Saint Peter's tide." 
 
 So Vincen told the story, waxing warm, 
 
 Of all he 'd seen, before the Lotus Farm. 
 
 His cheeks grew red, his eyes were full of light ; 
 
 He waved his hand to point his speech aright, — 
 
 Abundant was the same as showers in May 
 
 That fall ujDon a Held of new-mown hay.
 
 Canto 1.] LOTUS FARM. 21 
 
 The crickets, chirruping amid the dew, 
 Paused more than once to listen. Often, too. 
 The bird of evening, the sweet nightingale, 
 Kept silence ; thrilling so at Vincen's tale, 
 As still she harked her leafy perch' upon. 
 She might have kept awake until the dawn. 
 
 "Oh, mother! " cried Mireio, "surely never, 
 Was weaver-lad so marvellously clever ! 
 I love to sleep, dear, on a winter night ; 
 But now I cannot, — it is all too light. 
 Ah, just one story more before we go. 
 For I could pass a lifetime listening so ! "
 
 NOTES TO CANTO I. 
 
 1 Lotus Farm, or Falabrego Mas. The word mas, meaning a 
 farm or homestead, is used in the arrondissement of Aries and in 
 Languedoc. Every vias has a distinctive name, — Mas de la Font, 
 Fountain Farm ; Mas de I'Oste, Host Farm ; &c. The falabrego is 
 the fruit of a species of lotus, called in French micocidier. (It is 
 the Celtis australis of Linnaeus ; and nearly related to, if not iden- 
 tical with, Cellis occidentalis, the sugar-berry of our Northern woods, 
 remarkable for the delicate texture of its foliage, and singularly 
 rich crimson color of its tiny fruit. — Am. Tr.) 
 
 2 La Crau, from the Greek Kpuvpog, arid, is a vast stony plain, 
 bounded on the nortli by the Alpines (Lower Alps), on the east 
 by the meres of Martigue, west by the lliione, and south by the 
 sea. It is the Arabia Petraea of France. 
 
 8 Magalouno. Of this city, formerly a Greek colony, nothing 
 now remains but a single chui;qh in ruins. 
 
 * Li Bans, in French Les Baux, is a ruined town, formerly the 
 capital of the princely house of Baux. It is three leagues from 
 Aries, on the summit of the Alpines ; and, as the name of this 
 poetical locality occurs often in the poem, the following description 
 from Jules Canonge's History of the town of Baux, in Provence, 
 may interest the reader : — 
 
 " At length there opened out before me a narrow valley. I 
 bowed to the remains of a stone cross that sanctify the way ; 
 and, when I raised my eyes, they were riveted in astonishment 
 on a set of towers and walls on the top of a rock, the like of which 
 I had never before seen, save in works in which the genius of
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FARM. 23 
 
 painting had been inspired by the most fabulous imaginings of 
 Ariosto. But, if my surprise was great at tlie first aspect, it was 
 doubly so when I reached an eminence, whence the whole town was 
 displayed to view. It was a spectacle of desolate grandeur, such 
 as a perusal of the Prophets presents to the mind. It was some- 
 thing I had never suspected the existence of, — a town almost 
 monolithite. Those who first had the idea of inhabiting the rock 
 had hewn them a shelter out of its sides. This novel mode of 
 architecture was plainly approved of by their successors ; for 
 soon from the vast compact mass a town issued, like a statue from 
 a block touched by the wand of Art. An imposing town, with 
 fortifications, chapels, and hospitals, — a town in which man 
 seemed to have eternalized his habitation. The dominion of the 
 city was extensive, and brilliant feats of arms have secured for it 
 a noble place in history ; but it has proved no more enduring than 
 many others less -solidly constituted." 
 
 The action of the poem begins at the foot of these ruins. 
 
 5 Sheet spread to catch the olives as they are shaken from the 
 trees. 
 
 6 Valabrego, a village on the left bank of the Rhone, between 
 Avignon and Taraseon. 
 
 " Font Vieio (the Old Woman's Well), a village in one of the 
 valleys of the Alpines near Aries. 
 
 8 Martigau, an inhabitant of Martigue, a cimous Provencal 
 town inhabited almost solely by fisliermen, built on some narrow 
 islands, intersected by salt lakes and channels of the sea, by way 
 of streets, which has occasioned it to be surnamed La Venire 
 Proven^ale. It was the birthplace of Gerard Tenque (Thom or 
 Tung), the founder of the order of St. John of Jerusalem. 
 
 9 "When Martha span," a proverbial expression signifying, 
 " in the good old days," and alluding to Martha the hostess of 
 Christ, who, after having, according to tlie legend, delivered Tara- 
 seon from a monster that ravaged its territory, ended her days in 
 these parts. She is said to have inhabited a small house on the 
 banks of tlie Rhone, at the door of which she used to sit, surrounded 
 by her neophytes, and modestly ply her spinning-wheel. 
 
 10 The asler trifoUum, common on the marshes of the South.
 
 24 MIRillO. [Canto I. 
 
 11 Li garrigo, s-wamps or barren lands where only the agarrus, 
 or dwarf-oak, grows. 
 
 ^'^ Li Santo is the ProTen9al name of a small town of 543 inhab- 
 itants situated on the island of Camargue, between the mouths of 
 the Rhone. In obedience to a poetical and very venerable tradi- 
 tion, an innumerable host of pilgrims from every part of Pro- 
 vence and lower Languedoc assemble at this place every 25t]i of 
 May. The tradition— which will be found very fully detailed in 
 the eleventh canto of the poem — is, briefly, as follows : After the 
 crucifixion, the Jews compelled some of the most ardent disciples 
 to enter a dismantled ship, and consigned them to the mercy of 
 the waves. The scene is thus described in an ancient French 
 canticle : — 
 
 LES JUIFS. 
 
 Entrez, Sara, dans la nacelle, 
 Lazare, Marthe, et Maximin, 
 Cle'on, Trophime, Saturnin,. 
 Les trois Maries et Marcelle, 
 Eutrope et Martial, Sidoine avec Joseph (d'Arimathe'e) 
 Vous peirez dans cette nef. 
 
 Allez sans voile et sans cordage, 
 Sans mat, sans ancre, sans timon, 
 Sans aliment, sans aviron ; 
 Allez, faire un triste naufrage ! 
 Retirez-vous d'ici, laissez-nous en repoz, 
 Allez, crever jjarmi les flots. 
 
 Guided by Providence, the bai'k at length stranded on the isle 
 of Camargue, in Provence ; and the exiles, thus miraculously de- 
 livered from the perils of the sea, dispersed over Gaul, and became 
 its first evangelists. Mary Magdalene retired to the desert of 
 La Sainte Baume, to weep over her sins. The other two Maries, — 
 the mother of St. James the Less', and Mary Salome, mother of 
 St. John the Evangelist and St. James the Great, — accompanied 
 by their maid Sara, converted to the new faith some of the neigh-
 
 Canto I.] LOTUS FARM. 25 
 
 boring people, and then returned to the place of their landing to 
 die. (See Canto XL) 
 
 " It is reported that a prince whose name is unknown, learning 
 that the bodies of the holy Maries were interred on this spot, built 
 a church over it in the form of a citadel, tiiat it might be safe from 
 piratical invasion. He also built houses round the church and 
 ramparts, for the safety of the inhabitants. The buildings that 
 remain bear out this tradition." 
 
 The choir of the church presents the peculiarity of being com- 
 posed of three stories, — a crj- pt, which is pointed out as tlie very 
 site of the ancient oratory of the saints ; a sanctuary, raised higher 
 than usual ; and a chapel above, where the reliquaries are ex- 
 posed. A chain is attached to the latter, so that, by tlie unwinding 
 of a capstan, they may be let down into the cliurch. The moment 
 when they descend is the one projiitious to miracles, like that 
 which Yincen describes. 
 
 1'' John of Cossa, a Neapolitan noble who had followed King 
 Rene. He was Grand Seneschal of Provence, and died in 1470. 
 John of Cossa is \ery pojiular at Tarascon, wliere the people 
 ascribe to him the building of St. Martha's steeple. He is interred 
 in the crypt of that church; and his statue, in 'a recumbent atti- 
 tude, surmounts the tomb. 
 
 1'* Tlie chivaus-fnts, or painted cardboard horses, used in Pro- 
 vence at public rejoicings, and particularly at Aix in the Fete 
 Dien. The seeming riders attach them to the waist, and prance 
 the streets to the sound of the tambourine.
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 THE LEAF-PICKING. 
 
 OING, magnarello,^ merrily, 
 
 ^^"^ As the green leaves you gather! 
 
 In their third sleep ^ the silk-worms lie, 
 
 And lovely is the weather. 
 Like brown bees that in open glades 
 
 From rosemary gather honey. 
 The mulberry-trees swarm full of maids, 
 
 Glad as the air is sunny ! 
 
 It chanced one morn — it was May's loveliest — 
 
 Mireio gathered leaves among the rest. 
 
 It chanced, moreover, on that same May morning. 
 
 The little gypsy, for her own adorning. 
 
 Had cherries in her ears, for rings, suspended. 
 
 Just as our Vincen's footsteps thither tended. 
 
 Like Latin seaside people everywhere. 
 He wore a red cap on his raven hair. 
 With a cock's feather gayly set therein ; 
 And, prancing onward, with a stick made spin 
 The flints from wayside stone-heaps, and set flying 
 The lazy adders in his pathway lying. 
 
 o'
 
 Cakto II.] THE LEAF-PICKING. 27 
 
 When suddenly, from the straight, leafy alley, 
 " Whither away so fast ? " a voice comes gayly. 
 Mireio's. Vincen darts beneath the trees, 
 Looks lip, and soon the merry maiden sees. 
 Perched on a mulberry-tree, she eyed the lad 
 Like some gray-crested lai'k,^ and he was glad. 
 
 " How then, Mireio, comes the picking on ? 
 Little by little, all will soon be done ! 
 May I not help thee?" — "^That were very meet," 
 She said, and laughed upon her airy seat. 
 Sprang Vincen like a squirrel from the clover, 
 Ran nimbly up the tree, and said, moreover, — 
 
 " Now since old Master Ramoun hath but thee. 
 
 Come down, I pray, and strip the lower tree! 
 
 I '11 to the top ! " As busily the maiden 
 
 Wrought on, she murmured, "How the soul doth gladden 
 
 To have good company ! There 's little joy 
 
 In lonely work ! " — " Ay is there ! " said the boy : 
 
 " For when in our old hut we sit alone, 
 
 Father and I, and only hear the Rhone 
 
 Rush headlong o'er the shingle, 'tis most drear ! 
 
 Not in the pleasant season of the year, 
 
 For then upon our travels we are bound. 
 
 And trudge from farm to farm the country round.
 
 28 MIEjE:IO. [Canto II. 
 
 " But when tlie holly-berries have turned red, 
 And winter comes, and nights are long," he said, 
 " And sitting by the dying fire we catch 
 Whistle or mew of goblin at the latch ; 
 And I must wait till bed-time there with him. 
 Speaking but seldom, and the room so dim," — 
 
 Broke in the happy girl, unthinkingly, 
 
 "Ah! but your mother, Yincen, where is she?" 
 
 "Mother is dead." The two were still awhile: 
 
 Then he, " But Vinceneto could beguile 
 
 The time when she was there. A little thing. 
 
 But she could keep the hut." — "I'm wondering — 
 
 " You have a sister, Yincen ? " — " That have I ! 
 A merry lass and good," was the reply : 
 " For down at Font-dou-Rei, in Beaucaire, 
 Whither she went to glean, she was so fair 
 And deft at work that all w^ere smitten by her ; 
 And there she stays as servant by desire." 
 
 " And you are like her ? " — "Now that makes me merry. 
 
 Why, she is blonde, and I brown as a berry ! 
 
 But wouldst thou know whom she is like, the elf? 
 
 Why, even like thee, Mireio,' thine own self ! 
 
 Your two bright heads, with all their wealth of hair 
 
 Like myrtle-leaves, would make a perfect pair.
 
 Canto II.] TEE LEAF-PICKING. 29 
 
 " But, ah ! thou knowest better far to gather 
 
 The muslin of thy cap * than cloth the other ! 
 
 My little sister is not plain nor dull, 
 
 But thou, — thou art so much more beautiful ! " 
 
 " Oh, what a Viucen ! " cried Mireio, 
 
 And suddenly the half-culled branch let go. 
 
 Sing, magnarello, merrily, 
 
 As the green leaves you gather ! 
 In their third sleep the silk-woi"ms lie, 
 
 And lovely is the Aveather. 
 Like brown bees that in ojien glades 
 
 From rosemary gather honey. 
 The mulberry-trees swarm full of maids. 
 
 Glad as the air is sunny ! 
 
 " And so you think I have a pretty face. 
 
 More foir than hers ? " Then sighed the lad, " Ah, yes ! " 
 
 "But what more have I than this little wench?" 
 
 " Mother divine ! What more hath the goldfinch 
 
 Than hath the fragile wren, — unless it be 
 
 Beauty and grace and richer minstrelsy ? 
 
 " "What more ? Ah, my poor sister ! Hear me speak, — 
 
 Thou wilt not get the white out of the leek : 
 
 Her eyes are like the water of the sea. 
 
 Blue, clear, — thine, black, and they flash gloriously. 
 
 And, Mireio! Avhen on me they shine, 
 
 I seem to drain a bumper of cooked winc!^
 
 30 MIRi:iO. [Canto II. 
 
 "My sister hath a silver voice and mellow, — 
 
 I love to hear her sins: the JPeirounello^ — 
 
 But, ah ! my sweet young lady, every word 
 
 Thou 'st given me my spirit more hath stirred, 
 
 My ear more thrilled, my very heart-strings wrung, " 
 
 More than a thousand songs divinely sung! 
 
 " With roaming all the pastures in the sun, 
 My little sister's face and neck are dun 
 As dates ; but thou, most fair one, I think well, 
 Art fashioned like the floAvers of Asphodel. 
 So the bold Summer with his tawny hand 
 Dare not caress thy forehead white and bland. 
 
 " Moreover, Vinceneto is more slim 
 
 Than dragon-flies that o'er the brooklet skim. 
 
 Poor child ! In one year grew she up to this ; 
 
 But verily in thy shape is naught amiss," 
 
 Again Mireio, turning rosy red, 
 
 Let fall her branch, and " What a Vincen ! " said. 
 
 Sing, magnarello, merrily, 
 
 The green leaves ever piling ! 
 Two comely children sit on high. 
 
 Amid the foliage, smiling. 
 Sing, magnarello, loud and oft : 
 
 Your merry labor hasten. 
 The guileless pair who laugh aloft 
 
 Are learning love's first lesson.
 
 Canto II.] THE LEAF-PICKING. 31 
 
 Cleared from the hills meanwhile the mists of morn, 
 And o'er the ruined towers, whither return 
 Nightly the grim old lords of Baux, they say ; 
 And o'er the barren rocks 'gan take their way 
 Vultures,® whose large, white Avings are seen to gleam 
 Resplendent in the noontide's burning beam. 
 
 Then cried the maiden, pouting, " We have done 
 Naught ! Oh, shame to idle so ! Some one 
 Said he would help me ; and that some one still 
 Doth naught but talk, and make me laugh at will. 
 Work now, lest mother say I am unwary 
 And idle, and too awdcward yet to marry ! 
 
 " Ah ! my brave friend, I think should one engage you 
 To pick leaves by the quintal, and for wage, you 
 Would all the same sit still and feast your eyes, 
 Handling the ready sprays in dreamy wise ! " 
 Whereat the boy, a trifle disconcerted, 
 "And so thou takest me for a gawky!" blurted. 
 
 " We '11 see, my fair young lady," added he, 
 
 " Which of us tw^o the better picker be ! " 
 
 They ply both hands now. With vast animation, 
 
 They bend and strip the branches. No occasion 
 
 For rest or idle chatter either uses, 
 
 (The bleating sheep, they say, her mouthful loses,)
 
 bli MIR^IO. [CANTO II. 
 
 Until the mulberry-tree is bare of leaves, 
 
 And these the ready sack at once receives, 
 
 At whose distended mouth — ah, youth is sweet ! — 
 
 Mireio's pretty taper hand will meet 
 
 In strange entanglement that somehow lingers 
 
 That Vincen's, with its brown and burning fingers. 
 
 Both started. In their cheeks the flush rose higher : 
 They felt the heat of some mysterious fire. 
 They dropped the mulberry-leaves as if afraid. 
 And, tremulous with passion, the boy said, — 
 " What aileth thee, my lady ? answer me ! 
 Did any hidden hornet dare sting thee ? " 
 
 Well-nigh inaudible, with drooping brow, 
 
 " I know not, Vincen," — thus Mireio. 
 
 And so they turned a few more leaves to gather. 
 
 And neither spake again unto the other. 
 
 But their bright, sidelong glances seemed to seek 
 
 Which would be first to laugh, and the spell break. 
 
 Their hearts beat high, the green leaves fell like rain ; 
 
 And, when the time for sacking came again. 
 
 Whether by chance or by contriving it 
 
 The white hand and the brown hand always met. 
 
 Nor seemed there any lack of haj^piness 
 
 The while their labor filled not to progress.
 
 Canto IL] TEE LEAF-PICKINO. 33 
 
 Sing, magnarello, merrily, 
 
 As the green leaves you gather ! 
 The sun of May is riding high, , 
 
 And ardent is the weather. 
 
 Now suddenly Mireio whispered, " Hark ! 
 "What can that be ? " and listened like a lark 
 Upon a vine, her small forefinger pressing 
 Against her lip, and eager eyes addressing 
 To a bird's nest upon a leafy bough, 
 Just opposite the one where she was now. 
 
 " Ah ! wait a little Avhile ! " with bated breath, 
 So the young basket-weaver answereth, 
 And like a sparrow hopped from limb to limb 
 Toward the nest. Down in the tree-trunk dim, 
 Close peering through a crevice in the wood. 
 Full-fledged and lively saw he the young brood. 
 
 And, sitting firmly the rough bough astride. 
 Clung with one hand, and let the other glide 
 Into the hollow trunk. Above his head 
 Mireio leaned with her cheeks rosy red. 
 " What sort ? " she whispered from her covert shady. 
 " Beauties ! " _ " But what ? " _ « Blue tomtits, my 
 young lady!" 
 
 8
 
 34 MIRiJIO. [Canto II. 
 
 Then laughed the maiden, and her laugh was gay : 
 
 " See, Vincen ! Have you never heard them say 
 
 That when two find a nest in company, 
 
 On mulberry, or any other tree. 
 
 The Church within a year will join those two? 
 
 And proverbs,- father says, are always true." 
 
 " Yea," quoth the lad ; " but do not thou forget 
 That this, our happy hope, may perish yet. 
 If all the birdies be not caged forthwith." 
 "Jesu divine!" the maiden murmureth: 
 " Put them by quickly ! It concerns us much 
 Our birdies should be safe from alien touch." 
 
 "Why, then, the very safest place," said he, 
 " Methinks, Mireio, would thy bodice be ! " 
 " Oh, surely ! " So the lad explores the hollow, 
 His hand withdrawing full of tomtits callow. 
 Four were they ; and the maid in ecstasy 
 Cries, "Mon Dieu!" and lifts her hands on high. 
 
 " How many ! What a pretty brood it is ! 
 
 There ! There, poor darlings, give me just one kiss ! " 
 
 And, lavishing a tliousand fond caresses, 
 
 Tenderly, carefully, the four she places ' 
 
 Inside her waist, obeying Vincen's will ; 
 
 While he, " Hold out thy hands ! there are more still ! "
 
 Canto II.] THE LEAF-PICKING. 35 
 
 " Oh, sweet ! The little eyes in each blue head 
 Are sharp as needles," as Mireio said 
 Softly, three more of the wee brood she pressed 
 Into their smooth, white prison with the rest. 
 Who, when bestowed within that refuge warm, 
 Thought they were in their nest and safe from harm. 
 
 " Are there more, Vincen ? " — "Ay ! " he answered her. 
 
 " Then, Holy Virgin ! you 're a sorcerer ! " 
 
 " Thou simple maid ! About St. George's day. 
 
 Ten, twelve, and fourteen eggs, these tomtits lay. 
 
 Ay, often. Now let these the others follow ! 
 
 They are the last : so good-by, pretty hollow ! " 
 
 But ere the words were spoken, and the maid 
 
 In her flowered neckerchief had fairly laid 
 
 Her little charge, she gave a piercing wail : 
 
 " Oh me ! oh me ! " then murmured, and turaed pale ; 
 
 And, laying both her hands upon her breast, 
 
 Moaned, " I am dying ! " and was sore distressed. 
 
 And could but weep : " Ah, they are scratching me ! 
 They sting ! Come quickly, Vincen, up the tree ! " 
 For on the last arrival had ensued 
 "Wondrous commotion in the hidden brood ; 
 The fledglings latest taken from the nest 
 Had sore disorder wrought among the rest.
 
 36 , MIRi:lO. [Canto II. 
 
 Because within so very small a valley 
 
 All could not lie at ease, so must they gayly 
 
 Scramble with claw and wing down either slope, 
 
 And up the gentle hills, thus to find scope : 
 
 A thousand tiny somersets they turn, 
 
 A thousand pretty rolls they seem to learn. 
 
 And " Ah, come quick ! " is still the maiden's cry. 
 Trembling like vine-spray when the wind is high, 
 Or like a heifer stung with cattle-flies. 
 And, as she bends and writhes in piteous wise, 
 Leaps Vincen upward till he plants his feet 
 Once more beside her on her airy seat. 
 
 Sing, magnarello, heap your leaves. 
 
 While sunny is the weather ! 
 He comes to aid her where she grieves : 
 
 The two are now together. 
 
 " Thou likest not this tickling ? " kindly said he. 
 " What if thou wert like me, my gentle lady, 
 And hadst to wander barefoot through the nettles ? " 
 So proffering his red sea-cap, there he settles 
 Fast as she draws them from her neckerchief 
 The birdies, to Mireio's vast relief.
 
 Canto II.] THE LEAF-PICEINQ. 37 
 
 But still her eyes are downcast, — the poor dear ! 
 Nor can she look at her deliverer 
 For a brief space. But then a smile ensues, 
 And the tears vanish, as the morning dews 
 That drench the flowers and grass at break of day- 
 Roll into little pearls and pass away. 
 
 And then there came a fresh catastrophe : 
 The branch Avhereon they sat so cosily 
 Snapped, broke asunder, and with ringing shriek 
 Mireio flung her arms round Vincen's neck, 
 And he clasped hers, and they whirled suddenly 
 Down through the leaves upon the supple rye. 
 
 Listen, wind of the Greek,'' wind of the sea. 
 And shake no more the verdant canopy ! 
 Hush for one moment, O thou childish breeze ! 
 Breathe soft and whisper low, beholding these ! 
 Give them a little time to dream of bliss, — 
 To dream at least, in such a world as this ! 
 
 Thou too, swift streamlet of the prattling voice, 
 Peace, prithee ! In this hour, make little noise 
 Among the vocal pebbles of thy bed ! 
 Ay, little noise ! Because two souls have sped 
 To one bi-ight region. Leave them there, to roam 
 Over the starry heights, — their proper home !
 
 88 MIRMO. [Canto II. 
 
 A moment, and she struggled to be free 
 
 From Ills embrace. The flower of the quince-tree 
 
 Is not so pale. Then backward the two sank, 
 
 And gazed at one another on the bank, 
 
 Until the weaver's son the silence brake. 
 
 And thus in seeming wrath arose and spake : 
 
 " Shame on thee, thou perfidious mulberry ! 
 
 A devil's tree ! A Friday-planted tree ! 
 
 Blight seize and wood-louse eat thee ! May thy master 
 
 Hold thee in horror for this day's disaster ! 
 
 Tell me thou art not hurt, Mireio ! " 
 
 Trembling from head to foot, she answered, " No : 
 
 " I am not hurt ; but as a baby weeps 
 
 And knows not why, — there 's something here that keeps 
 
 Perpetual tumult in my heart. A pain 
 
 Blinds me and deafens me, and fills my brain. 
 
 So that my blood in a tumultuous riot 
 
 Courses my body through, and won't be quiet." 
 
 " May it not be," the simple boy replied, 
 " Thou fearest to have thy mother come and chide 
 Thy tardy picking, ' — as when I come back 
 Late fi-om the blackberry-field with face all black, 
 And tattered clothes?" Mireio sighed again, 
 " Ah, no ! This is another kind of pain ! "
 
 Canto U.] THE LEAF-PICKING. 39 
 
 " Or possibly a sun-stroke may have lighted 
 Upon thee ! " And the eager Vincen cited 
 An ancient crone among the hills of Baux, 
 Taven by name, " who on the forehead, — so, — 
 A glass of water sets : the ray malign 
 The dazed brain for the crystal will resign." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! " impetuously the maiden cried, 
 
 " Floods of May sunshine never terrified 
 
 The girls of Crau. Why should I hold you waiting ? 
 
 Vincen, in vain my heart is palpitating ! 
 
 My secret cannot bide a home so small : 
 
 I love you, Vincen, love you ! — That is all ! " 
 
 The river-banks, the close-pruned willows hoary. 
 Green grass and ambient air, hearing this story, 
 Were full of glee. But the poor basket-weaver, 
 "Princess, that thou who art so fair and clever, 
 Shouldst have a tongue given to wicked lying ! 
 Why, it confounds me ! It is stupefying ! 
 
 " What ! thou in love with me ? Mireio, 
 My poor life is yet happy. Do not go 
 And make a jest thereof ! I might believe 
 Just for one moment, and thereafter grieve 
 My soul to death. Ah, no ! my pretty maid. 
 Laugh no more at me in this wise ! " he said.
 
 40 MIR£:rO. [Canto II. 
 
 " Now may God shut me out of Paradise, 
 
 Vincen, if I have ever told you lies ! 
 
 Go to ! I love you ! Will that kill you, friend ? 
 
 But if you ^vill be cruel, and so send 
 
 Me from your side, 'tis I who will fill ill. 
 
 And at your feet lie low till sorrow kill ! " 
 
 " No more ! no more ! " cried Vincen, desperately : 
 " There is a gulf 'twixt thee and me ! The stately 
 Queen of the Lotus Farm art thou, and all 
 Bow at thy coming, hasten to thy call. 
 While I, a vagrant weaver, only wander, 
 Plying my trade from Valabrego yonder." 
 
 " What care I?" cried the fiery girl at once. 
 Sharp as a sheaf-binder's came her response. 
 " May not my lover, then, a baron be, 
 Or eke a weaver, if he pleases me ? 
 But if joxi will not have me pine awaj^ 
 Why look so handsome, even in rags, I say ? " 
 
 He turned and faced her. Ah, she was enchanting ! 
 
 And as a charmed bird falls dizzy, panting. 
 
 So he. " Mireio, thou 'rt a sorceress ! 
 
 Else were I not so dazzled by thy face. 
 
 Thy voice, too, mounts into'this head of mine. 
 
 And makes me like a man o'ercome with wine." '
 
 Canto II.] THE LEAF-PICKING. 41 
 
 " Why, can't it be, Mireio ? Seest thou not 
 
 Even now with thy embi'ace my brain is hot. 
 
 I am a pack-bearer, and well may be 
 
 A laughing-stock for evermore to thee. 
 
 But thou shalt have the truth, clear, in this hour : 
 
 I love thee, with a love that could devour ! 
 
 " "Wert thou to ask, — lo, love I thee so much ! — 
 The golden goat,* that ne'er felt mortal touch 
 Upon its udders, but doth only lick 
 Moss from the base of the precipitous j^eak 
 Of Baux, — I 'd perish in the quarries there. 
 Or bring thee down the goat with golden hair ! 
 
 " So much, that, if thou saidst, ' I want a star,' 
 There is no stream so Avild, no sea so far. 
 But I would cross ; no headsman, steel or fire. 
 That could Avithhold me. Yea, I would climb his/her 
 Than peaks that kiss the sky, that star to seek ; 
 And Sunday thou shouldst wear it on thy neck ! 
 
 " O my Mireio ! Ever as I gaze. 
 
 Thy beauty fills me with a deep amaze. 
 
 Once, when by Vaucluse grotto I was going, 
 
 I saw a fig-tree in the bare rock growing ; 
 
 So very spare it was, tlie lizards gray 
 
 Had found more shade beneath a jasmine spray.
 
 42 MIBiJIO. [Canto II. 
 
 " But, round about the roots, once every year 
 The neighboring stream conies gushing, as I hear ; 
 And the shrub drinks the Avater as it rises. 
 And that one drink for the whole year suffices. 
 Even as the gem is cut to fit the ring, 
 This parable to us is answering. 
 
 " I am the fig-tree on the barren mountain ; 
 And thou, mine own, art the reviving fountain ! 
 Surely it would suffice me, could I feel 
 That, once a year, I might before thee kneel. 
 And sun myself in thy sweet face, and lay 
 My lips unto thy fingers, as to-day ! " 
 
 Trembling with love, Mireio hears him speak. 
 And lets him wind his arms about her neck 
 And cjasp her as bewildered. Suddenly, 
 Through the green walk, quavers an old wife's cry : 
 " How now, Mireio ? Are you coming soon? 
 What will the silk-worms have to eat at noon ? " 
 
 As oft times, at the coming on of night, 
 
 A flock of sparrows on a pine alight 
 
 And fill the air with joyous chirruping. 
 
 Yet, if a passing gleaner pause and fling 
 
 A stone that way, they to the neighboring wood. 
 
 By terror winged, their instant flight make good ;
 
 Canto II.] THE LEAF-PICKING. 43 
 
 So, with a tumult of emotion thrilled. 
 Fled the enamoured two across the field. 
 But when, her leaves uj^on her head, the maid 
 Turned silently toward the farm, he stayed, — 
 Vincen, — and breathless watched her in her flight 
 Over the fallow, till she passed from sight.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO II. 
 
 1 MagnareUo are women silk-worm rearers. Magnan are silk- 
 worms. 
 
 2 Silk-worms live in the larva state about thirty-four days ; 
 and, in this interval, moult, or shed their skin, four times. At the 
 approach of each of these periods, they become, as it were, para- 
 lyzed, and cease eating, — dormon. They say in Proven9al dourmi 
 de la proumiero, di doz, di tres, di quatre, which means, literally, 
 sleeping the first, second, third, fourth (moult). 
 
 3 A gray-crested lark, — the Alauda cristata. 
 
 * " The muslin of thy cap." The Crau women wear their hair 
 tightly enveloped in a kerchief of fine, transparent linen or muslin, 
 around which is passed a band of velvet, usually of a blue-black, 
 at a distance of about one-third from the top of the muslin, leav- 
 ing, therefore, so much of it visible. Another turn is then passed 
 immediately below the first, and then another, until two-thirds of 
 the muslin are concealed. The black band is finally fastened at 
 the back of the head with a large gold pin ; while the other end, 
 to the length of about a foot, is left pendant. On either side of 
 the forehead, the hair is suffered to fall as low as the cheek-bone, 
 where it is gracefully curved back, and gathered under the muslin. 
 
 5 " Cooked wine." The grape-juice, on being removed from the 
 press, is boiled in a caldron, and, after one year's bottle, has the 
 color and flavor of the best Spanish wines. The Provencaux 
 drink it at feasts, galas, and alwaj's at Christmas. 
 
 6 Vultures. The Vidtur percnoptus. 
 
 7 Gregali, gregau, and gre are all words used to signify the Grelk, 
 or north-east wind.
 
 J_ 
 
 Canto II.] TEE LEAF-PICKING. 45 
 
 8 " The golden goat," la cahro d'or, is a phrase used to signify 
 some treasure or talisman, that the people imagine to have been 
 .buried by the Saracens, under some one or otlier of the antique 
 monuments of Provence. Some allege that it lies under the 
 Mausoleum of Saint Remy ; others, under the Baux rocks. " This 
 tradition," says George Sand (in Les Visions de la Nuit dans les Catn- 
 pagnes), " is universal. There are few ruins, castles, or monasteries, 
 few Celtic monuments, that have not their treasure hidden away 
 somewhere, and guarded by some diabolic animal. M. Jules Ca- 
 nonge, in a charming collection of Southern tales, has rendered 
 graceful and beneficent the poetical apparition of the golden goat, 
 the guardian of the riches hidden in the bosom of the earth."
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 THE COCOONING.' ' 
 
 TT THEN the crop is fair in the olive-yard, 
 ' And the earthen jars are ready 
 
 For the golden oil from the barrels poured, 
 And the big cart rocks unsteady 
 
 With its tower of gathered sheaves, and strains 
 
 And groans on its way through fields and lanes ; 
 
 When brawny and bare as an old athlete 
 Comes Bacchus the dance a-leading, 
 
 And the laborers all, with juice-dyed feet. 
 The vintage of Crau are treading. 
 
 And the good wine pours from the brimful presses, 
 
 And the ruddy foam in the vats increases ; 
 
 When under the leaves of the Spanish broom 
 
 The clear silk-worms are holden, 
 An artist each, in a tiny loom. 
 
 Weaving a web all golden, — 
 Fine, frail cells out of sunlight spun, 
 Where they creep and sleep by the million, —
 
 Canto IU.] TEE COCOONINO. 47 
 
 Glad is Provence on a day like that, 
 
 'Tis the time of jest and laughter : 
 The Ferio-oulet ^ and the Baurne Muscat ^ 
 
 They quaff, and they sing thereafter. 
 And lads and lasses, their toils between, 
 Dance to the tinkling tambourine. 
 
 " Methinks, good neighbors, I am Fortune's pet. 
 Ne'er in my trellised arbor saw I yet 
 A silkier bower, cocoons more worthy praise, 
 Or richer harvest, since the year of grace 
 When first I laid my hand on Ramoun's arm 
 And came, a youthful bride, to Lotus Farm." 
 
 So spake Jano Mario, Ramoun's wife. 
 
 The fond, proud mother who had given life 
 
 To our Mireio. Unto her had hied. 
 
 The while were gathered the cocoons outside, 
 
 Her neighbors. In the silk- worm -room they throng ; 
 
 And, as they aid the picking, gossip long. 
 
 To these Mireio tendered now and then 
 Oak-sprigs and sprays of rosemary ; for when 
 The worms, lured by the mountain odor, come 
 In myriads, there to make their silken home. 
 The sprays and sprigs, adoi-ned in such wise. 
 Are like the golden palms of Paradise.
 
 48 MIRMO. [Caitto III. 
 
 " On Mother Mary's altar yesterday," 
 Jano Mario said, " I M'ent to lay 
 My finer sprays, by way of tithe. And so 
 I do each year ; for you, my Avomen, know 
 That, when the holy Mother will, 'tis she 
 Who sendeth up the worms abundantly." 
 
 " Now, for my part," said Zeu of Host Farm, 
 
 " Great fears have I my worms will come to harm. 
 
 You mind that ugly day the east wind blew, — 
 
 I left my window open, — if you knew 
 
 Ever such folly ! — and to my affright 
 
 Upon my floor are twenty, now turned white." * 
 
 To her replied Taven, the ancient crone. 
 
 Who from the heights of Baux had wandered down 
 
 To help at the cocooning : " Youth is bold, 
 
 The young think they know better than the old ; 
 
 And age is torment, and we mourn the fate 
 
 Which bids us see and know, — but all too late, 
 
 " Ye are such giddy women, every one, 
 That, if the hatching promise well, ye run 
 Straightway about the streets the tale to tell. 
 ' Come see my silk-worms ! 'Tis incredible 
 How fine they are ! ' Envy can well dissemble : 
 She hastens to your room, her heart a-tremble
 
 Canto III.] 
 
 THE COCOONING. 
 
 49 
 
 " "With wrath. And ' Well done, neighbor ! ' she says 
 
 cheerly : 
 'This does one good! You've still your cauP on, 
 
 clearly ! ' 
 But when your head is turned, she casts upon 'em — 
 The envious one — a look so full of venom, 
 It knots and burns 'em up. And then you say 
 It was the east wind plastered 'em that way 
 
 ) » 
 
 " I don't say that has naught to do with it," 
 
 Quoth Zeu. " Still it had been quite as fit 
 
 For me to close the window." — " Doubt you, then, 
 
 The harm the eye can do," went on Taven, 
 
 " When in the head it glistens balefully '? " 
 
 And herself scanned Zeu with piercing eye. 
 
 " Ye are such fools, ye seem to think," she said, 
 " That scraping with a scalpel on the dead 
 Would win its honey-secret from the bee ! 
 But may not a fierce look, now answer me, 
 The Tinborn babe for evermore deform. 
 And dry the cow's milk in her udders warm ? 
 
 " An OAvl may fascinate a little bird ; 
 
 A serpent, flying geese, as I have heard, 
 
 How high soe'er they mount. And if one keep 
 
 A fixed gaze upon silk-worms, will they sleep? 
 
 Moreover, is there, neighbors, in the land 
 
 So wise a virgin that she can withstand
 
 50 MIRi:iO. [Ca.nto III. 
 
 " The fiery eyes of passionate youth ? " Here stopped 
 
 The hag, and damsels four their cocoons dropped ; 
 
 " In June as in October," murmuring, 
 
 " Her tongue hath evermore a barbed sting. 
 
 The ancient viper ! What ! the lads, say you ? 
 
 Let them come, then ! We '11 see what they can do ! " 
 
 But other merry ones retorted, " No ! 
 
 We want them not ! Do we, Mireio ? " 
 
 " Not we ! Nor is it always cocooning. 
 
 So I '11 a bottle from the cellar bring 
 
 That you will find delicious." And she fled 
 
 Toward the house because her cheeks grew red. 
 
 " Now, friends," said haughty Lauro, with decision, 
 
 " This is my mind, though poor be my condition : 
 
 I '11 smile on no one, even though my lover 
 
 As king of fairy-land his realm should oifer. 
 
 A pleasure were it, could I see him lying, 
 
 And seven long years before my footstool sighing." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Clemengo, " should a king me woo, 
 And say he loved me, without much ado 
 I 'd grant the royal suit ! And chiefly thus 
 Were he a young king and a glorious. 
 A king of men, in beauty, I 'd let come 
 And freely lead me to his palace home !
 
 Canto III.] THE COCOONING. 51 
 
 " But see ! If I were once enthroned there, 
 A sovereign and an empress, in a fair 
 Mantle bedecked, of golden-flowered brocade, 
 With pearls and emeralds dazzling round my head. 
 Then would my heart for my poor country yearn ; 
 And I, the queen, would unto Baux return. 
 
 " And I would make my capital at Baux, 
 
 And on the rock where lie its ruins low 
 
 I Avould rebuild our ancient castle, and 
 
 A white tower on the toj) thereof should stand 
 
 Whose head should touch the stars. Tliither retiring, 
 
 If rest or solace were the queen desiring, 
 
 " We 'd climb the turret-stair, my prince and I, 
 And gladly throw the crown and mantle by. 
 And would it not be blissful with my love, 
 Aloft, alone to sit, the world above ? 
 Or, leaned upon the parapet by his side, 
 To search the lovely landscape far and wide, 
 
 " Our own glad kingdom of Provence descrying. 
 Like some great orange-grove beneath us lying 
 All fair ? And, ever stretching dreamily 
 Beyond the hills and plains, the sapphire sea ; 
 While noble ships, tricked out with streamers gay, 
 Just graze the Chateau d'lf, and pass away?
 
 52 MIB^IO. [Canto III. 
 
 " Or we would turn to lightning-scathed Ventour,^ 
 
 Who, while the lesser heights before him cower, 
 
 His hoary head against the heaven raises, 
 
 As I have seen, in solitary places 
 
 Of beech and pine, with staff in aged hand. 
 
 Some shepherd-chief, his flock o'erlooking, stand. 
 
 " Again, we 'd follow the great Rhone awhile, 
 
 Adown whose banks the cities brave defile, 
 
 And dip their lips and drink, with dance and song. 
 
 Stately is the Rhone's march, and very strong ; 
 
 But even he must bend at Avignon 
 
 His haughty head to Notre Dame des Dom.'' 
 
 ** Or watch the ever-varying Durance, 
 
 Now like some fierce and ravenous goat advance 
 
 Devouring banks and bridges ; now demure 
 
 As maid from rustic well who bears her ewer. 
 
 Spilling her scanty water as she dallies, 
 
 And every youth along her pathway rallies." 
 
 So spake her sweet Provencal majesty, 
 
 And rose with brimful apron, and put by 
 
 Her gathered treasure. Two more maids were there, 
 
 Twin sisters, the one dark, the other fair, — 
 
 Azaliiis, Vioulano. The stronghold 
 
 Of Estoublon sheltered their parents old.
 
 Canto HI.] THE COCOONING. 53 
 
 And oft these two to Lotus Farmstead came ; 
 While that mischievous lad, Cupid by name, 
 Who loves to sport with generous hearts and tender, 
 Had made the sisters both their love surrender 
 To the same youth. So Azalais said, — 
 The dark one, — lifting up her raven head : 
 
 " Now, damsels, play awhile that I were queen. 
 The Marseilles ships, the Beaucaire meadows green, 
 Smiling La Ciotat, and fair Salon, 
 With all her almond-trees, to me belong. 
 Then the young maids I 'd summon by decree. 
 From Aries, Baux, Barbentano, unto me. 
 
 " ' Come, fly like birds ! ' the order should be given ; 
 And I, of these, would choose the fairest seven, 
 And royal charge upon the same would lay. 
 The false love and the true in scales to weigh. 
 And then would merry counsel hold en be ; 
 For sure it is a great calamity 
 
 " That half of those who love, with love most meet. 
 
 Can never marry, and their joy complete. 
 
 But when I, Azalais, hold the helm, 
 
 I proclamation make, that in my realm 
 
 When lovers true are tyrannously hurt 
 
 They shall find mercy at the maiden's court.
 
 54 MIB&IO. rCANTo III. 
 
 " And if one sell her robe of honor white, 
 
 Whether it be for gold or jewel bright, 
 
 And if one offer insult, or betray 
 
 A fond heart, unto such as these alway 
 
 Tlie high court of the seven maids shall prove 
 
 The stern avenger of offended love. 
 
 " And if two lovers the same maid desire. 
 Or if two maids to the same lad aspire, 
 My council's duty it shall be to choose 
 Which loves the better, which the better sues, 
 And which is worthier of a happy fate. 
 Moreover, on my maidens there shall wait 
 
 " Seven sweet poets, who from time to time 
 Shall write the laws of love in lovely rhyme 
 Uj)on wild vine-leaves or the bark of trees ; 
 And sometimes, in a stately chorus, these 
 Will sing the same, and then their couplets all 
 Like honey from the honey-comb will fall." 
 
 So, long ago, the whispering pines among, 
 Faneto de Gauteume ^ may have sung, 
 When she the glory of her star-crowned head 
 On Roumanin and on the Alpines shed ; 
 Or Countess Dio,^ of the passionate lays, 
 Who held her courts of love in the old days.
 
 Canto m.] THE COCOONINQ. 55 
 
 But now Mireio, to the room returning, 
 With face as radiant as an Easter morning, 
 A flagon bore ; and, for their spirits' sake, 
 Besought them all her beverage to partake : 
 " For this will make us work with heartier will ; 
 So come, good women, and your goblets fill ! " 
 
 Then, pouring from the wicker-covered flask 
 A generous drink for whosoe'er might ask, 
 (A string of gold the falling liquor made), 
 " I mixed this cordial mine own self," she said : 
 " One leaves it in a window forty days. 
 That it may mellow in the sun's hot rays. ■ 
 
 " Herein are mountain herbs, in number three. 
 The liquor keeps their odor perfectly : 
 It strenothens one." Here brake in other voices : 
 " Listen, Mireio ! Tell us what your choice is ; 
 For these have told what they would do, if they 
 Were queens, or came to great estate one day. 
 
 " In such a case, Mireio, what would you ? " 
 « Who, I ? How can I tell what I would do ? 
 I am so happy in our own La Crau 
 With my dear parents, wherefore should I go ? " 
 "Ah, ha! " outspake another maiden bold : 
 "Little care you for silver or for gold.
 
 56 MIRi:iO. [Canto III. 
 
 " But on a certain morn, I mind it Avell, — 
 Forgive me, dear, that I the tale should tell ! — 
 'Twas Tuesday : I had gathered sticks that day, 
 And, fagot on my hip, had won my way 
 Almost to La Crous-Blanco, when I 'spied 
 You in a tree, with some one by your side 
 
 " Who chatted gayly. A lithe form he had " — 
 
 " Whence did he come ? " they cried. " Who was the 
 
 lad?" 
 Said Noro, " To tell that were not so easy. 
 Because among the thick-leaved mulberry-trees he 
 Was hidden half; yet think I 'twas the clever 
 Vincen, the Valabregan basket-weaver ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the damsels all, with peals of laughter, 
 " See you not what the little cheat was after ? 
 A pretty basket she would fain receive. 
 And made this poor boy in her love believe ! 
 The fairest maiden the whole country over 
 Has chosen the barefoot Vincen for her lover ! " 
 
 So mocked they, till o'er each young countenance 
 In turn there fell a dark and sidelong glance, — 
 Taven's, — who cried, "A thousand curses fall 
 Upon you, and the vampire ^° seize you all ! 
 If the good Lord from heaven this way came, 
 You girls, I think, would giggle all the same.
 
 4- 
 
 Canto III.] THE COCOONING. 57 
 
 " 'Tis brave to laugh at this poor lad of osiers ; 
 But mark ! the future may make strange disclosures, 
 Poor though he be. Now hear the oracle ! 
 God in his house once 'wrought a miracle ; 
 And I can show the truth of what I say, 
 For, lasses, it all happened in my day. 
 
 " Once, in the wild woods of the Luberon,-^^ 
 A shepherd kept his flock. His days were long ; 
 But when at last the same were well-nigh spent. 
 And toward the grave his iron frame was bent, 
 He sought the hermit of Saint Ouqueri, 
 To make his last confession piously. 
 
 "Alone, in the Vaumasco ^^ valley lost. 
 His foot had never sacred threshold crost, 
 Since he partook his first communion. 
 Even his prayers were from his memory gone ; 
 But now he rose and left his cottage lowly. 
 And came and bowed before the hermit holy. 
 
 " ' With what sin chargest thou thyself, my brother ? ' 
 
 The solitary said. Replied the other, 
 
 The aged man, ' Once, long ago, I slew 
 
 A little bird about my flock that flew, — 
 
 A cruel stone I flung its life to end : 
 
 It was a wag-tail, and the shcjiherds' friend.'
 
 58 MIRi:iO. [Canto III. 
 
 " ' Is this a simple soul,' the hermit thought, 
 
 ' Or is it an impostor ? ' And he sought 
 
 Curiously to read the old man's face 
 
 Until, to solve the riddle, ' Go,' he says, 
 
 ' And hang thy shepherd's cloak yon beam upon, 
 
 And afterward I will absolve my sou,' 
 
 "A single sunbeam through the chaj^el strayed ; 
 And there it was the priest the suppliant bade 
 To hang his cloak ! But the good soul arose. 
 And drew it off with mien of all rej^ose, 
 And threw it upward. And it hung in sight 
 Suspended on the slender shaft of light ! 
 
 " Then fell the hermit prostrate on the floor, 
 ' Oh, man of God ! ' he cried, and he wept sore, 
 ' Let but the blessed hand these tears bedcAV, 
 Fulfil the sacred office for us two ! 
 No sins of thine can I absolve, 'tis clear: 
 Thou art the saint, and I the sinner here ! ' " 
 
 Her story ended, the crone said no more ; 
 
 But all the laughter of the maids was o'er. 
 
 Only Laureto dared one little joke : 
 
 " This tells us ne'er to laugh at any cloak ! 
 
 Good may the beast be, although rough the hide ; 
 
 But, girls, methought young mistress I espied
 
 J_ 
 
 Canto III.] THE COCOONINQ. 59 
 
 " Grow crimson as an autumn grape, because 
 Vincen's dear name so lightly uttered was. 
 There 's mystery here ! Mireio, we are jealous ! 
 Lasted the picking long that day ? Pray, tell us ! 
 When two friends meet, the hour is winged with pleasure ; 
 And, for a lover, one has always leisure ! " 
 
 " Oh, fie ! " Mireio said, " Enough of joking ! 
 Mind your work now, and be not so provoking ! 
 You would make swear the very saints ! But I 
 Promise you one and all, most faithfully, 
 I '11 seek a convent while my years are tender, 
 Sooner than e'er ray maiden heart sun-ender ! " 
 
 Then brake the damsels into merry chorus : 
 " Have we not pretty Magali before us ? 
 Who love and lovers held in such disdain 
 That, to escape their torment, she was fain 
 To Saint Blasi's in Aries away to hie, 
 And bury her sweet self from every eye." 
 
 " Come, Noro, you, whose voice is ever thrilling. 
 Who charm us all, sing now, if you are willing, 
 The song of Magali, the cunning fairy. 
 Who love had shunned by all devices airy. 
 A bird, a vine, a sunbeam she became. 
 Yet fell herself, love's victim all the same !
 
 60 MIBMO. [Canto III. 
 
 " Queen of ray soul ! " sang Noro, and the rest 
 
 Fell straightway to their work with twofold zest ; 
 
 And as, when one cicala doth begin 
 
 Its high midsummer note, the rest fall in 
 
 And swell the chorus, so the damsels here 
 
 Sang the refrain with voices loud and clear : — 
 
 i.'2 
 
 " Magali, queen of my soul, 
 
 The dawn is near ! 
 Hark to my tambourine. 
 Hide not thy bower within. 
 
 Open and hear I 
 
 II. 
 
 " The sky is full of stars. 
 
 And the wind soft ; 
 But, when thine eyes they see, 
 The stars, O Magali, 
 
 Will pale aloft ! " 
 
 in. 
 
 *' Idle as summer breeze 
 The tune thou playest ! 
 
 1 '11 vanish in the sea, 
 
 A silver eel will be. 
 Ere thou me stayest."
 
 J_ 
 
 Ca>'to III.] TEE COGOONINQ. 61 
 
 IV. 
 
 *' If thou become an eel. 
 
 And so forsake me, 
 I will turn fisher too. 
 And fish the water blue 
 
 Until I take thee ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 " In vain with net or line 
 
 Thou me imjilorest : 
 I '11 be a bird that day, 
 And wing my trackless way 
 
 Into the forest ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 " If thou become a bird. 
 
 And so dost dare me, 
 I will a fowler be. 
 And follow cunningly 
 
 Until I snare thee ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 " When thou thy cruel snare 
 
 Settest full surely, 
 I will a flower become, 
 And in my prairie home ^ 
 
 Hide me securely ! " 
 
 vin. 
 
 " If thou become a flower, 
 
 Before thou thinkest 
 I '11 be a streamlet clear, 
 And all the water bear 
 
 That thou, love, drinkest !"
 
 62 AtIR£lO. [Canto III. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " When thou, a stream, dost feed 
 
 The flower yonder, 
 I will turn cloud straightway, 
 And to America 
 
 Away 1 11 wander." 
 
 X. 
 
 ' ' Though thou to India 
 
 Fly from thy lover, 
 ' Still I will follow thee : 
 I the sea-breeze will be 
 
 To waft thee over ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 " I can outstrip the breeze 
 
 Fast as it flieth : 
 I '11 be the swift sun-ray 
 That melts the ice away 
 
 And the grass drieth ! " 
 
 xir. 
 
 " Sunlight if thou become, 
 
 Are my wiles ended ? 
 I '11 be a lizard green, 
 And quaff the golden sheen 
 
 To make me splendid ! " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "Be thou a Triton, hid 
 
 In the dark sedges ! 
 I 'm the moon by whose ray 
 Fairies and witches pay 
 
 Their mystic pledges ! "
 
 Cajjto III.] TEE COCOONING. 63 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " If thou the moon -wilt be 
 
 Sailing in glory, 
 I '11 be the halo white 
 Hovering every night 
 
 Around and o'er thee ! " 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Yet shall thy shadowy arm 
 
 Embrace me never ! 
 I will turn virgin rose, 
 And all my thorns oppose 
 
 To thee for ever ! " 
 
 XVI. ' 
 
 " If thou become a rose, 
 
 Vain too shall this be ! 
 Seest thou not that I, 
 As a bright butterfly, 
 
 Freely may kiss thee ? " 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "Urge, then, thy mad pursuit: 
 
 Idly thou 'It follow ! 
 I '11 in the deep wood bide ; 
 I '11 in the old oak hide. 
 
 Gnarled and hollow." 
 
 xvm. 
 
 " In the dim forest "lade 
 
 Wilt thou be hidden ? 
 I '11 be the ivy-vine, 
 And my long arms entwine 
 
 Round thee unbidden ! "
 
 64 MIRi:iO. [Canto III. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Fold tliine arras tightly, then : 
 
 Clasp the oak only ! 
 I 'II a white sister be ! 
 Far off in St. Blasi, 
 
 Secure and lonely ! " 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Be thou a white-veiled nun 
 
 Come to confession, 
 I Avill be there as priest. 
 Thee freely to divest 
 
 Of all transgression ! " 
 
 The startled women tlieir cocoons let fall. 
 
 " Noro, make haste ! " outspake they one and all : 
 
 " What could our hunted Magali answer then ? 
 
 A nun, poor dear, Avho had already been 
 
 A cloud, a bird, a fish, an oak, a flower, 
 
 The sun, the moon, the stream, in one short hour ? " 
 
 "Ah, yes! " said Noro, "I the rest will sing: 
 
 She was, I think, the cloister entering ; 
 
 And that mad fowler dared to promise her 
 
 He would in the confessional appear, 
 
 And shrive her. Therefore hear what she replies : 
 
 The maid hath yet another last device : " —
 
 Camto III.] THE COCOONINQ. 65 
 
 XXI. 
 
 *' Enter the sacred house ! 
 
 I shall be sleeping, 
 Robed in a winding-sheet, 
 Nuns at my head and feet. 
 
 Above me weeping." 
 
 xxn. 
 
 " If thou wert lifeless dust. 
 
 My toils were o'er : 
 I 'd be the yawning grave. 
 Thee in my arms to have 
 
 For evermore ! " 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Now know I thou art true, 
 
 Leave me not yet ! 
 Come, singer fair, and take 
 And wear for my sake 
 
 This annulet ! " 
 
 ' XXIV. 
 
 "Look up, my blessed one. 
 
 The heaven scan ! 
 Since the stars came to see 
 Thee, O my Magali, 
 
 They are turned wan ! " 
 
 A silence fell, the sweet song being ended : 
 Only with the last moving notes had blended 
 
 5
 
 66 MIRSIO. [Canto III. 
 
 The voices of the rest. Their heads were drooping, 
 As they before the melody were stooping, 
 Like slender reeds that lean and sway for ever 
 Before the flowing eddies of a river. 
 
 Till Noro said, " Now is the air serene ; 
 
 And here the mowers come, their scythes to clean 
 
 Beside the vivary brook. Mireio, dear. 
 
 Bring us a few St. John's Day apples here. 
 
 And we Avill add a little new-made cheese. 
 
 And take our lunch beneath the lotus-trees."
 
 NOTES TO CANTO III. 
 
 1 The cocooning, or gathering of the cocoons, described in the 
 seventh stanza of this canto. 
 
 2 The Ferigoulet is an excellent wine grown on one of the hill- 
 sides of Graveson. Ferigoulo is thyme, and the wine recalls the 
 perfume of that plant. 
 
 3 " The Baume Muscat." Baurae is a village in the depart- 
 ment of Vaucluse. The environs produce a Muscat that is much 
 esteemed. 
 
 * " Turned white." The canela, or whitening, is the term used 
 to describe the silk-worms suffering from the terrible disease called 
 the muscardine, due to the development of a sort of mouldiness, 
 and which gives them a plaster-like appearance. 
 
 5 "You've still your caul on," — as ta crespino. Crespino, a 
 cap, is also used for the membrane some children have upon their 
 heads at birth, and which is supposed to be a sign of good luck. 
 
 6 " Ventour." A high mountain to the north-east of Avignon, 
 abruptly rising 6,440 feet above the level of the sea, isolated, steep, 
 visible forty leagues off, and for six months of the year capped 
 with snow. 
 
 7 " Notre Dame des Dom." The cathedral church at Avignon, 
 where the Popes formerly officiated. 
 
 8 " Faneto de Gauteume." Janette, abridged from Estefanette, 
 of the noble family of Gauteume, or Gautelme, presided, about tiie 
 year 1840, over the Court of Love at Roumanin. Courts of Love 
 are known to liave been i)oetical assizes, at which the noblest, 
 most beautiful, and most learned ladies in Gay-saber decided on
 
 68 MIE£I0. [Canto III. 
 
 questions of gallantry and love, and awarded prizes for Proven9al 
 poetry. The celebrated and lovely Laura was niece to Fanette 
 de Gautehne, and a member of her graceful areopagus. The ruins 
 of the Castle of Roumanin may still be seen, not far from St. 
 Remy, at the foot of the northern slope of the Lower Alps. 
 
 9 " Countess Dio." A celebrated poetess of the middle of the 
 twelfth century. Such of her poems as have come down to us 
 contain strains more impassioned, and occasionally more volup- 
 tuous, than those of Sappho. 
 
 ^0 The vampire, or roumeso, is thus described in the " Castag- 
 nados " of the Marquis Lafare Alais : — 
 
 " Sus vint arpo d'aragno 
 S'ecasso soun cars brun. 
 Soun ventre que regagno 
 Di febre e de magagno 
 Suso I'arre frescun." 
 
 That is, " On twenty spider-legs its brown body, as on stilts, is 
 mounted ; its belly swelled with fever and rottenness ; the horrid 
 odor thereof exudes." 
 
 11 The Luberon, or Luberoun, is a mountain-chain in the de- 
 partment of Vaucluse. 
 
 1'^ The Vaumasco (from Vau and Masco, Valley of Sorcerers) is 
 a valley of the Luberoun, formerly inhabited by the Vaudois. 
 
 13 The song of Magali belongs to the class of poems called 
 aiibado, — music performed under a window in early morning, as 
 a serenade is in tlie evening. (Beside the version given in the 
 text, I have rendered the Song of Magali — rather roughly — 
 into the peculiar and most ?«j-English metre of the original ; for I 
 would not have the American readers of " Mireio" miss the pos- 
 sible pleasure of singing this unique love-song to the simple but 
 charming Proven9al air to which it belongs. This second version 
 will be found in the Appendix, together with the melody aforesaid, 
 as transcribed for the piano by M. Fr. Seguin. — Am. Tr.)
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 THE SUITORS. 
 
 TT THEN violets are blue in the blue shadows 
 
 ' ' Of the o'erhanging trees, 
 The youth who stray in pairs about the meadows 
 Are glad to gather these. 
 
 When peace descends upon the troubled Ocean, 
 
 And he his wrath forgets. 
 Flock from Mfirtigue the boats with wing-like motion, 
 
 The fishes fill their nets. 
 
 And when the girls of Crau bloom into beauty 
 
 (And fairer earth knows not), 
 Aye are there suitors veady for their duty 
 
 In castle and in cot. 
 
 Thus to Mireio's home came seeking her 
 A trio notable, — a horse-tamer, 
 A herdsman, and a shepherd. It befell 
 The last was first who came his tale to tell. 
 Alari was his name, a wealthy man, — 
 He had a thousand sheep, the story ran.
 
 70 MlliiJIO. [Canto IV. 
 
 «■■ The same were wont to feed the winter long 
 In rich salt-pastures by Lake Entressen. 
 And at wheat-boiling time, in burning May, 
 Hiiiiself would often lead his flock, they say, 
 Up through the hills to pastures green and high : 
 They say moreover, and full faith have I, 
 
 That ever as St. Mark's came round again 
 Nine noted shearers Alari would retain 
 Three days to shear his flock. Added to these 
 A man to bear away each heavy fleece, 
 And a sheep-boy who back and forward ran 
 And filled the shearer's quickly emptied can. 
 
 But when the days were shortening, and the snow 
 Whitened the mountain summits of Gavot, 
 A stately sight it was that flock to see 
 Wind from the upper vales of Daiaphiny, 
 And o'er the Crau pursue their devious ways, 
 Upon the toothsome winter grass to graze. 
 
 Also to watch them there where they defile 
 Into the stony road were well worth while ; 
 The early lambkins all the rest outstripping 
 And merrily about the lamb-herd leaj^ing. 
 The bell-decked asses with their foals beside. 
 Or following after them. These had for guide
 
 Canto IV.] THE SUITORS. 71 
 
 A drover, who a patient mule bestrode. 
 Its wattled panniers bare a motley load : 
 Food for the shepherd-folk, and flasks of Avine, 
 And the still bleeding hides of slaughtered kine ; 
 And folded garments whereon oft there lay 
 Some weakly lamb, a-weary of the way. 
 
 Next came abreast — the captains of the host — 
 Five fiery bucks, their fearsome heads uptost : 
 With bells loud jingling and with sidelong glances. 
 And backward curving horns, each one advances. 
 The sober mothers follow close behind, 
 Strivins: their lawless little kids to mind. 
 
 A rude troop and a ravenous they are. 
 
 And these the goat-herd hath in anxious care. 
 
 And after them there follow jDresently 
 
 The great ram-chiefs, with muzzles lifted high : 
 
 You know them by the heavy horn that lies 
 
 Thrice curved about the ear in curious wise. 
 
 Their ribs and backs with tufts of wool are decked, 
 That they may have their meed of due respect 
 As the flock's grandsires. Plain to all beholders. 
 With sheepskin cloak folded about his shoulders. 
 Strides the chief-shepherd next, with lordly swing ; 
 The main corps of his army following.
 
 72 Mlli£:iO. [Ca.nto IV. 
 
 Tumbling through clouds of dust, the great ewe-dams 
 
 Call with loud bleatings to their bleating lambs. 
 
 The little horned ones are gayly drest, 
 
 With tiny tufts of scarlet on the breast 
 
 And o'er the neck. While, filling the next place, 
 
 The woolly sheep advance at solemn pace. 
 
 Amid the tumult now and then the cries 
 Of shepherd-boy to shepherd-dog arise. 
 For now the pitch-marked herd innumerable 
 Press forward : yearlings, two-year-olds as well. 
 Those who have lost their lambs, and those who carry 
 Twin lambs unborn with footsteps slow and weary. 
 
 A ragamuffin troop brings up the rear. 
 The barren and past-breeding ewes are here. 
 The lame, the toothless, and the remnant sorry 
 Of many a mighty ram, lean now and hoary, 
 Who from his earthly labors long bath rested. 
 Of honor and of horns alike divested. 
 
 All these who fill the road and mountain-passes — 
 
 Old, young, good, bad, and neither; sheep, goats, asses — 
 
 Are Alari's, every one. He stands the while 
 
 And watches them, a hundred in a file. 
 
 Pass on before him ; and the man's eyes laiigh. 
 
 His wand of office is a maple-staff".
 
 Canto IV.] THE SUITORS. 
 
 And wlien to pasture with his dogs hies he, 
 And leathern gaiters buttoned to the knee, 
 His forehead to an ample wisdom grown 
 And air serene might be King David's own, 
 When in his youth he led, as the tale tells. 
 The flocks at eve beside his father's wells. 
 
 This was the chief toward Lotus Farm who drew, 
 And presently Mireio's self who knew 
 Flitting about the doorway. His heart bounded. 
 " Good Heaven ! " he cried, " her praises they have 
 
 sounded 
 Nowise too loudly ! Ne'er saw I such grace 
 Or high or low, in life or pictured face ! " 
 
 Only that jface to see, his flock forsaking, 
 Alari had come. Yet now his heart was quaking 
 When, standing in the presence of the maid, 
 " Would you so gracious be, fair one," he said, 
 " As to point out the way these hills to cross ? 
 For else find I myself at utter loss." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " rephed the girl, ingenuously, 
 
 " Thou takest the straight road, and comcst thereby 
 
 Into Peiro-raalo desert. Then 
 
 Follow the winding path till thou attain 
 
 A portico ^ with an old tomb anear: 
 
 Two statues of great generals it doth bear.
 
 MIR£I0. [Canto IV. 
 
 Antiquities they call them hereabout." 
 
 " Thanks, many ! " said the youth. " I had come out 
 
 A thousand of my woolly tribe, or so, 
 
 To lead into the mountains from La Crau. 
 
 We leave to-morrow. I their way direct. 
 
 And sleeping-spots and feeding-ground select. 
 
 " They bear my mark, and are of fine breed, all ; 
 
 And for my shepherdess, when one I call 
 
 My own, the nightingales will ever sing. 
 
 And dared I hope you 'd take my offering, 
 
 Mireio dear, no gems I 'd tender you. 
 
 But a carved box-wood cup, — mine own work too ! " 
 
 Therewith he brought to light a goblet fair. 
 Wrapped like some sacred relic with all care, 
 And carven of box-wood green. It was his pleasure 
 Such things to fashion in his hours of leisure ; 
 And, sitting rapt upon some wayside stone, 
 He wrought divinely with a knife alone. 
 
 He carved him castanets with fingers lig-ht. 
 
 So that his flock would follow him at niacht 
 
 Through the dark fields, obedient to their tones. 
 
 And on the ringing collars, and the bones 
 
 That served for bell-tongues, he would cut with skill 
 
 Faces and figures, flowers and birds, at will.
 
 JL 
 
 Canto IV.] THE SUITORS. 75 
 
 As for the goblet he was tendering, 
 
 You would have said that no such fairy thing 
 
 Was ever wrought by shepherd's knife or wit : 
 
 A full-flowered poppy wreathed the rim of it ; 
 
 And in among the languid flowers there 
 
 Two chamois browsed, and these the handles were. 
 
 A little lower down were maidens three, 
 And certes they were marvellous to see : 
 Near by, beneath a tree, a shepherd-lad 
 Slept, while on tiptoe stole the maidens glad, 
 And sought to seal his lips, ere he should waken, 
 With a grape-cluster from their basket taken. 
 
 Yet even now he smiles at their illusion. 
 So that the foremost maid is all confusion. 
 The odor of the goblet proved it new : 
 The giver had not drunk therefrom ; and you 
 Had said, but for their woody coloring. 
 The carven shapes were each a living thing. 
 
 Mireio scanned the fair cup curiously. 
 
 "A tempting ofiering thine, shepherd!" said she: 
 
 But suddenly, " A finer one than this 
 
 Hath my heart's lord ! Shepherd, his love it is ! 
 
 Mine eyes close, his impassioned glances feeling : 
 
 I falter with the rapture o'er me stealing ! "
 
 76 MIRi:iO. [Canto IV. 
 
 So saying, she vanished like a tricksy sprite ; 
 And Ahiri turned, and in the gray twilight 
 Ruefully, carefully, he folded up 
 And bore away again his carven cup, 
 Deeming it sad and strange this winsome elf 
 Her love should yield to any but himself. 
 
 Soon to the f\irm came suitor number two, 
 ,A keeper of -wild horses from Sambu, ^ — 
 Veran, by name. About his island home 
 In the great prairies, where the asters bloom. 
 He used to keep a hundred milk-white steeds, 
 Who nipped the heads of all the lofty reeds. 
 
 A hundred steeds ! Their long manes flowing free 
 As the foam-crested billows of the sea ! 
 Wavy and thick and all unshorn were they ; 
 And when the horses on their headlong way 
 Plunged all together, their dishevelled hair 
 Seemed the white robes of creatures of the air. 
 
 I say it to the shame of human kind : 
 Camargan ^ steeds were never known to mind 
 The cruel spur more than the coaxing hand. 
 Only a few or so, I understand. 
 By treachery seduced, have halter worn. 
 And from their own salt prairies been borne ;
 
 Los Angei«s, Cal. 
 
 Canto IV.] ' TEE SUITORS. 77 
 
 Yet the day comes when, with a vicious start, 
 Their riders throwing, suddenly they part. 
 And twenty leagues of land unresting scour, 
 SnufBng the Avind, till Vacares* once more 
 They find, the salt air breathe, and joy to be 
 In freedom after ten years' slavery. 
 
 For these wild steed* are with the sea at home : 
 Have they not still the color of the foam ? 
 Perchance they brake from old King Neptune's car ; 
 For when the sea turns dark and moans afar. 
 And the ships part their cables in the bay. 
 The stallions of Carmargue rejoicing neigh. 
 
 Their sweeping tails like whipcord snapping loudly; 
 Or pawing the earth, all, fiercely and j^roudly, 
 As though their flanks were stung as with a rod 
 By the sharp trident of the angry god, 
 "Who makes the rain a deluge, and the ocean 
 Stirs to its depths in uttermost commotion. 
 
 And these were all Veran's. Therefore one day 
 
 The island-chieftain paused upon his Avay 
 
 Across La Crau beside Mireio's door ; 
 
 For she was fimed, and shall be evennore, 
 
 For beauty, all about the delta wdde 
 
 Where the great Rhone raeeteth the ocean tide.
 
 78 MIR£:I0. [Canto IV 
 
 Confident came Veran to tell his passion, 
 
 With paletot, in the Arlesian fashion, 
 
 Lono-, lio-ht, and backward from his shoulders flowing ; 
 
 His gay-hued girdle like a lizard glowing, 
 
 The while his head an oil-skin cap protected, 
 
 Wherefrom the dazzling sun-rays were reflected. 
 
 And first the youth to Master Ramoun drew. 
 " Good-morrow to you, and good fortune too ! " 
 He said. " I come from the Camargan Rhone, 
 As keeper Peire's grandson I am known. 
 Thou mindest him ! For twenty years or more 
 My grandsire's horses trod thy threshing-floor. 
 
 " Three dozen had the old man venerable, 
 As thou, beyond a doubt, rememberest well. 
 But would I, Master Ramoun, it were given 
 To thee to see the increase of that leaven! 
 Let ply the sickles ! We the rest will do, 
 For now have we an hundred lacking two ! " 
 
 " And long, my son," the old man said, " pray I 
 That you may see them feed and multiply. 
 I knew your grandsire well for no brief time ; 
 But now on him and me the hoary rime 
 Of age descends, and by the home lamp's ray 
 We sit content, and no more visits pay."
 
 Canto IV.] THE SUITOBS. 79 
 
 " But, Master Ramoun," cried the youthful lover, 
 " All that I want thou dost not yet discover ! 
 Far down at Sarabu, in my island home. 
 When the Crau folk for loads of litter come, 
 And we help cord them down, it happens so 
 "We talk sometimes about the girls of Crau. 
 
 " And thy Mireio they have all portrayed 
 So charmingly, that, if thou wilt," he said, 
 " And if thou like me, I would gladly be 
 Thy son-in-law ! " " God grant me this to see ! " 
 Said Ramoun. " The brave scion of my friend 
 To me and mine can only honor lend." 
 
 Then did he fold his hands and them upraise 
 In saint-like gratitude. " And yet," he says, 
 " The child must like you too, O Veranet ! ^ 
 The only one Avill alway be a pet ! 
 Meanwhile, in earnest of the dower I '11 give her, 
 The blessing of the saints be yours for ever ! " 
 
 Forthwith summoned Ramoun his little daughter, 
 
 And told her of the friend who thus had sought her. 
 
 Pale, trembling, and afraid, " O father dear ! " 
 
 She said, "is not thy wisdom halting here ? 
 
 For I am but a child : thou dost forget. 
 
 Surely thou wouldst not send me from thee yet! 
 
 f
 
 80 MIREIO. [Canto IV. 
 
 " Slowly, so thou hast often said to me, 
 
 Folk learn to love and live in harmony. 
 
 For one must know, and also must be known ; 
 
 And even then, my father, all 's not done ! " 
 
 Here the dark sliadow on her brow was lit 
 
 By some bright thought that e'en transfigured it. 
 
 So the drenched flowers, when morning rains are o'er, 
 Lift up their heavy heads, and smile once more. 
 3Iireio's 'mother held her daughter'' s viev). 
 Then blandly rose the keeper, " Adieu, 
 Master," he said : " who in Camargue hath dwelt 
 Knows the mosquito-sting as soon as felt." 
 
 Also that summer came to Lotus Place 
 One from Petite Camargue,® called Ourrias. 
 Breaker and brander of wild cattle, he ; 
 And black and furious all the cattle be 
 Over those briny pastures Avild Avho run. 
 Maddened by flood and fog and scalding sun. 
 
 Alone this Ourrias had them all in charge 
 Summer and winter, where they roamed at large. 
 And so, among the cattle born and grown. 
 Their build, their cruel heart, became his own ; 
 His the wild eye, dark color, dogged look. 
 How often, throwing oS" his coat, he took
 
 Canto IV.] THE SUITORS. 81 
 
 His cudsrel, — sfivac-e weaner ! — never blenchins^, 
 And first the young calves from the udders ^vTenching. 
 Upon the wrathful mother fell so madly 
 That cudgel after cudgel brake he gladly, 
 Till she, by his brute fury mastered, 
 Wild-eyed and lowing to the pine-copse fled ! 
 
 Oft in the branding at Camargue had he 
 Oxen and heifers, two-year-olds and three. 
 Seized by the horns and stretched upon the ground. 
 His forehead bare the scar of an old wound 
 Fiery and forked like lightning. It was said 
 That once the green plain with his blood was red. 
 
 On a great branding-day befell this thing : 
 
 To aid the mighty herd in mustering, 
 
 Li Santo, Agui Morto,'' Albaron,^ 
 
 And Faraman ^ a hundred horsemen strong 
 
 Had sent into the desert. And the herd 
 
 Roused from its briny lairs, and, forward spurred 
 
 By tridents of the branders close behind, 
 Fell on the land like a destroying wind. 
 Heifers and bulls in headlong gallop borne 
 Plunged, crushing centaury ^° and salicorne ; " 
 And at the branding-booth at last they mustered. 
 Just where a crowd three hundred strong had clustered.
 
 82 MIBiJlO. [Canto IV. 
 
 A moment, as it scared, the beasts were still. 
 Then, when the cruel spur once more they feel, 
 They start afresh, into a run they break, 
 And thrice the circuit of the arena make ; 
 As marterns fly a dog, or hawks afar 
 By eagles in the Luberon hunted are. 
 
 Then Oiirrias — what ne'er was done before — 
 Leaped fi'om his horse beside the circus-door 
 Amid the crowd. The cattle start again, 
 All saving five young bulls, and scour the plain ; 
 But these, with flaming eyes and horns defying 
 Heaven itself, are through the arena flying. 
 
 And he pursues them. As a mighty wind 
 
 Drives on the clouds, he goads them from behind, 
 
 And presently outstrips them in the race ; 
 
 Then thumps them with the cruel goad he sways, 
 
 Dances before them as infuriate. 
 
 And lets them feel his own fists' heavy weight. 
 
 The people clap and shout, while Ourrias 
 White with Olympic dust encountered has 
 One bull, and seized him by the horns at length ; 
 And now 'tis head to muzzle, strength for strength. 
 The monster strains his prisoned horns to free 
 Until he bleeds, and bellows horribly.
 
 Canto IV.] THE SUITORS. 83 
 
 But vain his fury, useless all his trouble ! 
 The neatherd had the art to turn and double 
 And force the huge head with his shoulder round, 
 And shove it roughly back, till on the ground 
 Christian and beast together rolled, and made 
 A formless heap like some huge barricade. 
 
 The tamarisks ^- are shaken by the cry 
 
 Of " Brave Ourrias ! That 's done valiantly ! " 
 
 While five stout youths the bull pin to the sward ; 
 
 And Ourrias, his triumph to record. 
 
 Seizes the red-hot iron with eager hand. 
 
 The vanquished monster on the hip to brand. 
 
 Then come a troop of girls on milk-white ponies, — 
 Arlesians, — flushed and panting every one is, 
 As o'er the arena at full gallop borne 
 They offer him a noble drinking-horn 
 Brimful of wine ; then turn and disappear, 
 Each followed by her faithful cavalier. 
 
 The hero heeds them not. His mind is set 
 On the four monsters to be branded yet : 
 The mower toils the harder for the grass 
 He sees unmown. And so this Ouri'ias 
 Fought the more savagely as his foes warmed. 
 And conquered in the end, — but not unharmed.
 
 84 MIRSIO. [Canto IV. 
 
 White-spotted and with horns magnificent, 
 
 The fourth beast grazed the gi-een in all content. 
 
 " Now man, enough ! " in vain the neatherds shouted ; 
 
 Couched is the trident and the caution flouted ; 
 
 With perspiration streaming, bosom bare, 
 
 Ourrias the spotted bull charged then and there ! 
 
 He meets his enemy, a blow delivers 
 Full in the face ; but ah ! the trident shivers. 
 The beast becomes a demon with the Avound : 
 The brander grasps his horns, is Avhirled around, — 
 They start together, and are borne amain, 
 Crushing the salicornes along the plain. 
 
 The mounted herdsmen, on their long goads leaning, 
 
 Regard the mortal fray ; for each is meaning 
 
 Dire vengeance now. The man the brute would crush. 
 
 The brute bears off" the man with furious rush ; 
 
 The while with heavy, frothy tongue he clears 
 
 The blood that to his hanging lip adheres. 
 
 The brute prevailed. The man fell dazed, and lay 
 Like a vile rakeful in the monster's way. 
 " Sham dead ! " went up a cry of agony. 
 Vain words ! The beast his victim lifted high 
 On cruel horns and savage head inclined. 
 And flung him six and forty feet behind !
 
 Canto IV.] THE SUITORS. 85 
 
 Once more a deafening outcry filled the place 
 And shook the tamarisks. But Ourrias 
 Fell prone to earth, and ever after wore he 
 The ugly scar that marred his brow so sorely. 
 !N"ow, mounted on his mare, he paces slow 
 With goad erect to seek Mireio. 
 
 It chanced the little maid was all alone. 
 
 She had, that morning, to the fountain gone ; 
 
 And there, with sleeves and petticoats uprolled 
 
 And small feet dabbling in the water cold, 
 
 She was here cheese-forms cleanins; with shave-grrass : 
 
 And, lady saints ! how beautiful she was ! 
 
 " Good-morrow, pretty maid ! " began the wooer, 
 " Thy forms will shine like mirrors, to be sure ! 
 Will it offend thee, if I lead my mare 
 To drink out of thy limpid streamlet there ? " 
 " Pray give her all thou wilt, at the dam head : 
 We 've water here to spare ! " the maiden said. 
 
 " Fair one ! " spake the wild youth, " if e'er thou come 
 
 As pilgrim or as bride to make thy home 
 
 At Sylvareal ^* by the noisy wave, 
 
 No life of toil like this down here thou 'It have ! 
 
 Our fierce black cows are never milked, but these 
 
 Roam all at large, and women sit at ease."
 
 86 MIR£:I0. [Canto ly. 
 
 " Youns man, in cattle-land, I 've heard them say, 
 Maids die of languor." — " Pretty maiden, nay : 
 There is no languor where two are together ! " 
 " But brows are blistered in that burning weather, 
 And bitter waters drunk." — " When the sun shines, 
 3Iy lady, thou shalt sit beneath the pines! " 
 
 " Ah ! but they say, young man, those pines are laden 
 
 With coils of emerald serpents." — " Fairest maiden, 
 
 We 've herons also, and flamingoes red 
 
 That chase them down the Rhone with wings outspread 
 
 Like rosy mantles." — " Then, be thou aware. 
 
 Thy pines are from my lotus-trees too far ! " 
 
 " But priests and maidens, fair one, never know, 
 The proverb saith, the land where they may go 
 And eat their bread." — "Let mine but eaten be 
 With him I love : that were enough," said she, 
 " To lure me from the home-nest to remove." 
 " If that be so, sweet one, give me thy love ! " 
 
 " Thy suit," Mireio said, " mayhap I '11 grant ! 
 But first, young man, yon water-lily plant 
 Will bear a cluster of columbine^* grapes. 
 Yon hills will melt from all their solid shapes. 
 That goad will flower, and all the world will go 
 In boats unto the citadel of Baux ! "
 
 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
 
 1 A portico. Within half an hour's walk from St. Re'my, at the 
 foot of the Alpines, arise side by side two fine Roman monuments. 
 One is a triumi^hal arch ; the other, a magnificent mausoleum, of 
 three stories, adorned with rich bas-reliefs and surmounted by a 
 graceful cupola, supported by ten Corinthian pillars, through 
 which are discerned two statues in a standing attitude. They 
 are the last vestiges of Gianura, a Marseilles colony destroyed by 
 the Barbarians. 
 
 2 Sambu, a hamlet in the territory of Aries, in the isle of 
 .Camargue. 
 
 ^ Camargue is a vast delta, formed by the bifurcation of the 
 Rhone. The island extends from Aries to the sea, and comprises 
 184, 482^ acres. The immensity of its horizon, the awful silence 
 of its level plain, its strange vegetation, meres, swarms of mos- 
 quitos, large herds of oxen and wild horses, amaze the traveller, 
 and remind him of the pampas of South America. 
 
 * Vacares, a large assemblage of salt-ponds, lagunes, and moors 
 in the isle of Camargue. " Vacares " is formed of the word vaco 
 and the Provencal desinence ar(fs or eire's, indicating union, gener- 
 ality. It means a place where cows abound. 
 
 5 Veranet is the diminutive of Veran. 
 
 *> Petite Camargue, also called Sduvage, is bounded on the east 
 by the Petit Rhone, which separates it from Grande Camargue, on 
 the south by tlie Mediterranean, and on the west and north by the 
 Rhone Mort and the Aigui Morte canal. It is the principal resort 
 of the wild black oxen.
 
 88 MIB£/0. , [Canto IV. 
 
 7 8 9 Faraman and Ambaroun are hamlets in Camargue. Aigui 
 Morto is in the department of the Gard. It was at the port of this 
 town that St. Louis twice embarked for the Holy Land. Here also 
 Francis \. and Charles V. had an interview in 1579. 
 
 10 '1 Centaury and Salicorne. The Centaurea solstitialis, a species 
 of star-tliistle, abounds in the fields of Crau after harvest. Sali- 
 cornia fructicosa is a species of samphire. 
 
 1- Tiunarisk, the Tamarix gallica of Linnaeus. 
 
 ^3 Sylvare'al, a forest of parasol-pines in Petite Camargue. 
 
 1* " Columbine," the name of a large and superior sort of grape.
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 /^^OOL'with the coming eve the wind was blowing, 
 ^^ The shadows of the poplars longer growing ; 
 Yet still the westering sun was two hours high, 
 As the tired ploughman noted wistfully, — 
 Two hours of toil ere the fresh twilight come, 
 And wifely greeting by the door at home. 
 
 But Ourrias the brander left the spring. 
 
 The insult he had suffered pondering. 
 
 So moved to wrath was he, so stung with shame, 
 
 The blood into his very forehead came ; 
 
 And, muttering deadly spite beneath his teeth, 
 
 He drave at headlong gallop o'er the heath. 
 
 As damsons in a bush, the stones of Crau 
 
 Are plentiful ; and Ourrias, faming so. 
 
 Would gladly with the senseless flints have striven, 
 
 Or through the sun itself his lance have driven. 
 
 A wild boar from his lair forced to decamp. 
 
 And scour the desert slopes of black Oulym]>e,^
 
 90 MlRiilO. [Caxnto V. 
 
 Ere turning on the dogs upon his track, 
 
 Erects the rugged bristles of his back, 
 
 And whets his tusks upon the mountain oaks. 
 
 And now young Vincen with his comely looks 
 
 Must needs have chosen the herdsman's very path, 
 
 And meets him fall face, boiling o'er with wrath. 
 
 Whereas the simj^le dreamer wandered smiling, 
 His memory with a sweet tale beguiling, 
 That he had heard a fond girl whispering 
 Beneath a mulberry-tree one morn in spring. 
 Straight is he as a cane from the Durance ; 
 And love, peace, joy, beam from his countenance. 
 
 The soft air swells his loose, unbuttoned shirt : 
 His firm, bare feet are by the stones unhurt. 
 And light as lizard slips he o'er the way. 
 Oh ! many a time, when eve was cool and gray. 
 And all the land in shadow lay concealed, 
 He used to roam about the darkling field, . 
 
 Where the chill airs had shut the tender clover; 
 Or, like a butterfly, descend and hover 
 About the homestead of Mireio ; 
 Or, hidden cleverly, his hiding show. 
 Like a gold-crested or an ivy wren. 
 By a soft chirrup uttered now and then.
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 91 
 
 And she would know who called her, and would fly 
 Swift, silent, to the mulberry- tree hard by, 
 With quickened pulses. Fair is the moonlight 
 Upon narcissus-buds in summer night. 
 And sweet the rustle of the zephyr borne 
 In summer eve over the ripening corn, 
 
 Until the whole, in infinite undulation, 
 Seems like a great heart palpitant with passion. 
 Also the chamois hath a joy most keen 
 When through the savage Queiras^ raAane 
 All day before the huntsman he hath flown, 
 And stands at length upon a peak, alone 
 
 With larches and with ice fields, looking forth. 
 But all these joys and charms are little worth. 
 With the brief rapture of the hours compared — 
 Ah, brief! — that Vincen and Mireio shared. 
 When, by the friendly shadows favored, 
 (Speak low, my lips, for trees can hear, 'tis said,) 
 
 Their hands would seek each other and Avould meet, 
 And silence fall upon them, while their feet 
 Played idly with the pebbles in their way. 
 Until, not knowing better wliat to say, 
 The tyro-lover laughingly would tell 
 Of all the small mishaps that liim befell ;
 
 92 MIBSIO. [Cakto V. 
 
 Of nights he passed beneath the open heaven ; 
 Of bites the formers' dogs his legs had given, 
 And show his scars. And then the maid told o'er 
 Her tasks of that day and the day before ; 
 And what her parents said ; and how the goat 
 With trelUs-flowers had filled his greedy throat. 
 
 Once only — Vincen knew not what he did ; 
 
 But, stealthy as a wild-cat, he had slid 
 
 Alonsr the o-rasses of the barren moor. 
 
 And prostrate lay his darling's feet before. 
 
 Then — soft, my lips, because the trees can hear — 
 
 He said, " Give me one kiss, Mireio dear ! 
 
 " I cannot eat nor drink," he made his moan, 
 
 " For the great love I bear you ! Yea, mine own, , 
 
 Your breath the life out of my blood has taken. 
 
 Go not, Mireio ! Leave me not forsaken ! 
 
 From dawn to dawn, at least, let a true lover 
 
 Kneel, and your garment's hem with kisses cover ! " 
 
 " Why, Yincen," said Mireio, " that were sin ! 
 Then would the black-cap and the penduline* 
 Tell everywhere the secret they had heard ! " 
 " No fear of that ! for every tell-tale bird 
 I 'd banish from La Crau to Aries," said he ; 
 " For you, Mireio, are as heaven to me !
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 93 
 
 "Now list! There grows a plant in river Rhone, 
 
 Eel-grass * by name," said Master Ambroi's son : 
 
 " Two flowers it beareth, each on its own stem, 
 
 And a great space of water severs them, 
 
 For the plant groweth in the river's bed ; 
 
 But when the time for wooing comes," he said, 
 
 " One flower comes to the surfjice of the flood, 
 And in the genial sunshine opes its bud. 
 Whereon the other, seeing this so foir. 
 Swims eagerly to seize and kiss her there ; 
 But, for the tangled weeds, can she not gain 
 Her love, till her frail stem breaks with the strain. 
 
 " Now free at last, but dying, she doth raise 
 Her pale lips for her sister's last embrace. 
 So I ! One kiss, and I will die to-night ! 
 We are all alone ! " Mireio's cheek grew white. 
 Then sprang he, wild-eyed as a lissome beast, 
 And clasped her. Hurriedly the maid released 
 
 Herself from his too daring touch. Once more 
 He strove to seize, — but ah! my lips, speak lower, 
 For the trees hear, — " Give over ! " cried the girl, 
 And all her slender frame did writhe and curl. 
 Yet would he frantic cling ; but straight thereafter 
 She pinched him, bent, slipped, and, with ringing 
 laughter,
 
 94 MIRiJIO. [Canto V. 
 
 The saucy little damsel sped away, 
 And lifted up her voice in mocking lay. 
 Thus sowed these two upon the twilight heath 
 Their pretty raoon-wheat,^ as the proverb saith. 
 Flowery the moments were, and fleet with pleasure: 
 Of such our Lord giveth abundant measure 
 
 To peasants and to kings alike. And so 
 I come to what befell that eve on Crau. 
 Ourrias and Vincen met. As lightning cleaves 
 The first tall tree, Ourrias his wrath relieves. 
 " 'Tis you son of a hag, for aught I know. 
 Who have bewitched her, — this Mireio ; 
 
 " And, since your path w^ould seem to lie her way, 
 Tell her, tatterdemalion, what I say ! 
 No more for her nor for her weasel fixce 
 Care I than for the ancient clout," he says, 
 " That from your shoulders fluttering I see. 
 Go, pretty coxcomb, tell her this from me ! " 
 
 Stopped Vincen thunderstruck. His wrath leaped high 
 
 As leaps a fiery rocket to the sky. 
 
 " Is it your pleasure that I strangle you. 
 
 Base churl," he said, " or double you in two ? " 
 
 And faced him with a look he well might dread. 
 
 As when a starving leopard turns her head.
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 95 
 
 His fiice was purple, quivered all his frame. 
 " Oh, better try ! " the mocking answer came. 
 " You '11 roll headfirst upon the gravel, neighbor ! 
 Bah, puny hands ! meet for no better labor 
 Than to twist osiers when they 're supple made ; 
 Or to rob hen-roosts, lurking in the shade ! " 
 
 Stung by the insult, " Yea, I can twist osier. 
 And I can twist your neck with all composure," 
 Said Vincen. " Fly me, coward, while you may ! 
 Or, by St. Jacques of Gallicia, 
 You '11 never see your tamarisks any more! 
 This iron first shall bray your limbs before ! " 
 
 Wondering, and charmed to find by such quick chance 
 
 A man whereon to wreak his vengeance, 
 
 " Wait ! " said the herdsman : " be not over-hot ! 
 
 First let me have a pipe, young idiot ! " 
 
 And brought to light a buckskin pouch, and set 
 
 Between his teeth a broken calumet. 
 
 Then scornfully, " While rocking you, ray lamb. 
 Under the goose-foot,* did your gypsy-dam 
 Ne'er tell the tale of Jan de I'Ourse,'^ P^y ? — 
 Two men in one, Avho, having gone one day. 
 By orders, to plough stubble with two yoke. 
 Seized plough and teams, as shepherds do a crook. 
 
 v
 
 96 MIRi:lO. [Canto V. 
 
 " And hurled them o'er a poplar-tree hard by ? 
 Well for you, urchin, there 's no poplar nigh ! 
 You couldn't lead a stray ass whence it came ! " 
 But Vincen stood like pointer to the game. 
 " I say," he roared in tones stentorian, 
 " Will you come down, or must I fetch you, man 
 
 " Or hog ? Come ! Brag no more upon your beast ; 
 You flinch now we are coming to the test. 
 Which sucked the better milk, or you or I ? 
 Was it you, bearded scoundrel ? We will try ! 
 Why, I will tread you like a sheaf of wheat. 
 If you dare flout yon maiden true and sweet. 
 
 " No fairer flower in this land blossomed ever ; 
 And I who am called Vincen, basket-weaver. 
 Yes, I — her suitor, be it understood — 
 Will wash your slanders out in your own blood. 
 If such you have ! " Quoth Ourrias, " I am ready, 
 My gypsy-suitor to a cupboard ! Steady ! " 
 
 Therewith alights. They fling their coats away, 
 Fists fly, and pebbles roll before the fray. 
 They fall upon each other in the manner 
 Of two young bulls who, in the vast savannah, 
 Where the great sun glares in the tropic sky, 
 The sleek sides of a dark young heifer spy
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 97 
 
 In the tall grasses, lowing amorous. 
 
 The thunder bursts within them, challenged thus. 
 
 Mad, blind with love, they paw, they stare, they spring ; 
 
 And furious charge, their muzzles lowering ; 
 
 Retire, and charge again. The ominous sound 
 
 Of crashing horns fills all the spaces round. 
 
 And long, I ween, the battle is, and dire. 
 The combatants are maddened by desire. 
 Puissant Love urges and goads them on. 
 So here, Avith either doughty champion. 
 'Twas Ourrias who received the first hard touch ; 
 And, being threatened with another such, 
 
 Lifts his huge fist and lays young Vincen flat 
 
 As with a club. " There, urchin, parry that ! " 
 
 " See if I have a scratch, man ! " cried the lad. 
 
 The other, " Bastard, count the knocks you 've had ! " 
 
 " Count you the ounces of hot blood," he shouted, 
 
 " Monster, that from your flattened nose have spouted ! " 
 
 And then they grapple ; bend and stretch their best, 
 With foot to foot, shoulder to shoulder, prest. 
 Their arms are wreathed and coiled like supple snakes, 
 The veins are swelled to bursting in their necks. 
 The muscles of their calves tense with the strain. 
 Long time they stiff and motionless remain, 
 
 7
 
 98 MIEi:iO. [Canto V. 
 
 "With pulsing flanks, like flap of bustard's wing. 
 And, one against the other steadying, 
 Bear up like the abutments huge and wide 
 Of that sreat bridge the Gardoun ^ doth bestride. 
 Anon they part : their doubled fists upraise. 
 Once more the pestle in the mortar brays. 
 
 And in their fury ply they tooth or nail. 
 Good God ! the blows of Yincen foil like hail. 
 Yet ah ! what club-like hits the herdsman deals ! 
 And, as their crushing weight the weaver feels, 
 He whirls as whirls a sling about his foe. 
 And backward bends to deal his fiercest blow. 
 
 " Look your last, villain ! " Ere the word said he. 
 
 The mighty herdsman seized him bodily. 
 
 And flung him o'er his shoulder far away, 
 
 As a.Proven9al shovels wheat. He lay 
 
 A moment on his side, not sorely hurt. 
 
 "Pick up, O worm !" cried Om-rias, — "pick the dirt 
 
 " You have displaced, and eat it, if you will ! " 
 " Enough of that! Brute who was broken ill. 
 We '11 have three rounds before this game is over ! " 
 With bitter hate retorts the poor boy-lover ; 
 And, reddening to his very hair for shame, 
 Rears like a dragon to retrieve his fame.
 
 Canto Y.] THE BATTLE. 99 
 
 And, daring death, he on the brute hath flown, 
 And dealt a blow marvellous in such an one 
 Straight from the shoulder to the other's breast, 
 Who reeled and groped for that whereon to rest, 
 With darkening eyes and brow cold-beaded, till 
 He crushed to earth, and all La Crau was still. 
 
 Its misty limit blent with the far sea ; 
 The sea's with the blue ether, dreamily. 
 Still in mid-air there floated shining things, 
 Swans, and flamingoes on their rosy wings, 
 Come to salute the last of the sunset 
 Along the desert meres that glimmered yet. 
 
 The white mare of the herdsman lazily 
 
 Pulled at the dwarf-oak leaves that grew thereby : 
 
 The iron stirrups of the creature jangled. 
 
 As loose and heavy at her sides they dangled. 
 
 " Stir, and I crush you, ruffian ! " Vincen said : 
 
 " 'Tis not by feet that men are measured ! " 
 
 Then in the silent wold the victor pressed 
 His heel upon the brander's prostrate breast. 
 Who writhed beneath it vainly, while the blood 
 Sluggish and dark from lips and nostrils flowed. 
 Thrice did he strive the horny foot to move. 
 And thrice the basket-weaver fi-om above
 
 100 MIE£:I0. - [Canto V. 
 
 Dealt him a blow that levelled him once more, 
 
 Until he haggard lay, and gasj^ing sore 
 
 Like some sea-monster. " So your mother, then, 
 
 ^yas not, it seems, the only mould of men " 
 
 Said Yincen, jeeringly. " Go tell the tale 
 
 Of my fist's weight to bulls in Sylvareal. 
 
 " Go to the waste of the Camargan isle. 
 
 And hide your bruises and your shame awhile 
 
 Among your beasts ! " So saying, he loosed this one, 
 
 As shearer in the fold a ram full-grown 
 
 Pins with his knees till shorn ; then, with a blow 
 
 Upon the crui^per, bids him freely go. 
 
 Bursting with rage and all defiled with dust. 
 
 The herdsman went his ways. But wherefore must 
 
 He linger ferreting about the heath. 
 
 Amid the oaks and broom, under his breath 
 
 Muttering curses ? until suddenly 
 
 He stoops, then swings his savage trident high. 
 
 And darts on Vincen. For him all is done. 
 Vain were the hope that murderous lance to shun. 
 And the boy paled as on the day he died ; 
 Not fearing death, but that he could not bide 
 The treachery. A felon's jarey to be ! 
 That stung the manly soul to agony.
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 101 
 
 " Traitor, you dare not ! " But the lad restrains 
 The word, firm as a martyr in his pains ; 
 For yon 's the farmstead hidden by the trees. 
 Tenderly, wistfully, he turns to these. 
 " O my Mireio ! " said the eager eye, 
 "Look hither, darling, — 'tis for you I die!" 
 
 Great heart, intent as ever on his love ! 
 
 " Say your prayers ! " thundered Ourrias from above 
 
 In a hoarse voice, and pitiless to hear, 
 
 And pierced the victim with his iron sj)ear. 
 
 Then, with a heavy groan, the fated lover 
 
 Rolled upon the green-sward, and all was over. 
 
 The beaten grass is dark with human gore, 
 
 And the field-ants already coursing o'er 
 
 The prostrate limbs ere Ourrias mounts, and flies 
 
 Under the rising moon in frantic wise ; 
 
 Muttering, as the flints beneath him fly, 
 
 " To-night the Crau wolves will feast merrily." 
 
 Deep stillness reigned in Crau. Its limit dim 
 Blent with the sea's on the horizon's I'im, 
 The sea's with the blue ether. Gleaming things, 
 Swans, and flamingoes on their ruddy Avings, 
 Came to salute the last declining light 
 Along the desert meres that glimmered white.
 
 102 MIR£I0. [Canto V. 
 
 Away, Ourrias, away ! Draw not the rein, 
 
 Urge thy unrestmg gallop o'er the jjlain. 
 
 While the o-reen heron ^ shout their fearsome cries 
 
 In thy mare's ear, as the good creature flies, 
 
 Till her ear trembles, and her nostrils quiver. 
 
 And eyes dilate. That night the great Rhone River 
 
 Slept on his stony bed beneath the moon, 
 
 As pilgrim of Sainte Baume ^° may lay him down. 
 
 Fevered and weary, in a deep ravine. 
 
 '•• Ho ! " cries the ruffian to three boatmen seen, 
 
 '^ Ho ! Boat ahoy ! We must cross, hark ye there ! 
 
 On board or in the hold, I and my mare ! " 
 
 " On board, my hearty, then, without delay! 
 
 There shines the night-lamp ! And lured by its ray," 
 
 Answered a cheery voice, " about our prow 
 
 And oars the fish frisk playfully enow. 
 
 It is good fishing, and the hour is fair. 
 
 On board at once ! We have no time to spare." 
 
 Therewith upon the poop the villain clomb. 
 While, tethered to the stern, amid the foam 
 Swam the white mare. Now fishes huge and scaly 
 Forsook their grottoes, and leaped upward gayly. 
 And flashed on the smooth surface of the stream. 
 " Have a care, pilot ! For this craft I deem
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 103 
 
 " Nowise too sound." And he who spake once more 
 Lay foot to stretcher, bent the supple oar. 
 " So I perceive. Ah ! " was the pilot's word, 
 " I tell thee we 've an evil freight on board." 
 No more. And all the while the vessel old 
 Staggered and pitched and like a drunkard rolled. 
 
 A crazy craft ! Rotten its timbers all. 
 " Thunder of God ! " Ourrias began to call, 
 Seizing the helm his tottering feet to stay. 
 Whereon the boat in some mysterious way 
 Seemed moved to writhing, as a wounded snake 
 Whose back a shepherd with a stone doth break. 
 
 " Doth all this tumult, comrades, bode disaster ? " 
 Appealed the bi-ander, growing pale as plaster. 
 "And will you drown me?" Brake the pilot out, 
 "I cannot hold the craft! She springs about 
 And wriggles like a carp. Villain, I know 
 You 've murdered some one, and not long aeo! " 
 
 " Who told you that ? May Satan if I have 
 
 Thrust me with his pitch-fork beneath the wave." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the livid pilot, " then I err ! 
 
 I had forgot the cause of all this stir. 
 
 'Tis Saint Medard's to-night, when poor drowned men 
 
 Come from their dismal pits to laud again.
 
 104 MIREIO. [Canto V. 
 
 " How deep and dark soe'er their watery prison. 
 Look ! Even now hath from the wave arisen 
 The long procession of the weeping dead ! 
 Barefoot, poor things ! the shingly shore they tread, 
 The turbid water dripping, dripping, see. 
 From matted hair and stained clothes heavily. 
 
 " See them defile under the poplars tall. 
 Carrying lighted tapers, one and all. 
 While up the river's bank, now and anon, 
 Eagerly clarabereth another one. 
 'Tis they who toss our wretched craft about 
 So like a raging storm, I make no doubt. 
 
 " Their cramped legs and their mottled anus — ah, 
 
 see! — 
 And heavy heads they from the weeds would free. 
 Oh, how they watch the stars as on they go, 
 Quaff the fresh air and thrill at sight of Crau, 
 And scent the harvest odors the winds bring. 
 In their brief hour of motion revellinsr ! 
 
 " And still the water from their garments raineth, 
 And still another and another gaineth 
 The river-bank. And there," the boatman moans, 
 "Are the old men, women, and little ones : 
 They spurn the clinging mud. Ah me ! " he said, 
 " Yon ghastly things abhor the fisher's trade.
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 105 
 
 " The lamprey and the perch they made their game, 
 
 And now are they become food for the same. 
 
 But what is this ? Another piteous band, 
 
 Travelling in a line along the sand ? 
 
 Ah, yes ! the poor deserted maids," quoth he, 
 
 " Who asked the Rhone for hospitality, 
 
 '' And sought to hide their grief in the great river. 
 Alas ! alas ! They seem to moan for ever. 
 And, oh, how painfully, fond hearts, ill fated, 
 Labor the bosoms by the dank weeds weighted ! 
 Is it the water dripping that one hears 
 Fi'om their long veils of hair, or is it tears ? " 
 
 He ceased. The wending souls bare each a light. 
 
 Intently following in the silent night 
 
 The river-shore. And those two listeninsf 
 
 Might even have heard the whirr of a moth's wing. 
 
 " Are they not, pilot," asked the awe-struck brander, 
 
 " Seeking somewhat in the gloom where they wander ? " 
 
 " Ah, yes, poor things ! " the mastei'-boatman said. 
 " See how from side to side is turned each head. 
 'Tis their good works they seek, — their acts of faith 
 Sown upon earth ere their untimely death. 
 And when they spy the same, 'tis said moreover, 
 They haste thereto, as haste the sheep to clover,
 
 106 MIBi:iO. [Canto V. 
 
 " The sood work or the act of faith to cull. 
 And when of such as these their hands are full, 
 Lo, they all turn to flowers ! And they who gather 
 Go tender them Avith joy to God the Father, 
 Being by the flowers to Peter's gate conveyed. 
 Thus those who find a watery grave," he said, 
 
 " The gracious God granteth a respite to, 
 
 That they may save themselves. But some anew 
 
 Ere the day dawn will bury their good deeds 
 
 Deep underneath the surging river-weeds. 
 
 And some," the pilot whispered, — " some are worse, 
 
 Devourers of the needy, murderers, 
 
 " Atheists, traitors, that worm-eaten kind. 
 
 These hunt the river-shore, but only find 
 
 Their sins and crimes like great stones in the gravel 
 
 Whereon their bare feet stumble as they travel. 
 
 The mule when dead is beaten never more ; 
 
 But these God's mercy shall in vain implore 
 
 " Under the roaring wave." Here, sore afraid, 
 Ourrias a hand upon the pilot laid, 
 Like robber at a turning. " Look ! " he cries, 
 " There 's water in the hold ! " Whereon replies 
 The pilot, coolly, "And the bucket's there!" 
 The herdsman bales for life in his despair.
 
 Canto V.] THE BATTLE. 107 
 
 Ay, bale, brave Ourrias ! But there danced that night, 
 
 On Trincataio ^^ bridge, the water-sprite.^^ 
 
 Madly the white mare strove to break her halter. 
 
 " What ails you, Blanco ? " Ourrias 'gan folter. 
 
 " Fear you the dead yonder upon the verge ? " 
 
 Over the gunnel plashed the rising surge. 
 
 " Captain, the craft sinks, and I cannot swim ! " 
 " I know no help," the pilot answered him. 
 " We must go down. But, presently," he said, 
 " A cable will be heaved us by the dead, — 
 The dead you fear so, — on the river-bank." 
 And even as he sjiake the vessel sank. 
 
 The tapers gleaming far and fitfully 
 
 In the poor ghostly hands flared forth so high, 
 
 They sent a shaft of vivid brilliance 
 
 Across the murky river's broad expanse ; 
 
 Then, as a spider in the morn you see 
 
 Glide o'er his late-spun thread, the boatmen three, 
 
 Being all spirits, leaped out of the stream, 
 
 And caught and swooped along the dazzling beam. 
 
 And Ourrias, too, the cable sought to seize 
 
 Amid the gurgling waters, even as these ; 
 
 But sought it vainly. And the water-sprite 
 
 Danced upon Trincataio bridge that night.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO Y. 
 
 1 OuLYMPE, or Oulimpe, is a lofty mountain on the boundary- 
 line of the Var and Bouches-du-Rhone. 
 
 2 Queiras, a valley of the Upper Alps. 
 
 * Penduline, Motacilla pendulina. 
 
 * Eel-grass, Valisneria spiralis of Linnseus. 
 
 6 " Pretty moon- wheat," /)o«/«< blad de luno. Faire de hlad de liino 
 signifies, literally, to rob parents of their wheat by moonlight. 
 Figuratively, it is used for love-making on the sly. 
 
 ^ Goose-foot, Chenopadinm fructicum of Linnajus. 
 
 ' Jan de I'Ourse is a story-book hero, a kind of Provencal 
 Hercules, to whom many exploits are attributed. He was the son 
 of a shepherdess and a bear, and had for companions in his ex- 
 ploits two adventurers of marvellous strength. Tlie name of the 
 one was Arrache Montagne ; that of the other, Pierre de ]\Ioulin. 
 
 8 This bridge is the Roman antiquity known as the " Pont du 
 Gard." 
 
 9 Green heron, Ai-dea virides. 
 
 10 Sainte Baume, a grotto in the midst of a virgin forest near 
 St. INIaximin, to which Ste. Magdalene used to repair, to do pen- 
 ance. 
 
 11 12 Trincataio is a suburb of Aries, in Camargue, united to 
 the town by a bridge of boats. The water-sprites, or Irevi, were 
 said to dance on the tips of the waves by tlie light of the sun 
 or moon.
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 THE WITCH. 
 
 '' I ''HE merry birds, until the white dawn showeth 
 
 Clear in the east, are silent every one. 
 Silent the odorous Earth until she knoweth 
 In her warm heart the coming of the Sun, 
 As maiden in her fairest robes bedight 
 Breathless awaits hen lover and her flioht. 
 
 Across La Crau three swineherds held their w%ay 
 From St. Charaas the wealthy, whither they 
 Had to the market gone. Their herds were sold. 
 And o'er their shoulders pouches full of gold 
 Were hung, and by their hanging cloaks concealed : 
 So, chatting idly, they attained the field 
 
 Of the late strife. Suddenly one cried, "Hush ! 
 
 Comrades, I hear a moaning in the bush." 
 
 " 'Tis but a tolling bell," the rest averred, 
 
 " From Saint Martin's or from Maussano ^ heard. 
 
 Or the north wind the dwarf-oak limbs a-swaying." 
 
 But, ere they spake, all were their steps delaying,
 
 110 MIES 10. [Canto VI. 
 
 Arrested by so piteous a moan 
 
 It rent the very heart. And every one 
 
 Cried, " Holy Jesus ! Here has been foul play ! " 
 
 Tlicn crossed themselves, and gently took their way 
 
 Toward the sound. Ah, what a sight there was ! 
 
 Vincen, supine upon the stony grass, — 
 
 The grass blood-stained, the ti-ampled earth besprent 
 With willow rods. His shirt to ribbons rent. 
 Stabbed in the breast, left on the moor alone, 
 Had lain the poor lad through the night now gone, 
 With but the stars to watch. But the dim ray 
 Of early dawn, as ebbed his life away, 
 
 Falling upon his lids had oped them wide. 
 Straightway the good Samaritans turned aside 
 From their home-path, stooped, and a hammock made 
 Of their three cloaks, thereon the victim laid, 
 Then bare him tenderly upon their arms 
 Unto the nearest door, — the Lotus-Farm's. . . . 
 
 O friends, — Proven9al poets brave and dear. 
 Who love my songs of other days to hear! 
 You, Roumanille, who blend with songs you sing 
 Tears, girlish laughter, and the breath of spring ; 
 And you, j)roud Aubanel, who stray where quiver 
 The changing lights and shades of wood and river,
 
 Canto VI.] THE WITCE. Ill 
 
 To soothe a heart oppressed by love's fond dream ; 
 You, Crousillat, who your beloved stream, 
 The bright Touloubro, make more truly famous 
 Than did the grim star-gazer Nostradamus ; ^ 
 And you, Anselrae, who see, half-sad, half-smiling. 
 Fair girls under the trellised arbors whiling 
 
 Their hours away ; and you, my Paul, the witty. 
 
 And peasant Tavan, who attune your ditty 
 
 Unto the crickets' chirrup, while you peer 
 
 Wistful at your poor pickaxe ; and most dear, 
 
 Adolphe Dumas, who, when Durance is deep 
 
 "With his spring flood, come back your thoughts to steep, 
 
 And warm the Frenchman at Proven9al suns, 
 'Twas you who met my own Mireio once 
 At your great Paris, — met her tenderly. 
 Where she had flown, impetuous, daring, shy ; 
 And last Garcin, brave son of a brave sire, 
 Whose soul mounts iipward on a wind of fire ; — 
 
 Upbear me with your holy breath as now 
 I climb for the fair fruit on that high boucfh ! . . . 
 Tlie swineherds paused at Master Ramoim's door, 
 Crying, " Good-morrow ! Yonder, on the moor, 
 We found this poor lad wounded in the breast. 
 'Twere well that his sore hurt were quickly drest."
 
 112 MIB£I0. [Canto VI. 
 
 So laid their burden on the broad, flat stone. 
 They tell Mireio, to the garden gone 
 To gather fruit, who, basket on her side. 
 Fled wildly to the spot. Thither, too, hied 
 The laborers all ; but she, her basket falling. 
 Stretched forth her hands on Mother Mary calling. 
 
 " Vincen is bleeding ! Ah, what have they done ? " 
 Then, lovingly, the head of the dear one 
 She lifted, turned, and long and mutely gazed 
 As though with horror and with grief amazed, 
 Her large tears dropping fast. And well he knows 
 That tender touch to be IVIirfeio's, 
 
 And faintly breathes, " Pity, and pray for me. 
 
 Because I need the good God's company ! " 
 
 " Your parched throat moisten with this cordial.^ Strive 
 
 To drink," old Ramoun said : " you will revive." 
 
 The maiden seized the cup, and drop by drop 
 
 She made him drink, and spake to him of hope 
 
 Till his pain lulled. " May God keep you alway 
 From such distress, and your sweet care repay ! " 
 Said Vincen ; and the brave boy would not tell 
 It was for her sake that he fought and fell ; 
 But " Si^litting osier on my breast," he said, 
 " The sharp knife slipped, and pierced me." Therewith 
 strayed
 
 Canto VI.] 
 
 THE WITCH. 
 
 113 
 
 His thousfht back to his love as bee to flower. 
 "The anguish on thy face, dear, in this hour 
 Is far more bitter than my wound to me. 
 The pretty basket that in company 
 We once began will be unfinished now. 
 Would I had seen it full to overflow, 
 
 " Dear, Avith thy love ! Oh, stay ! Life 's in thine eyes. 
 Ah, if thou couldst do something," the lad cries, 
 " For him, — the poor old basket-weaver there, — 
 My father, worn with toil ! " In her despair, 
 Mireio batlies the wound, while some bring lint, 
 And some run to the hills for healing mint. 
 
 Then the maid's mother spake : " Let four men rally, 
 
 And to the Fairies' Cavern,^ in the valley 
 
 They call Enfer,.bear up this wounded man. 
 
 The deadlier the hurt, the sooner can 
 
 The old witch heal. Scale first the cliffs of Baux, 
 
 And circlinsf vultures the cave's mouth will show." 
 
 A hole flush with the rocks, by lizards haunted. 
 And veiled by tufts of rosemary thereby planted. 
 For ever, since the holy Angelus swells 
 In Mary's honor from the minster-bells. 
 The antique fairies have been forced to hide 
 From sunlight, and in this deep cavern bide. 
 
 8
 
 114 MIRiJIO. [Canto VI. 
 
 Strange, airy things, they used to flit about 
 
 Dimlv, 'twixt form and siAstance, in and out : 
 
 Half-earthly made, to be the visible 
 
 Spirit of Nature ; female made as well, 
 
 To tame the savagery of primal men. 
 
 But these were flxir in foiries' eyes, and then 
 
 They loved : and so, inflituate, lifted not 
 
 Mortals unto their own celestial lot ; 
 
 But, lusting, fell into our low estate, 
 
 As birds Ml, whom a snake doth fascinate. 
 
 From their high places. But, while thus I write. 
 
 The bearers have borne Vincen up the height. 
 
 A dim, straight passage led the cavern toward, 
 A rocky funnel where they gently lowered 
 The sufferer ; and he did not go alone, — 
 Yet was Mireio's self the only one 
 Who dared to follow down that awesome road, 
 Commending, as she went, his soul to God. 
 
 The bottom gained, they found a grotto cold 
 And vast ; midway whereof a beldam old. 
 The witch Taven, sat silent, crouching lowly 
 As lost in thought and utter melancholy. 
 Holding a sprig of brome, and muttering, 
 " Some call thee devil's wheat, poor little thing.
 
 Canto YI.] THE WITCH. 115 
 
 55 
 
 " Yet art thou one of God's o^yn sig-ns for c^ood ! 
 Therewith Mireio, trembling where she stood, 
 Was fain to tell why they had sought her thus. 
 "I knew it!" cried the witch, impervious, 
 The brome addressing still, with bended head. 
 " Thou poor field-flower ! The trampling flock," she 
 said, 
 
 " Browse on thy leaves and stems the whole year long ; 
 But all the more thou spreadest and art strong, 
 And north and south with verdure deckest yet." 
 She ceased. A dim light, in a snail-shell set, 
 Danced o'er the dank rock-wall in lurid search : 
 Here hung a sieve ; there, on a forked perch. 
 
 Roosted a raven, a white hen beside. 
 
 Suddenly, as if drunken, rose and cried 
 
 The witch, " And what care I whoe'er you be ? 
 
 Faith walketh blindfold, so doth Charity, 
 
 Nor from her even tenor wandereth. 
 
 Say, Valabregan weaver, have you faith ? " 
 
 " I have." Then wildly, their pursuit inviting, 
 Like a she-wolf her flanks with her tail smiting. 
 Darted the hag into a deeper shaft. 
 While the fowl cackled and the raven laughed 
 Before her footsteps ; and the boy and maid 
 Followed her through the darkness, sore afraid.
 
 116 MlRi:iO. [Canto VI. 
 
 "Stay not!" she cried. "The tune is now to srather 
 The mandrake ! " And, fast holding one another, 
 Obedient to the voice the two crept on. 
 Through the infernal passage, till they won 
 A grotto larger than the rest. " Lo ! now, 
 Lord Nostradamus' plant, the golden bough, 
 
 " The staff of Joseph and the rod of Moses ! " 
 
 Thus crying, Taven a slender shrub discloses. 
 
 And, kneeling, with her chaplet crowns. Then said, 
 
 Arising, "We too must be garlanded 
 
 With mandrake ; " and the plant in the rock's cleft 
 
 Of three fair sprays mysteriously bereft, 
 
 Herself crowned first, and next the wounded man. 
 
 And last the maid. Then, crying, " Forward I " ran 
 
 Down the weird way, before her footsteps lit 
 
 By shining beetles trooping over it. 
 
 Yet turned with a sage word, — " All paths of glory, 
 
 My children, have their space of purgatory ! 
 
 " Therefore have courage ! for we must, alas ! 
 The terrors of the Sabatori ^ pass." 
 And, while she spake, their faces cut they find. 
 And breathing stoj^ped, by rush of keenest wind. 
 " Lie down ! " she whispered hurriedly, — " lie low ! 
 The triumph of the Whirlwind Sprites is now ! "
 
 Canto VI.] THE WITCH. 117 
 
 Then fell upon them, like a sudden gale 
 
 Or white squall on the water fraught with hail, 
 
 A swarm of whirling, yelping, vicious things. 
 
 Under the fanning of whose icy wings 
 
 The mortals, drenched with sweat and struck with cold, 
 
 Stood shivering. " Away, ye over-bold, 
 
 " Ye spoilers of the harvest, unlicked whelps ! " 
 Taven exclaimed. " Must we then use such hel})s 
 To the fair deeds we do ? Yet, as by skill 
 The sage physician bringeth good from ill, 
 We witches, by our hidden arts, compel 
 Evil to yield its fruit of good as well. 
 
 " Naught's hid from us. For where the vulgar see 
 
 A stone, a whip, a stag, a malady. 
 
 We witches can the inner force divine 
 
 Like that which works under the scum of wine 
 
 In fermentation. Pierce the vat, you know, 
 
 A seething, boiling scum will outward flow. 
 
 " Find, if you can, the key of Solomon ! 
 Or speak unto the mountain in its own 
 Dread language ! It shall move at your behest. 
 And roll into the valley ere it rest." 
 Meanwhile they wended lower, and were 'ware 
 Of a small, roguish voice a-piping there,
 
 118 MIR:^I0. [Canto VL 
 
 Most like a goldfinch : " Our good granny spins, 
 
 And winds and spins, and then anew begins, 
 
 And thinks that she spins worsted night and day, 
 
 And ha ! ha ! gossip, she spins only hay ! 
 
 Te ! he ! spin. Aunty, spin ! " And long-drawn laughter, 
 
 Like whinnying of young colts, followed thereafter. 
 
 " Why, what can that be ? " asked Mireio, — 
 "The little voice that laughs and jeers us so ?" 
 Again the childish treble came, " Te ! he ! 
 Who is this pretty mortal ? Let us see ! 
 We '11 raise the neckerchief a little bit : 
 Are nuts and pomegranates under it ? " 
 
 Then the poor maid had nearly cried outright ; 
 
 But the hag stayed her, " Here 's no cause for fright. 
 
 The singing, jeering thing is but a Glari: 
 
 Fantasti is his name, a sprightly fairy. 
 
 In his good mood he will your kitchen sweep. 
 
 Mind fire, turn roast, and a full hen's-nest keep. 
 
 " But what a marplot when he takes the whim ! 
 He '11 salt your broth just as it pleaseth him. 
 Or blow your light out ere you 're half in bed ! 
 Or, if to vespers you would go," she said, 
 " At great Sairit Trophimus',® gayly bedight. 
 He '11 hide your Sunday suit, or spoil it quite ! "
 
 Canto VI.] THE WITCH. 110 
 
 " Hear ! " shrieked the imp : " now hear the old hag talk ! 
 'Tis like the creak of an ill-greased block ! 
 Iso doubt, my withered olive," the thing said, 
 " I twitch the bedclothes off a sleeping maid 
 Sometimes at midnight, and she starts with fear 
 And trembles, and her breast heaves. Oh, I see her ! " 
 
 And with its whinnying laugh the sprite was gone ; 
 Then, for a brief space, as they journeyed on 
 Under the grots, the witcheries were stayed ; 
 And in the gloomy silence, long delayed, 
 They heard the water drop from vaulted roof 
 To crystal ground. Now there had sat aloof, 
 
 Upon a ledge of rock, a tall, white thing, 
 
 Which rose in the half-licrht as menacing: 
 
 With one long arm. Then stiff as a quartz rock 
 
 Stood Vincen ; while, transported by the shock, 
 
 jVlireio would have leaped a precipice, 
 
 Had sucli been there. " Old scare-crow, what is this ? 
 
 " What mean you," cried Taven, " by swaying so 
 Your limp head like a poplar to and fro ? " 
 Then turning to the stricken twain, "My dears, 
 You know the Laundress ? Oft-times she appears 
 On Mount Ventour, and then the common crowd 
 Are wont to take her for a long, white cloud.
 
 120 M1R£:I0. [Canto VI. 
 
 " But slicpherds, wlien they see her, jDcn their sheep. 
 Tlie Laundress of destruction, who doth keep 
 The errant clouds in hand, is known too well. 
 She scrubs them with a strength right terrible ; 
 Wringing out buckets full of rain, and flame. 
 And neatherds house their cattle at her name ; 
 
 " And seamen, on the angry, tossing wave, 
 Upon our Lady call, their craft to save." 
 Here drowned her speech a discord most appalling. 
 Rattling of latches, whimj^ering, caterwauling. 
 With uncouth words half-uttered intervening, 
 Whereof the devil only knows the meaning ; 
 
 And brazen din through all the cave resounding, 
 
 As one were on a witch-caldron pounding. 
 
 Then Avhence those shrieks of laughter, and those wails 
 
 As of a woman in her pains ? Prevails 
 
 Hai'dly amid the howl the beldam's speech, 
 
 " Give me a hand that I may hold you each, 
 
 " And let your magic garlands not be lost ! " 
 Here were they jostled from their feet almost 
 By rush of something puffing, grunting, snorting, 
 Most like a herd of ghostly swine comporting. 
 On starlit winter-nights, when Nature slumbers 
 Under her snowy sheets, come forth in numbers
 
 J_ 
 
 Canto VI.] TEE WITCH. 121 
 
 The fowlers, torch in hand, who bush and tree 
 By river-side will beat right vigorously, 
 Till all the birds at roost arise in haste, 
 And, as by breath of smithy-belloAvs chased, 
 Aifrighted, rush until the net receive : 
 So drave Taven the foul herd with her sieve 
 
 Into the outer darkness. With the same 
 
 She circles ti'aced, luminous, red as flame. 
 
 And divers other figures. All the while, 
 
 " Avaunt ! " she cried, " ye locusts, ye wiio spoil 
 
 The harvest ! Quit my sight, or woe betide you ! 
 
 "Workers of evil, in your burrows hide you ! 
 
 " Since, by the pricking of your flesh, ye know 
 The hills are still with sunshine all aglow. 
 Go hang yourselves again on the rock-angles, 
 Ye bats ! " They flit. The clamor disentangles. 
 And dies away. Then to the children spake 
 The witch : " All birds of night themselves betake 
 
 o 
 
 " To this retreat what time shines the daylight 
 On the ploughed land and fallow ; but at night, — 
 At night the lamps ai-e lighted without hand 
 In churches void and triply fastened, and 
 The bells toll of themselves, and pavement stones 
 Upstart, and tremble all the buried bones,
 
 122 MIR£:I0. [Canto VI. 
 
 " And the poor dead arise and kneel to pray, 
 And mass is said by priests as pale as they. 
 Ask the owls else, who clamber down the steeple 
 To drain the lamps of oil ; and if the people 
 Who thus partake of the communion 
 Be not all dead except the priests alone ! 
 
 " What time the beldam jeers at February,'^ 
 Let women everywhere be wondrous wary. 
 Nor fall asleep on chairs for awful reason ! 
 Shepherds as well, at yon uncanny season 
 Early your charges fold, an it mislike you 
 A spell should motionless and rigid strike you 
 
 " For seven years' time. The Fairies' Cavern, too, 
 Looses about these days its eerie crew. 
 Winged or four-footed, they o'er Crau disperse ; 
 While, from their lairs aroused, the sorcerers 
 Gather, the farandoulo * dance, and sup 
 An evil potion from a golden cup. 
 
 " Tlie dwarf-oaks dance as well. Lord, how they trip it ! 
 
 Meanwhile there 's Garamaude ^ in wait for Gripet." 
 
 Fie, cruel flirt ! Ay, seize the carrion, 
 
 And claw her bowels out ! Now they are gone, — 
 
 Nay, but they come again ! And, oh, despair ! 
 
 The monster stealing through the sea-kale there,
 
 Canto VI.] THE WITCH. 123 
 
 " The one who like a burglar crouched and ran, 
 Is Bambarouche, babe-stealing harridan. 
 Her wailing jjrey in her long claw she takes, 
 Lifts on her homy head, and off she makes. 
 And yon 's another ! She 's the Nightmare-sprite 
 Comes down the chimney-flue at dead of night, 
 
 " And stealthy climbs upon the sleeper's breast. 
 Who, as with weight of a tall tower opprest, 
 Hath horrid dreams. Hi ! What a hideous racket ! 
 My dears, 'tis the foul-weather fiends who make it ! 
 That sound of rusty hinges, groaning doors. 
 Is they who beat up fog upon the moors, 
 
 " And ride the winds that homestead-roofs uptear 
 
 And bear afar. Ha, Moon ! What ails you there ? 
 
 What dire indignity hath made you scowl 
 
 So red and large o'er Baux ? 'Ware the dog's howl ! 
 
 Yon dog can snap you like a cake, be sure ! 
 
 He minds the filthy Demon of the Sewer ! 
 
 " Now see the holm-oaks bend their heads like ferns. 
 
 And see that flame that leaps and writhes and burns. 
 
 It is St. Elmo's. And that ringino- sound 
 
 Of rapid hoofs upon the stony ground • 
 
 Is the wild huntsman riding over Crau." 
 
 Here hoarse and breathless paused the witch of Baux.
 
 124 MIR£I0. [Canto VI. 
 
 But straight thereafter, " Cover ears and eyes, 
 For the black lamb is bleating ! " Avildly cries. 
 '^ That baaing lambkin ! " Vincen dared to say ; 
 But she, " Hide eyes and ears without delay ! 
 "Woe to the stumbler here ! Sambuco's " Path 
 Less peril than the black horn's passage hath. 
 
 " Tender his bleating, as you hear, and soft : 
 Thereby he lures to their destruction oft 
 The heedless Christians who attend his moan. 
 To them he shows the sheen of Herod's throne. 
 The gold of Judas, and the fatal spot 
 Where Saracens made fast the golden goat. 
 
 " Her they may milk till death, to hearts' content. 
 
 But, when they call for holy sacrament, 
 
 The black lamb only buts them savagely. 
 
 And yet, so evil is the time," quoth she, 
 
 " Unnumbered greedy souls that bait will seize. 
 
 Burn incense unto gold, then die as these ! " 
 
 Now, while the white hen gave three piercing crows. 
 
 The eerie guide did to her guests disclose 
 
 The thirteenth grotto, and the last ; and lo ! 
 
 A huge, wide chimney and a hearth aglow. 
 
 And seven black tom-cats warming round the flame ; 
 
 And, hansrincf fi'om a hook above the same,
 
 Canto YI.] THE WITCH. 125 
 
 An iron caldron of gigantic size, 
 
 And underneath two fire-brands, dragon-wise 
 
 Belching blue flame. " Is it with these you brew. 
 
 Grandmother," asked the lad, " your magic stew ? " 
 
 " With these, my son. They 're branches of wild vine : 
 
 No better loss for burning be than mine." 
 
 " Well, call them branches if it be your taste ; 
 But — but I may not jest. Haste, mother, haste ! " 
 Now, midway of the grotto, they descry 
 A large, round table of red poi-phyry ; 
 And, radiating from this wondrous place, 
 Lower than root of oak or mountain base, 
 
 Infinite aisles whose gleaming columns cluster 
 Like pendant icicles in shape and lustre. 
 These are the far-famed galleries of the fays, 
 Here evermore a hazy brightness plays, 
 Temples and shining palaces are here, 
 Majestic porticoes their fronts uprear, 
 
 And many a labyrinth and peristyle 
 
 The like whereof was never seen erewhile, 
 
 Even in Corinth or in Babylon. 
 
 Yet let a fiiiry breathe, and these are gone ! 
 
 And here, like flickering rays of light, disperse 
 
 Through the dim walks of this serene Chartreuse,
 
 126 MIREIO. [Canto VI. 
 
 The fairies with their knights long since enchanted. 
 Peace to the aisles by their fair presence haunted ! 
 And now the witch was ready. First of all, 
 She lifted high her hands, then let them fall, 
 While Vincen had like holy Lawrence lain 
 Upon the i^orj^hyry table, mute with pain. 
 
 And mightily the spirit of the crone 
 Appeared to work within her ; and as grown 
 She seemed, when, rising to her height anew. 
 She plunged her ladle in the boiling stew 
 That overflowed the caldron in the heat, 
 While all the cats arose and ringed her feet, 
 
 And, with her left hand, unto Vincen's breast 
 Applied the scalding drops with solemn zest, 
 Gazing intently on him where he lay, 
 Until the cruel hurt was charmed away ; 
 And all the while, " The Lord is born, is dead. 
 Is risen, shall rise again," she murmured. 
 
 Last on the quivering flesh the cross she made 
 Thrice with her toe-nail ; as in forest glade 
 A tigress fiercely claws her fallen prey. 
 And now her speech maketh tumultuous way 
 To where the dim gates of the future are. 
 " Yea, he shall rise ! I see him now afar
 
 Canto VI.] THE WITCH. 127 
 
 "Amid the stones and^thistles of the hill, 
 His forehead bleeding heavily. And still 
 Over the stones and briers he makes his way, 
 Bowed by his cross. Where is Veronica 
 To wipe the blood ? And him of Cyrene 
 To stay him when he fainteth, — where is he ? 
 
 "And where the weeping Maries, hair dishevelled? 
 All gone ! And rich and poor, before him levelled, 
 Gaze while he mounts ; and ' Who is this,' one saith, 
 ' Who climbs with shouldered beam, and never stayeth ? ' 
 O carnal sons of men ! The Cross-bearer 
 Is unto you but as a beaten cur. 
 
 " cruel Jews ! Wherefoi*e so fiercely bite you 
 
 The hands that feed, and lick the hands that smite you? 
 
 Receive the fruit of your foul deeds you must. 
 
 Your precious gems shall crumble into dust, , 
 
 And that you deemed fair pulse or wholesome wheat 
 
 Shall turn to ashes even while you eat, 
 
 " And scare your very hunger. Woe is me ! 
 Rivers that foam o'er carrion-heaps I see. 
 And swords and lances in tumultjtious motion. 
 Peace to thy stormy waves, thou vexed Ocean ! 
 Shall Peter's ancient bark withstand the shock ? 
 Alas, it strikes upon the senseless rock !
 
 128 MIREIO. [Canto VI. 
 
 " Nay, but there cometh One with power to save ! 
 Fisher of men, he quells the rebel wave. 
 A fair new bark the Rhone is entering now : 
 She hath God's cross uplifted on her prow, 
 Rainbow divine ! Eternal clemency ! 
 Another land, another sun, I ^ee ! 
 
 " Dance olive-pickers, where the fruit is shining ; 
 
 Drink reapers, on the barley-sheaves reclining ! 
 
 Revealed by signs so many, God," slie said, 
 
 " Is in his holy temple worshipped." 
 
 And, stretching forth her hand, the witch of Baux 
 
 Pointed the way and bade the children go. 
 
 12 
 
 Light gleamed afar. They haste the ray to follow 
 They thread their way to the Cordovan Hollow, 
 ^Yhere sun and air await them, and they seem 
 To see Mont Majour's wrecks, as in a dream, 
 Strewn o'er the hill ; yet on the sunlit verge 
 Pause for one kiss or ever they emerge.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 
 
 1 Maussano and Saint Martin are villages in Crau. 
 
 2 Nostradamus. Michel de Nostradame, or Nostradamus, was 
 born at Saint Remy, in 1503, and died at Salon, in 1565. He 
 practised medicine very successfully under the latter Valois, applied 
 himself to mathematics and astrology, and published in 1557, 
 imder the title of " The Centuries," the prophesies which have 
 rendered his name popular. Charles IX. appointed him physician 
 in ordinary, and loaded him with honor. 
 
 8 " This cordial," Agrioutas, a liquor, composed of brandy and 
 sugar, with which is mixed a certain quantity of short-stalked 
 cherry, well bruised. 
 
 4 "The Fairies' Cavern." The following is Jules Canonge's 
 description of tliis locality: — 
 
 " From the bottom of the gorge, aptly named Enfer, I descended 
 into tlie Fairies' Grotto. But, instead of the graceful phantoms 
 with which my imagination had peopled it, I saw nothing but low 
 vaults under which I was forced to crawl, blocks of stone heaped 
 up, and gloomy depths. I have just observed that this gorge is 
 aptly called Enfer. Nowhere else have I ever seen rocks so tor- 
 mented. They stand erect, with cavities in their sides ; and tlieir 
 gigantic entablements, covered with aerial gardens, in which a 
 dishevelled sort of vegetation obtains, defile out like the Pyre- 
 nean rock cleft by the sword of Roland." 
 
 On comparing the description of Dante's " Inferno " with this 
 tortured Cyclopean, fantastic vista, one is persuaded that the 
 great Florentine poet, who travelled in our parts and even so- 
 journed in Aries, must have visited the town of Baux, sat on the 
 
 9
 
 130 MIRillO. [Canto VI. 
 
 escarpments of the Vuloun d'Infer, ami, being struck with the 
 grandeur of its desolation, conceived in its midst the outline of his 
 " Inferno." Every thing leads to this idea, even the name of the 
 gorge itself, its amphitheatrical form, the same given by Dante to 
 Hell, and the large detached rocks forming its escarpments. 
 
 " In su I'estremita d'un alta ripa 
 Che facevan gran pietre rotte in cerchio." 
 
 And the Proven9al name of these same bans, Italianized by ths 
 poet into haJzo, was given by him to the escarpments of his own 
 lugubrious funnel. 
 
 5 " Sabatori." Beside its etymological meaning, this word is 
 used to designate a meeting held by sorcerers at night to worship 
 the devil. (The Witches' Sabbath of our own witchcraft delu- 
 sion. — Am. Tr.) 
 
 6 " Saint Trophimus'," the cathedral of Aries, built in the sev- 
 enth century, by Archbishop St. Virgile, in which Frederic Barba- 
 rossa was consecrated emperor in 1178. 
 
 "? Peasants in Southern France have remarked that the last 
 three days of February and the first three of March are almost 
 always visited by a renewal of cold ; and this is how their poetic 
 imagination accounts for the fact : — 
 
 An old woman was once tending her sheep. It was toward 
 the end of February, which that year had not been severe. The 
 old woman, believing herself clear of winter, began jeering Feb- 
 ruary as follows : — 
 
 " Adieu, Febrie. Me ta feberado 
 M'as fa ni peu ni pelado." 
 
 (" Farewell, February. With your frost 
 Harmed me you have not, and nothing cost.") 
 
 This jeer enraged February, who went in search of March, and 
 said, " March, do me a favor! " — " Two, if you like," answered 
 March." — "Lend me three days; and, with the three I have 
 left, T will both harm her and cost her plenty." The weather im- 
 mediately afterward became intolerably bad, all the sheep of the 
 old woman were killed by the frost, and she, the peasants say,
 
 Canto VL] THE WITCH. 131 
 
 kicked against it. This inclement period has ever since been 
 known as the reguignado de la Vieio, or kicking of the old woman. 
 
 8 The farandoulo is a Proven9al dance. 
 
 9 '" Garamaude is the imp of thrtation ; Gripet, the demon of 
 influenza, from gripa, to grip. 
 
 '1 Sambuco's Path, in the mountains of Sambuco, to the east 
 of Aix, is much dreaded by travellers. 
 
 12 The Cordovan Hollow, or Tran de Cordo. To the east of 
 Aries arise two hills, which must originally have formed but one, 
 but are now separated by a morass. Upon the flat, rocky summit 
 of the lower, the Celts had once made an excavation. It is be- 
 lieved that the Saracens once encamped upon this hill, and gave 
 it its name of " Cordo," in memory of Cordova. Wonderful tradi- 
 tions cluster around this spot. It is the haunt of the Fairy Ser- 
 pent, or Melusine ProvetiQah; of the golden goat, that enables 
 people to discover hidden treasure. The larger hill bears the 
 almost Roman name of Mont Majour. Upon this hill are the 
 gigantic ruins of the Abbey of Mont Majour. Both the Grotte de 
 Corde and the Grotte des Baus bear the name of " Trau di Fado," 
 or " Fairies' Cave," and the popular belief is that the excavations 
 communicate.
 
 F 
 
 CANTO yii. 
 
 THE OLD MEN. 
 
 IXING a troubled eye on the old man, 
 Vincen to Master Ambroi thus began, 
 The while a mighty wind,^ the poplars bending, 
 Its howl unto the poor lad's voice was lending : 
 " I am mad, father, as I oft of late 
 Have said. Thinkest thou I 'm jesting when I say 't ? " 
 
 Before his nut-shell cot the Rhone beside 
 Sat Ambroi on a fallen trunk, and plied 
 His trade. And, as he peeled the osier withe, 
 Vincen received it, and, with fingers lithe 
 And strong, bent the white rods to basket form, 
 Sitting upon the door-stone. With the storm 
 
 Of wind was the Rhone's bosom agitated, 
 The waves drove seaward like a herd belated ; 
 But round about the hut an azure mere 
 Spread tranquilly. The billows brake not here : 
 A pleasant shelter gave the willow-trees, 
 And beavers gnawed their bitter bark in peace.
 
 Canto VII.] THE OLD MEN. 133 
 
 While yonder, through the deep of limpid water, 
 Darted at intervals the dark brown otter, 
 Following the silver-flashing fish. Araono- 
 The reeds and willows, pendulines had hung 
 Their tiny nests, white woven with the wool 
 Plucked from the poplar when its flowers are full. 
 
 And here the small things fluttered full of glee. 
 Or swang on wind-rocked stems right lazily. 
 Here, too, a sprightly lassie, golden-haired, — 
 Head like a crown-cake ! ^ — back and forward fared, 
 And spread on a fig-tree a fishing-net 
 Unwieldy and with water dripping yet. 
 
 Birds, beavers, otters, feared the maid no more 
 Than whispering reeds or willows of the shore. 
 This was the daughter of the basket-weaver. 
 The little Vinceneto. No one ever 
 Had even bored her ears, poor child ! yet so 
 Her eyes were damson-blue, her bosom low, — 
 
 A caper-blossom by the river-side. 
 
 Wooed by the splashing of the amorous tide. 
 
 But now old Ambroi, with his long white beard 
 
 Flowing o'er all his breast, his head upreared, 
 
 And answered Vincen's outcry : " What is 't ? Mad ? 
 
 You are a blockhead ! that is all, my lad ! "
 
 134 MIR£lO. [Canto VII. 
 
 "Ah!" said the other, "for the ass to stray, 
 Sweet must the mead be. But what do I say ? 
 Thou knowest her ! If she to Aries should fare, 
 All other maids would hide them in despair ; 
 For, after her, I think the mould was broken. 
 And what say to the words herself hath spoken, 
 
 "'You I will have!'" — "Why, naught, poor fool! 
 
 say I: 
 Let poverty and riches make reply ! " 
 " O father ! " Vincen cried, " go, I implore thee, 
 To Lotus Farm, and tell them all the story ! 
 Tell them to look for virtue, not for gain ! 
 Tell them that I can plough a stony plain, 
 
 " Or harrow, or prune vines with any man ! 
 
 Tell them their six yoke, with my guiding, can 
 
 Plough double ! Tell them I revere the old ; 
 
 And, if they part us for the sake of gold. 
 
 We shall both die, and they may bury us ! " 
 
 " Oh, fie ! But you are young who maunder thus," 
 
 Quoth Master Ambrol. " All this talk I know. 
 The white hen's egg,^ the chaffinch on the bough. 
 You '11 have the pretty bird this very minute ! 
 Whistle, bring sugared cake, or die to win it ; 
 Yet will the chaffinch never come, be sure, 
 And perch upon your finger ! You are poor ! "
 
 Canto VII.l THE OLD MEN. 135 
 
 " Plague on my poverty ! " poor Vincen cried, 
 Tearing his hair. " Is God who hath denied 
 All that could make life worthy, — is He just ? 
 And wherefore are we poor? And wherefore must 
 We still the refuse of the vineyard gather, 
 While others pluck the purple clusters rather ? " 
 
 Lifting his hands, the old man sternly said, 
 
 " Weave on, and drive this folly from your head ! 
 
 Shall the corn-ears rebuke the reaper, pray ? 
 
 Or silly worm to God the Father say, 
 
 ' Why am I not a star in heaven to shine ? ' 
 
 Or shall the ox to be a drover pine, 
 
 "So to eat corn instead of straw? Nay, nay! 
 
 Through good and ill we all must hold our way. 
 
 The hand's five fingers were unequal made. 
 
 Be you a lizard, as your Master bade, 
 
 And dwell content iipon your wall apart. 
 
 And drink your sunbeam with a thankful heart ! " 
 
 " I tell thee, father, I this maid adore 
 More than my sister, than my Maker more ; 
 And if I have her not, 'tis death, I say ! " 
 Then to the rough stream Vincen fled away ; 
 While little Vinceneto burst out weeping, 
 Let fall her net, and near the weaver creeping, —
 
 136 Min£:iO. [Canto VII. 
 
 " father ! ere thou drive my brother wild, 
 
 Listen to me ! " began the eager child : 
 
 " For where I served the master had a daughter ; 
 
 And had a laborer, too, who loved and sought her. 
 
 Just as our Vincen loves Mireio. 
 
 She was named Alls ; he, Sivestre : and so 
 
 " He labored like a wolf because he loved. 
 Skilful and prompt, quiet and saving proved. 
 And took such care, master slept tranquilly ; 
 But once — mark, father, how perverse men be ! — 
 One morning master's wife, as it befell, 
 O'erheard Sivestre his love to Alls tell. 
 
 " So when at dinner all the men were sitting. 
 
 The master gave Sivestre a wrathful greeting. 
 
 ' Traitor ! ' he cried, with his eyes all aglow, 
 
 ' You are discovered ! Take your woge, and go ! ' 
 
 We looked at one another in dismay. 
 
 As the good servant rose, and went his way. 
 
 "Thereafter, for three weeks, when we were Avorking, 
 We used to see him round the farmstead lurking, — 
 A Sony sight ; for all his clothes were torn. 
 And his face very pale and wild and worn. 
 And oft at eve he to the trellis came, 
 And called the little mistress by her name.
 
 Canto VII.] THE OLD MEN. 137 
 
 " Erelong the hay-rick at its corners four 
 
 Burnt all a-flame. And, father, something more! 
 
 They drew a drowned man out of the well." 
 
 Then Ambroi, in gruff tones half-audible, 
 
 " A little child a little trouble gives, 
 
 And more and more for every year he lives." 
 
 Therewith put his long spatterdashes on 
 Which he himself had made in days bygone, 
 His hobnailed shoes, and long red cap, and so 
 Straightway set forth upon the road to Crau. 
 'Twas harvest-time, the eve of St. John's day, 
 The hedgerow paths were crowded all the way 
 
 With troops of dusty, sunburnt mountaineers 
 Come down to Avork awhile as harvesters. 
 In fig-wood quivers were their sickles borne. 
 Slung to a belt across the shoulder worn. 
 By twos and twos they came, and every pair 
 Had its own sheaf-binder. And carts were there. 
 
 Bearing the weary elders, and beside 
 
 The pipes and tambourines with ribbons tied. 
 
 Anon by fields of beardless wheat they passed. 
 
 Lashed into billows by the noisy blast ; 
 
 And " Mon Dieu, but that is noble grain ! " 
 
 They cried. " What tufts of ears ! There shall we gain
 
 138 MIRiJIO. [Canto VII. 
 
 " Right pleasant reaping ! The wind bows them over ; 
 
 But see you not how quickly they recover? 
 
 Does all your Provence wheat-crop look as cheering, 
 
 Grandfother?" asked a youtli, old Ambroi nearing. 
 
 " The red is backward still," he made reply ; 
 
 " But, if this windy weather last, deem I 
 
 " Sickles will fail us ere the work be done. 
 
 How like three stars the Christmas candles shone ! 
 
 That was a blessed sign of a good year ! " 
 
 " Now, grandfather, may the good God thee hear, 
 
 And in thy granary the same fulfil ! " 
 
 So Ambroi and the reapers chatted still 
 
 In friendly wise, under the willows wending ; 
 For these as well to Lotus Farm were tending. 
 It also chanced that Master Ramoun went 
 That eve to hearken for the Avheat's complaint 
 Against the wind, wild waster of the grain ; 
 And, as he strode over the yellow plain 
 
 From north to south, he heard the golden corn 
 Murmuring, " See the ills that we have borne. 
 Master, from this great gale. It spills our seed 
 , And blurs our bloom ! " — " Put on your gloves of reed," 
 Sang others, " else the ants will be more fleet, 
 And rob us of our all but hardened wheat.
 
 Canto VII] THE OLD MEN. 139 
 
 " When will tlie sickles come ? " And Raraoun turned 
 
 Toward the trees, and even then discerned 
 
 The reapers rising in the distance dim ; 
 
 Who, as they nearer drew, saluted him 
 
 With wavinsc sickles flashino; in the sun. 
 
 Then roared the master, " Welcome, every one ! 
 
 " A very God-send ! " cried he, loud and long ; 
 And soon the sheaf-binders about him throng. 
 Saying, " Shake hands ! Why, Holy Cross, look here ! 
 What heaps of sheaves, good master, will this year 
 Cumber your treading-floor ! " — " Mayhap," said he : 
 "We cannot alway judge by what we see. 
 
 " Till all is trod, the truth will not be known. 
 I have known years that promised," he went on, 
 " Eighty full bushels to the acre fairly, 
 And yielded in their stead a dozen barely. 
 Yet let us be .content ! " And, with a smile. 
 He shook their hands all round in friendly style, 
 
 And gossiped with old Ambroi affably. 
 So entered all the homestead path, and he 
 Called out once more, " Come foi'th, Mireio mine : 
 Prepare the chiccoiy and draw the wine! " 
 And she right lavishly the table spread ; 
 While Ranioun first him seated at its head,
 
 140 MIB£:I0. [Canto VII. 
 
 And the rest in their order, fbr the lunch. 
 Forthwith the laborers began to crunch ' 
 
 Hard-crusted bread their sturdy teeth between, 
 And hail the salad made of goats-beard green ; 
 While fair as an oat-leaf the table shone. 
 And in sujjerb profusion heaped thereon 
 
 Were odorous cheese, onions and garlic hot, 
 Grilled egg-plant, fiery peppers, and what not. 
 To sting the palate. Master Ramoun poured 
 The wine, king in the field and at the board ; 
 Raising his mighty flagon now and then. 
 And calling for a bumper on the men. 
 
 " To keep the sickles keen on stony ground, 
 They must be often whetted, I have found." 
 The reapers held their goblets, bidden so. 
 And red and clear the wine beiran to flow. 
 " Ay, whet the blades ! " the cheery master cries ; 
 And furthermore gives order in this wise : 
 
 "Now eat your fill, and all your strength restore. 
 
 But go thereafter, as you used of yore, 
 
 And branches in the copse-wood cut, and bring 
 
 In fagots ; thus a great heap gathering. 
 
 And when 'tis night, my lads, we '11 do the rest ! 
 
 For this the iete is of Saint John the blest, —
 
 Canto VII.] THE OLD MEN. 141 
 
 " Saint John the reaper, and the friend of God." 
 
 So spake the lord of all these acres broad. 
 
 The high and noble art of husbandry, 
 
 The rule of men, none better knew than he, 
 
 Or how to make a golden harvest grow 
 
 From dark sods moistened by the toiler's brow. 
 
 A grave and simple master of the soil. 
 Whose fi'ame was bending now with years and toil ; 
 Yet oft, of old, when floors were full of wheat. 
 Glowing with pride he had performed the feat, 
 Before his youthful corps, upright to stand 
 Bearing two pecks uj^on each horny hand. 
 
 He could the influence of the moon rehearse ; 
 
 Tell when her look is friendly, when adverse ; 
 
 "When she will raise the sap, and when depress ; 
 
 The coming weather from her halo guess. 
 
 And 'from her silver-pale or fiery face. 
 
 Clear signs to him were birds and keen March days, 
 
 And mouldy bread and noisome August fogs, 
 St. Clara's dawn, the rainbow-hued sun-dogs, 
 Wet seasons, times of drought and frost and plenty. 
 Full oft, in pleasant years, a-ploughing went he, 
 With six fair, handsome beasts. And, verily, 
 Myself have seen, and it was good to see,
 
 142 MIRi:iO. [Canto VII. 
 
 The soil part silently before the share, 
 
 And its dark bosom to the sun lay bare : 
 
 The comely mules, ne'er from the furrow breakino-. 
 
 Toiled on as though they care and thought were takino- 
 
 For what they did. With muzzles low they went, 
 
 And arching necks like bows when these are bent, 
 
 And hasted not, nor lagged. Followed along — 
 Eye on the mules, and on his lips a song — 
 The ploughman, with one handle only guiding. 
 So, in the realm where we have seen presiding 
 Our old friend Ramoun, flourished every thing, 
 And he bare sceptre like a very king. 
 
 Now says he gi-ace, and lifts his eyes above. 
 
 And signs the holy cross. The laborers move 
 
 Away to make the bonfire ready. These 
 
 Bring kindling; those, the boughs of dark pine-trees; 
 
 And the old men alone at table staying, 
 
 A silence fell. But Ambroi brake it, saying, — 
 
 " For counsel, Ramoun, am I come to thee ; 
 For I am in a great perplexity 
 Thou only canst resolve. Cure see I none. 
 Thou knowest. Master, that I have a son 
 Who has been passing good until this day, — 
 It were ingratitude aught else to say ;
 
 Canto VII.] THE OLD MEN. 143 
 
 " But there are flaws even in precious stones, ~ 
 And tender lambs will have convulsions, 
 And the still waters are perfidious ever : 
 So my mad boy, — thou wilt believe it never, — 
 He loves the daughter of a rich freeholder. 
 And swears he will in his embrace enfold her ! 
 
 " Ay, swears he will, the maniac ! And his love 
 
 And his despair my soul to terror move. 
 
 I showed him all his folly, be thou sure. 
 
 And how wealth gains, and poverty grows poor 
 
 In this hard world. In vain ! lie would but call, 
 
 ' Cost what it may, tell thou her parents all, — 
 
 " ' Tell them to look for virtue, not for gain ! 
 Tell them that I can plough a stony plain. 
 Or harroAv, or prune vines with any man ! 
 Tell them their six yoke, with my guiding, can 
 Plough double ! Tell them I revere the old ; 
 And, if they part us for the sake of gold, 
 
 " ' "We shall both die, and need but burial.' 
 Now, Master Ramoun, I have told thee all. 
 Shall I, clad in my rags, for this maid sue. 
 Or leave my son to die of sorrow?" — "Whew!" 
 The other. " To such wind spread thou no sail ! 
 Nor he, nor she, will perish of this ail.
 
 144 Min^IO. ' [Canto VII. 
 
 " So much, good friend, I say in utmost faith. 
 Nor would I, Ambroi, fret myself to death . 
 If I were thou ; but, seeing him so mad, 
 I would say plainly, ' Calm your mind, my lad ! 
 For if you raise a tempest by your passions, 
 I '11 teach you with a cudgel better fashions ! ' 
 
 " If an ass, Ambroi, for more fodder bray, 
 
 Throw him none down, but let thy bludgeon play. 
 
 Proven9al families in days bygone 
 
 Were healthy, brave, and evermore at one, - 
 
 And strong as plane-trees when a storm befell. 
 
 They had their strifes, indeed, — we know it well; 
 
 "But, when returned the holy Christmas eve, 
 The o;randsire all his children would receive 
 At his own board, under a star-sown tent ; 
 And ceased the voice of strife and all dissent, 
 "When, lifting hands that wrinkled were and trembled. 
 He blessed the generations there assembled. 
 
 to^ 
 
 " Moreover, he who is a father truly 
 Will have his child yield him obedience duly: 
 The flock that drives the shepherd, soon or late. 
 Will meet a Avolf and a disastrous fate. 
 When we were young, had any son withstood 
 His father, he, belike, had shed his blood!"
 
 Canto YII.] THE OLD MEN. 145 
 
 " Thou wilt kill me then, father ! It is I 
 AYhom Vincen worships thus despairingly; 
 And before God and our most holy Mother, 
 I give my soul to him, and to no other ! " 
 A deathlike hush followed Mireio's word. 
 The wife of Ramoun was the first who stirred. 
 
 Upspringing w^ith clasped hands and utterance wild, 
 
 " Your speech is an atrocious insult, child ! 
 
 Your love 's a thorn that long hath stung us deep. 
 
 Alari, the owner of a thousand sheep. 
 
 You sent away ; and keeper Veran too. 
 
 Disgusted with your scorn, his suit withdrew; 
 
 " Also the wealthy herdsman, Ourrias, 
 
 You treated as a dog and a scapegrace ! 
 
 Tramp through the country with your beggar, then ! 
 
 Herd with strange women and with outcast men ! 
 
 And cook your pot with fortune-telling crones 
 
 Under a bridge mayhap, upon three stones. 
 
 " Go, gypsy, you are free ! " the mother said ; 
 Nor stayed Ramoun her pitiless tirade. 
 Though his eye like a taper burned. But now 
 The lightning flashed under his shaggy brow, 
 And his wrath brake, all barriers overbearing. 
 Like swollen torrent down a mountain tearinsr. 
 
 10
 
 146 MIRiJIO. [Canto VII. 
 
 " Your mother 's right ! " he said. " Go ! travel yonder, 
 And take the tempest with you where you wander! 
 Nay, but you shall not ! Here you shall remain. 
 Though I should bind you Avith an iron chain, 
 Or hold like a rebellious jumart, look! 
 Dragged by the nostrils with an iron hook ! 
 
 " Yea, though you pine with sickly melancholy, 
 Till from your cheeks the roses perish wholly. 
 Or fade as snow fades when the sun is hot 
 On the hill-sides in spring, go shall you not ! 
 And mark, Mireio ! Sure as the hearth's ashes 
 Rest on that brick, and sure as the Rhone dashes 
 
 " Above its banks when it is overfull, 
 And sure as that's a Lamp, and here I rule. 
 You '11 see him never more ! " The table leapt 
 Beneath his fist. Mireio only wept. ' 
 
 Her heavy tears like dew on smallage rain. 
 Or grapes o'er ripe before a hurricane. 
 
 " And who," resumed the old man, blind with rage, — 
 
 " Curse it ! — I say, who, Ambroi, will engage 
 
 Thou didst not with the younger ruffian plot 
 
 This vile abduction, yonder in thy cot?" 
 
 Then Ambroi also sprang infuriate, — 
 
 " Good God ! " he cried, " we are of low estate ;
 
 Canto YII.] THE OLD MEN. 147 
 
 " But let me tell you that our hearts are high ! 
 No shame, no stain, is honest poverty ! 
 I 've served my country forty years or more 
 On shipboard, and I know the cannon's roar. 
 So young that I could scarce a boat-hook swing 
 When on my first cruise I went wandering. 
 
 " I 've seen Melinda's empire far away, 
 
 And with SufFren have haunted India, 
 
 And done my duty over all the world 
 
 In the great wars, where'er our flag unfurled 
 
 That southern chief who passed his conquering hand 
 
 With one red sweep from Spain to Russian land, 
 
 "And at whose drum-beat every clime was quaking 
 Like aspen-tree before the tempest shaking ; 
 Horrors of boarding, shipwreck's agonies, — 
 These have I known, and darker things than these, 
 Days than the sea more bitter. Being poor, 
 No bit of motherland might I secure. 
 
 " Scorned of the rich, I might not dress the sward, 
 
 But suffer forty years without reward. 
 
 We ate dog's food, on the hoar-frost we lay : 
 
 Weary of life, we rushed into the fray. 
 
 And so upbore the glorious name of France. 
 
 But no one holds it in remembrance ! "
 
 148 MIR£lO. [(^ANTo VII. 
 
 His caddis-cloak upon the ground he threw, 
 
 And spake no more. "What great thing wilt thou do?" 
 
 Asked Ramoun, and his tone was full of scorn. 
 
 " I, too, have heard the cannon-thunder borne 
 
 Along the valley of Toulon, have seen 
 
 The bridfire of Arcole stormed, and I have been 
 
 " In Egypt when her sands were red with gore ; 
 But we, like men, when those great wars were o'er, 
 Returning, fiercely fell upon the soil, 
 And dried our very marrow up with toil. 
 The day began long ere the eastern glow, 
 The rising moon surj^rised us at the hoe. 
 
 " They say the Earth is generous. It is true ! 
 But, like a nut-tree, naught she gives to you 
 Unless well-beaten. And if all were known. 
 Each clod of landed ease thus hardly won. 
 He who should number them would also know 
 The sweat-drops that have fallen from my brow. 
 
 " And must I, by Ste. Ann of Apt, be still ? 
 Like satyr toil, of siftings eat my fill, 
 That all the homestead may grow wealthy, and 
 Myself before the world with honor stand, 
 Yet go and give my daughter to a tramp, 
 A vagabond, a straw-loft-sleeping scamp ?
 
 Canto VII.] THE OLD MEN. 14U 
 
 " God's thunder strike you and your dog ! Begone ! 
 But I," the master said, " will keep my swan." 
 These were his last rough words ; and steadily 
 Ambroi arose, and his cloak lifted he, 
 And only rested on his staff to say, 
 "Adieu! Mayst thou not regret this day! 
 
 " And may the good God and his angels guide 
 The orange-laden bark across the tide ! " 
 Then, as he passed into the falling night, 
 From the branch-heap ai'ose a ruddy light. 
 And one long tongue of flame the wanderer sees, 
 Curled like a horn by the careering breeze ; 
 
 And round it reapers dancing blithesomely. 
 With pulsing feet, and haughty heads and free 
 Thrown back, and faces by the bonfire lit. 
 Loud crackling as the night- wind flmneth it. 
 The sound of coals that to the brazier fall 
 Blends with the fife-notes fine but musical, 
 
 And merry as the song of the hedge-sparrow. 
 Ah, but it thrills the old Earth to her marrow 
 When thou dost visit her, beloved St. John ! 
 The sparks went whirling upward, and hummed on 
 The tabor gravelv and incessanth'. 
 Like the low surging of a tranquil sea.
 
 150 MIREIO. [Canto VII. 
 
 Then did the dusky troop their sickles wave, 
 And three great leaps athwart the flame they gave, 
 And cloves of odorous garlic from a string 
 Upon the glowing embers they did fling, 
 And holy herb and John's-wort bare anigh ; 
 And these were purified and blessed thereby. 
 
 Then " Hail, St. John ! " thrice rose a deafening shout ; 
 And hills and plain, illumined round about, 
 Sparkled as though the dark were showering stars. 
 And sure the Saint, above the heaven's blue bars, 
 The breath of all this incense doth inhale. 
 Wafted aloft by the unconscious gale.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO VII. 
 
 1 The mistral, or north-west wind, which, especially since the 
 removal of the forests at the mouth of the Rhone, blows down the 
 valley with great violence. 
 
 2 Tourtihado, a cake baked in the form of a crown, and made 
 of fine paste, sugar, eggs, and anise-seed. 
 
 3 " The white hen's egg," a proverbial expression for some- 
 thing rare and precious.
 
 T 
 
 CANTO VIII. 
 LA CRAU. 
 
 *HE rage of the mighty lioness 
 Who shall restrain ? 
 She came to her den, and she found it bare : 
 A Moorish huntsman had entered there. 
 The huntsman came, and the whelp is gone. 
 Away through the canebrake they have flown, 
 Galloping far at a headlong pace. 
 
 To follow — vain ! 
 She roars awhile in her deep desj^ite. 
 Then rises and courses, lank and light. 
 Over the hills of Barbary. 
 As a maid bereft of her love is she. 
 
 Mireio lay upon her little bed, 
 
 Clasping in both her hands her burning head. 
 
 Dim was the chamber ; for the stars alone 
 
 Saw the maid weep, and heard her piteous moan, ■ 
 
 " Help, Mother Mary, in my sore distress ! 
 
 Oh, cruel fate ! Oh, father pitiless.
 
 Cauto VIIL] la CRAU. I 153 
 
 " Who tread me undei-foot ! Could you but see 
 
 My heart's mad tumult, you would jAty me ! 
 
 You used to call me darling long ago, 
 
 And now you bend me to the yoke as though 
 
 I were a vicious colt that you were fain 
 
 To break. Why does the sea not flood this plain ? 
 
 " I would the wealthy lands that make me Aveep 
 
 Were hid for evermore in the great deep ! 
 
 Ah, had I in a serpent's hole been born, 
 
 Of some poor vagrant, I were less forlorn ! 
 
 For then if any lad, my Vincen even, 
 
 Had asked my hand, mayhap it had been given. 
 
 " O Vincen, who so handsome are and true ! 
 
 If only they would let me go to you, 
 
 I 'd cling as clings the tender ivy- vine 
 
 Unto the oak: I would not ever pine 
 
 For food, but life in your caresses find, - 
 
 And drink at wayside pools with happy mind." 
 
 So on her pallet the sweet maid lay sobbing, 
 
 Fire in her heart and every vein a-throbbing. 
 
 And all the happy time remembering — 
 
 Oh, calm and happy ! — of her love's fair spring. 
 
 Until a Avord in Vincen's very tone 
 
 Comes to lier memory. " 'Twas yon, my own, —
 
 154 MIR&IO. [Canto VIII. 
 
 " 'Twas you," she cried, " came one day to the farm, 
 
 And said, ' If ever thou dost come to harm, — 
 
 If any lizard, wolf, or poisonous snake 
 
 Ever should wound thee with its fang, — betake 
 
 Thyself forthwith to the most holy Saints, 
 
 Who cure all ills and hearken all complaints.' 
 
 " And sure I am in trouble now," she said : 
 " Therefore we '11 go, and come back comforted." 
 Then lightly from her white cot glided she. 
 And straightway opened, with a shining key, 
 The wardrobe where her own possessions lay : 
 It was of walnut wood, and carven gay. 
 
 Here were her childhood's little treasures all : 
 Here sacredly she kept the coronal 
 Worn at her first communion ; and anear 
 There lay a withered sprig of lavender ; 
 And a wax taper almost burned, as well, 
 Once blessed, the distant thunder to dispel. 
 
 A smart red petticoat she first prepares, 
 
 Which she herself had quilted into squares, — 
 
 Of needlework a very masterpiece ; 
 
 And round her slender waist she fastens this ; 
 
 And over it another, finer one 
 
 She draws ; and next doth a black bodice don,
 
 Canto VIII. ] LA CRAU. 155 
 
 And fasten firmly with a pin of gold. 
 On her white shoulders, her long hair unrolled, 
 Curling, and loose like a dark garment, lay. 
 Which, gathering up, she swiftly coils away 
 Under a cap of fine, transparent lace ; 
 Then decks the veiled tresses with all grace. 
 
 Thrice with a ribbon blue encircling them, — 
 
 The fair vouns: brow's Arlesian diadem. 
 
 Lastly, she adds an aj^ron to the rest. 
 
 And folds a muslin kerchief o'er her breast. 
 
 In her dire haste, alone, the child forgat 
 
 The shallow-crowned, broad-brimmed Proven9al hat, 
 
 That might have screened her from the mortal heat. 
 But, so ai-rayed, crept forth on soundless feet 
 Adown the wooden staircase, in her hand 
 Her shoes, undid the heavy door-bar, and 
 Her soul unto the watchful saints commended, 
 As aAvay like a wind of night she wended. 
 
 It was the hour when constellations keep 
 
 Their friendly watch o'er followers of the deep. 
 
 The eye of St. John's eagle flashed afi\r, 
 
 As it alighted on a burning star, 
 
 One of the three where the evanG:elist 
 
 Hath his alternate dwellin;::. Cloud nor mist 
 
 o
 
 156 MIREIO. rCAiJTo VIII. 
 
 Defaced the dark serene of star-lit sky ; 
 But the great chariot of souls went by 
 On winged wheels along the heavenly road, 
 Bearing away from earth its blessed load. 
 Far up the shining steeps of Paradise, 
 The circling hills behold it as it flies. 
 
 Mireio hasted no less anxiously 
 
 Than Magalouno ^ in the days gone by, 
 
 Who searched the wood with sad, inquiring glance 
 
 For her lost lover, Peire of Provence, 
 
 When cruel waves divorced him from her side. 
 
 And left her lone and wretched. Soon espied 
 
 The maid, upon the boundary of the lea, 
 
 Folds where her sire's own shepherds could she see 
 
 Already milking. Some the sheep compelled. 
 
 Against the pen-side by the muzzle held. 
 
 To suckle quietly their tawny lambs. 
 
 Always arose the bleat of certain dams ; 
 
 While other childless ones the shepherds guide 
 Toward the milker. On a stone astride. 
 Mute as the very night, sits he, and dim ; 
 While, pressed from swollen udders, a long stream 
 Of warm fine milk into the pail ^oes leaping. 
 The white froth high about its border creeping.
 
 Canto YIII,] LA CRAU. 157 
 
 The sheep-clogs all in tranquil slumber lay. 
 The fine, large clogs — as white as lilies they — 
 Stretched round the enclosure, muzzles deep in thyme. 
 And peace was everywhere, and summer clime ; 
 And o'er the balmy countiy, far and near, 
 Brooded a heaven full of stars, and clear. 
 
 So in the stillness doth IMireio dash 
 
 Along the hurdles, like a lightnii>g flash. 
 
 Lifting a wailing cry that never varies, — 
 
 " Will none go with me to the holy Maries, 
 
 Of all the shepherds ? " They and the sheep hear it. 
 
 And see the maiden flitting like a spirit. 
 
 And huddle uj), and bow their heads, as though 
 
 Sniit by a sudden gale. The farm-dogs know 
 
 Her voice, but never stir her flight to stay. 
 
 And now is she already far away. 
 
 Threads the dwarf-oaks, and like a partridge rushes 
 
 Over the holly and the camphyre bushes, 
 
 Her feet scarce touching earth. And now she passes 
 Cui-lews in flocks asleep amid the grasses 
 Under the oaks, who, roused from slumber soft. 
 Arise in haste, and wing their flight aloft 
 Over the sad and barren plain ; and all 
 Together « Cour'li ! cour'li ! cour'li ! " call,
 
 158 MIBiJIO. [Canto Vm. 
 
 Until the Dawn, with her dew-glittering tresses, 
 From mountain-top to level slow progresses. 
 Sweetly saluted by the tufted lark, 
 Soaring and singing o'er the caverns dark 
 In the great hills, whose pinnacles each one 
 Appear to sway before the rising sun. 
 
 Then was revealed La Crau, the bare, the waste. 
 The rough with stones, the ancient, and the vast. 
 Whose proud old giants, if the tale be true. 
 Once dreamed, poor fools, the Almighty to subdue 
 With but a ladder and their shoulders brave ; 
 But He them 'whelmed in a destroying wave. 
 
 Already had the rebels dispossest 
 The Mount of Victory ^ of his tall crest. 
 Lifted with lever from its place ; and sure 
 They would have heaped it high upon Ventour, 
 As they had piled the rugged escarpment 
 They from the Alpine range had earlier rent. 
 
 But God his hand extended o'er the plain : 
 The north-west wind, thunder, and hurricane 
 He loosed ; and these arose like eagles three 
 From mountain clefts and caverns and the sea, 
 Wrapped in thick fog, with fury terrible, 
 And on the marble pile together fell.
 
 Canto YIII.] LA CRAU. 159 
 
 Then were the rude Colossi overthrown ; 
 And a dense covering of pudding-stone 
 Spread o'er La Crau, the desolate, the vast, 
 The mute, the bare to every stormy blast ; 
 Who wears the hideous garment to this day. 
 Meanwliile Mireio farther speeds away 
 
 From the home-lands, while the sun's ardent glare 
 
 Makes visible all round the shimmering air; 
 
 And shrill cicalas, grilling in the grass, 
 
 Beat madly evermore their tiny brass. 
 
 N"or tree for shade was there, nor any beast : 
 
 The many flocks, that in the winter feast 
 
 On the short, savory grasses of the moor, 
 
 Had climbed the Alps, where airs are cool and pure, 
 
 And pastures fadeless. Yet the maid doth fly 
 
 Under the pouring fire of a June sky, — 
 
 Fly, fly, like lightning. Lizards large and gray 
 
 Peep from their holes, and to each other say. 
 
 " She must be mad who thus the shingle clears, 
 Under a heat that sets the junipers ^ 
 A-dancing on the hills ; on Crau, the sands." 
 The praying mantes * lift beseeching hands, 
 " Return, return, O pilgrim ! " murmuring, 
 " For God hath opened many a crystal spring ; 
 
 h
 
 160 MIREFO. [Canto YIII. 
 
 " And shady trees hath planted, so the rose 
 To save upon your cheeks. Why, then, expose 
 Your brow to the unpitying summer heat ? " 
 Vainly as well the butterflies entreat. 
 For her the wings of love, the wind of faith, 
 Bear on together, as the tempest's breath 
 
 White gulls astray over the briny plains 
 
 Of Agui-Morto. Utter sadness reigns 
 
 In scattered sheei^-cots of their tenants left, 
 
 And overrun with salicorne. Bereft 
 
 In the hot desert, seemed the maid to wake, 
 
 And see nor sj)ring nor ]doo1 her thirst to slake. 
 
 And sli^htlv shuddered. " Great St. Gent ! " ^ she cried, 
 
 " O hermit of the Bausset mountain-side ! 
 
 O fair young laborer, who to thy plough 
 
 Didst harness the fierce mountain-wolf ere now, 
 
 And in the flinty rock, recluse divine, ^ 
 
 Didst open springs of water and of wine, 
 
 " And so revive thy mother, perishing 
 Of heat ! like me, when they were slumbering. 
 Thou didst forsake thy household, and didst fare 
 Alone with God through mountain-passes, where 
 Thy mother found thee ! For me, too, dear Saint, 
 Open a spring ; for I am very faint.
 
 Caoto VIII.] LA CRAU. 161 
 
 " And my feet by the hot stones blistered ! " 
 Then, in high heaven, heard what Mireio said 
 The good St. Gent : and soon she doth discover 
 A well far oflE^ with a bright stone laid over ; 
 And, like a marten through a shower of rain, 
 Speeds through the flaming sun-rays, this to gain. 
 
 The well was old, with ivy overrun, — 
 
 A Avatering-place for flocks ; and fl-om the sun 
 
 Scarce by it sheltered sat a little boy, 
 
 With basket-full of small white snails for toy. 
 
 With his brown hands, he one by one withdrew them. 
 
 The tiny harvest-snails ; and then sang to them, — 
 
 " Snaily, snaily, little nun. 
 Come out of the cell, come into the sun ! 
 Show me your horns without delay. 
 Or I '11 tear your convent-walls away." 
 
 Then the fair maid of Crau, when she had dipped 
 Her burning lips into the pail, and sipped, 
 Quickly upraised a lovely, rosy face. 
 And, " Little one ! what dost thou here ? " she says. 
 A pause. " Pick snailies from the stones and grass ? " 
 " Thou hast guessed right ! " the urchin's answer was. 
 
 11
 
 162 MIRE 10. [Cant;o VIII. 
 
 " Here in my basket have I — see, how many ! 
 Nuns,* harvest-snails,'' and these,^ as good as any ! " 
 " Well, and you eat them ? " — " Nay, not I," replied he ; 
 " But mother carries them to Aries on Friday, 
 And sells them ; and brings back nice, tender bread. 
 Thou Avilt have been to Aries ? " — " Never ! " she said. 
 
 " What, never been to Aries ! But I 've been there ! 
 
 Ah, poor young lady ! Couldst thou see how fair 
 
 And large a city that same Aries is grown ! 
 
 She covers all the seven mouths of the Rhone. 
 
 Sea-cattle has she on the isles, who graze 
 
 Of the salt-meres. Wild horses, too, she has ; 
 
 " And, in one summer, corn enough she raises 
 To feed her seven full years, if so she pleases. 
 She 's fishermen who fish on every sea, — 
 Seamen who front the storms right valiantly 
 Of distant waters." Thus with pretty pride 
 The boy his sunny country glorified. 
 
 In golden speech ; — her blue and heaving ocean ; 
 
 Her Mont Majour, that keeps the mills in motion, — 
 
 These with soft olives ever feeding fully ; 
 
 Her bitterns in the marshes booming dully. 
 
 One thing alone, thou lovely, dusky town, 
 
 The child forgat, — of all thy charms the crown :
 
 Canto YI!I.] LA CRA U. 163 
 
 He said not, fruitful Aries, that thy fine air 
 
 Gives to thy daugliters beauty rich and rare, 
 
 As grapes to autumn, or as wings to bird. 
 
 Or fragrance to the hill-sides. Him had heard 
 
 The country maiden, sadly, absently. 
 
 But now, "Bright boy, wilt thou not go with me?" 
 
 She said ; " for, ere the frogs croak in the willow, 
 
 My foot must planted be beyond the billow. 
 
 Come with me ! I must o'er the Rhone be rowed, 
 
 And left there in the keeping of my God ! " 
 
 " Now, then," the urchin cried, " thou poor, dear lady, 
 
 Thou art in luck ! for we are fishers," said he ; 
 
 "And thou shalt sleep under our tent this night. 
 Pitched in the shadow of the poplars wliite. 
 So keeping all thy pretty clothing on ; 
 And father, with the earliest ray of dawn, 
 In our own little boat will put thee o'er!" 
 But she, " Do not detain me, I implore : 
 
 " I am yet strong enough this night to wander." 
 " Now God forbid ! " was the lad's prompt rejoinder : 
 " Wouldst thou see, then, the crowd of sorry shapes 
 From the Trau-de-la-Capo that escapes ? 
 For if they meet thee, be thou sure of this, — 
 They '11 drag thee with them into the abyss ! "
 
 164 MIB£:I0. [Casto VIII. 
 
 " Trau-de-la-Capo ! What may that be, pray ? " 
 
 "I'll tell thee, lady, as we pick our way 
 
 Over the stones." And forthwith he befran: 
 
 " Once was a treading- floor tliat overran 
 
 With wealth of sheaves. To-morrow, on thy ways, 
 
 Thou 'It pass, upon the riverside, the place. 
 
 "Trod by a circle of Camargan steeds. 
 
 The tall sheaves had been yielding up their seeds 
 
 To the incessant hoofs, a month or more. 
 
 No pause, no rest ; and, on the treading-floor, 
 
 Dusty and winding, there was yet bestowed 
 
 Of sheaves a very mountain to be trod. 
 
 " Also, the weather was so fiercely hot, 
 
 The floor would burn like fire ; and rested not 
 
 The wooden forks that more sheaves yet supplied ; 
 
 Wliile at the horses' muzzles there were shied 
 
 Clusters of bearded ears unceasingly, — 
 
 They flew as arrows from the cross-bow fly. 
 
 " And on St. Peter's day and on St. Charles' 
 Rang, and rang vainly, all the bells of Aries: 
 There was no Sunday and no holiday 
 For the unhappy horses ; but alway 
 The heavy tramp around the weary road, 
 Alway the pricking of the keeper's goad,
 
 Canto VIII.] LA CRAU. 165 
 
 "Alway the orders issued huskily, 
 As in the fiery whirlwind still stood he. 
 The greedy master of the treaders white 
 Had even muzzled them, in his despite. 
 And, Avhen Our Lady's ® day in August came, 
 The coupled beasts were treading, all the same, 
 
 " The piled sheaves, foam-drenched. Their livers clung 
 Fast to their ribs, and their jaws drivelling hung, 
 When suddenly an icy, northern gale 
 Smit, swept the floor, — and God's blasphemers feel 
 It quake and part ! On a black caldi'on's brink 
 They stand now, and their eyes with horror sink. 
 
 " Then the sheaves whirl with fury terrible. 
 Pitch-forkers, keepers, keepers-aids as well. 
 Struggle to save them ; but they naught can do : 
 The van, the van-goats, and the mill-stones too, 
 Horses and drivers, treading-floor, and master 
 Are swallowed up in one immense disaster ! " 
 
 " You make me shudder ! " poor Mireio said. 
 " Ah, but that is not all, my pretty maid ! 
 Thou thinkest me a little mad, may be : 
 But on the morrow thou the spot wilt see ; 
 And carp and tench in the blue water playing, 
 And, in the reeds, marsh-blackbirds roundelaying.
 
 166 MIR£:iO. [Canto VIII. 
 
 "But on Our Lady's clay, when mounts again 
 The fire-crowned sun to the meridian, 
 Lay thee down softly, ear to earth," said he, 
 "And eye a-watch, and presently thou 'It see 
 The gulf, at first so limpid, will begin 
 To darken with the shadow of the sin ; 
 
 " And slowly up from the unquiet deep 
 
 A murmuring sound, like buzzing flies, will creep ; 
 
 And then a tinkling, as of tiny bells, 
 
 That soon into an awful uproar swells 
 
 Among the water-weeds! Like human voices 
 
 Inside an amphora the fearsome noise is ! 
 
 " And then it is the trot of M\asted horses 
 Painfully tramping round their weary courses 
 Upon a hard, dry surface, evermore 
 Echoing like a summer threshing-floor, 
 "Whom drives a brutal keeper, nothing loth, 
 And hurries them with insult and with oath. 
 
 "But, when the holy sun is sinking low, 
 The blasphemies turn hoarse and friinter grow, 
 The tinkling dies among the weeds. Far off". 
 The limping, sorry steed is heard to cough ; 
 And, on the top of the tall reeds Vswinrrino-, 
 Once more the blackbirds begin sweetly singing."
 
 Canto VIII.] LA CRAU. 167 
 
 So, full of chat, and with his basket laden, 
 Travelled the little man before the maiden ; 
 While the descending sun with rose invests 
 The great blue ramparts and the golden crests 
 Of the hill-range, peaceful and pure and high, 
 Blending its outline with the evening sky. 
 
 Seemed the great orb, as he withdrew in splendor, 
 God's peace unto the marshes to surrender. 
 And to the great lake,^° and the olives gray 
 Of the Vaulungo, and the Rhone away 
 There in the distance, and the reapers weary, 
 Who now unbend, and quaff the sea-air, cheery. 
 
 Till the boy cries that far away he sees 
 
 The home-tent's canvas fluttering in the breeze. 
 
 "And the white poplar, dear maid, seest thou? 
 
 And brother Not, who climbs it even now? 
 
 He's there after cicalas, be thou sure; 
 
 Or to spy me returning o'er the moor, 
 
 " Ah, now he sees us ! And my sister Zeto, 
 
 Who helped him with her shoulder, turns this way too ; 
 
 And seems to tell my mother that she may 
 
 Put the fish-broth " to boil without delay. 
 
 And mother also, I can see her leaning 
 
 Over the boat, and the fresh fish a-gleaning."
 
 168 MIRi:lO. [Canto VIII. 
 
 Then, as the two made haste with one accord 
 
 To mount the dike, the histy fisher roared, 
 
 " Now this is charming ! Look this way, my Avife ! 
 
 Onr little Andreloun, upon my life, 
 
 Will be the prince of fishers one day," said he ; 
 
 "For he.has caught the queen of eels already!"
 
 NOTES TO CANTO VIII. 
 
 i " Magalodno." According to the old chivalrous romance, 
 Count Pierre of Provence, having eloped with Magaloiuio, daugh- 
 ter of the King of Naples, fled with her over hill and vale. One 
 day, as Magalouno was sleeping by the seaside, a bird of prey 
 carried off a jewel that was glittering on her neck. Her lover fol- 
 lowed the bird in a boat out to sea ; but a storm arose, whereby 
 he was driven to Egypt, where he was received and loaded with 
 honors by the Soldan. After many romantic adventures, they 
 met again in Provence, where Magalouno, having become an 
 abbess, had founded a hospital, around which the town of Maga- 
 louno was afterwards built. 
 
 * Santo Vitori, a lofty peak east of Aix. It derives its name 
 from the victory gained by Marius over the Teutons, close by. 
 
 3 Juniper, Juniparus phaenicea. 
 
 * Praying mantes, Orlhoptera raptoria. 
 
 5 St. Gent. A young laborer of Monteux, who, at the begin- 
 ning of the eleventh century, retired to the gorge of Bausset, near 
 Vaucluse, to live as a hermit. His hermitage, and the miraculous 
 fountain he caused to spring, tradition says, by touching the rock 
 with his finger, are objects of many pilgrimages. 
 
 ^ '^ 8 Helix heriniculata, Helix exepitum, and Helix aJgira. 
 
 ^ August 15, the fete of Napoleon III. 
 
 1^ The Grand Clar, an immense pond in Crau, between Baux 
 and Aries. 
 
 11 " The fish-broth," houihaisso, a favorite Provencal stew, made 
 of all sorts of fish, and poured, boiling hot, upon pieces of bread.
 
 CANTO IX. 
 
 THE MUSTER. 
 
 \ LL sorrowflilly droop the lotus-trees ; 
 -^"^ And heart-sick to then- hives withdraw the bees, 
 Forgetful of the heath with savory sweet, 
 And with milk-thistle. Water-lilies greet 
 lung-fishers blue that to the vivary hie. 
 And " Have you seen Mireio ? " is their cry. 
 
 While Ramoun and his wife by the fireside 
 Are sitting, lost in grief, and swollen- eyed. 
 And at their hearts the bitterness of death. 
 " Doubtless," they said, " her reason v/andereth. 
 Oh, what a mad and wretched maid it is ! 
 Oh, what a heavy, cruel downfall this ! 
 
 " Oh, dire disgrace ! Our beauty and our hope 
 So with the last of trampers to elope ! 
 Fled with a gypsy ! And who shall discover 
 The secret hole of this kidnapping lover, 
 Where he the shameless one concealed hath?" 
 And, as they spake, they knit their brows in wrath.
 
 Canto IX.] THE MUSTER. 171 
 
 Now came the cup-bearer Avith ass and pannier, 
 And on the threshold, in his wonted manner. 
 Pausing, "Good-morrow, master fair!" he cried. 
 " I 'm come to fetch the lunch." ^ — " Curse it ! " replied 
 The jjoor old man. " Begone ! Without my child, 
 I 'm like a cork-tree of its bark despoiled. 
 
 " Yet hark ye, cup-bearer, upon your track 
 Across the fields like lightning go you back. 
 And bid the ploughmen and the mowers all 
 Quit ploughs and scythes, the harvesters let fall 
 Their sickles, and the shepherds too," said he, 
 "Forsake their flocks, and instant come to me!" 
 
 Then, fleeter than a goat, the f uthful man 
 O'er stony follow and red clover ran. 
 Threaded holm-oaks^ on lonw declivities. 
 Leaped o'er the roads along the base of these. 
 And now already scents the sweet perfume 
 Of new-mown hay, and the blue-tufted bloom 
 
 Of tall lucerne descries ; and presently 
 
 The measured sweep of the long scythes hears he, 
 
 And lusty mowers bending in a row 
 
 Beholds, and grass by the keen steel laid low 
 
 In verdant swaths, — ever a pleasant sight, — 
 
 And children, and young maidens, with delight
 
 172 MIRillO. [Canto IX. 
 
 Raking the hay and in cocks piling it ; 
 While crickets, that before the mowers flit, 
 Hark to their singing. Also, flirther on. 
 An ash-wood cart, by two white oxen drawn. 
 Heaped Avith cured grass, where a skilled waggoner 
 Doth, by huge armful s, high and higher rear 
 
 The forage round his waist, till it conceals 
 
 The rails, the cart-beam, and the very wheels ; 
 
 And, when the cart moves on, with the hay trailing. 
 
 It seems like some unwieldy vessel sailing. 
 
 But now the loader rises, and descries 
 
 The runner, and " Hold, men ! there 's trouble ! " cries ; 
 
 And cartman's aids, who in great forkfuls carry 
 
 To him the hay, now for a moment tarry, 
 
 And wipe their streaming broAVS ; and mowers rest 
 
 The scythe-back carefully upon the breast. 
 
 And whet the edge, as they the plain explore 
 
 That Phoebus wings his burning arrows o'er. 
 
 Began the rustic messenger straightway, 
 " Hear, men, Avhat our good master bade me say : 
 " ' Cup-bearer,' was his word, ' upon your track 
 Across the fields like lightning go you back. 
 And bid the ploughmen and the mowei-s all 
 Quit ploughs and scythes, the harvesters let fall
 
 CiNTo IX.] THE MUSTER. 173 
 
 " ' Their sickles, and the shepherds hastily 
 Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me ! ' " 
 Then, fleeter than a goat, the faithful man 
 O'er the rich, madder-growing ^ hillocks ran, — 
 Althen's bequest, — and saw on every hand 
 The gold of perfect ripeness tinge the land, 
 
 And centaury-starred fields, and ploughmen bent 
 Above their ploughs and on their mules intent, 
 And earth, awakened from her winter-sleep, 
 And shapeless clods upturned from furrows deep, 
 And wagtails frisking o'er; and yet again, 
 " Hearken to Avhat our master saith, good men ! 
 
 " ' Cupbearer,' was his word, ' upon your track 
 Across the fields like lightning go you back, 
 And bid the ploughmen and the mowers all 
 Quit ploughs and scythes, the harvesters let fall 
 Their sickles, and the shepherds hastily 
 Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me ! ' " 
 
 Then the stout runner, fleeter than the goats. 
 Dashed through the pieces waving with wild-oats. 
 Fosses o'erleaped with meadow-flowers bright. 
 And in great yellow wheat-fields passed from sight, 
 Where reapers forty, sickle each in hand, 
 Like a dc'\uuring fire fall on the land,
 
 174 MIRlJIO. [Canto IX. 
 
 And strip hei* mantle rich and odorous 
 From oflf her breast, and, ever gaining thus 
 As wolves gain on their prey, rob, hour by hour, 
 Earth of her gokl, and summer of her flower ; 
 While in the wake of each, in ordered line. 
 Falls the loose grain, like tendrils of the vine. 
 
 And the sheaf-binders, ever on the watch, 
 The dropping wheat in handfuls deftly catch, 
 And underneath the arm the same bestow 
 Until, so gathering, they have enow ; 
 When, pressing with the knee, they tightly bind, 
 And lastly fling the perfect sheaf behind. 
 
 Twinkle the sickles keen like swarming bees. 
 Or laughing ripple upon sunny seas 
 Where flounders are at play. Erect and tall. 
 With rough beards blent, in heaps pyramidal. 
 The sheaves by hundreds rise. The plain afar 
 Shows like a tented camp in days of war ; 
 
 Even like that which once arose upon 
 
 Our own Beaucaire, in days how long withdrawn ! 
 
 When came a host of terrible invaders, 
 
 The great Simon and all the French crusaders. 
 
 Led by a legate, and in fierce advance 
 
 Count Raymond slaughtered and laid waste Provence.
 
 Cakto IX.] THE MUSTER. 175 
 
 And here, with gleanings falling from her fingers, 
 Full many a merry gleaner strays and lingers ; 
 Or in the warm lea of the stacks of corn, 
 Or 'mid the canes,* drops languidly, o'erborne 
 By some long look, that e'en bewilders her, 
 Because Love also is a harvester. 
 
 And yet again the master's word, — "Go back 
 Like lightning, cupbearer, upon your track. 
 And bid the ploughmen and the mowers all 
 Quit ploughs and scythes, the harvesters let fall 
 Their sickles, and the shepherds instantly 
 Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me ! " 
 
 Then fleeter than a goat sped on his way 
 The faithful soul*, straight through the olives gray, 
 On, on, like a north-eastern gale descending 
 Upon the vineyards, and the branches rending. 
 Until, away in Crau, the waste, the lonely. 
 Behold him, where the partridge whirreth only ; , 
 
 And, still remote, discovers he the flocks 
 Tranquilly lying under the dwarf-oaks, 
 And the chief-shepherd, with his helpers young, 
 For noon-tide rest about the heather flung, 
 And little wag-tails hopping at their ease 
 O'er sheep that ruminate unmoved by these.
 
 176 MIEi:iO. [Canto IX. 
 
 And slowly, slowly sailing o'er the sea 
 
 Diaphanous vapors, light and white, sees he, 
 
 And deems that up iu heaven some fair saint, 
 
 Gliding too near the sun, is stricken faint 
 
 On the aerial heights, and hath let fall 
 
 Her convent-veil. And still the herald's call : — 
 
 " Hark, shepherds, to the master's word, — ' Go back 
 Like lightning, cupbearer, upon your track, 
 And bid the ploughmen and the mowers all 
 Quit ploughs and scythes, the reapers too let fall 
 Their sickles, and the shepherds instantly 
 Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me ! ' " 
 
 Then the scythes rested and the ploughs were stayed. 
 
 The forty highland reapers each his blTide 
 
 Let fall, and rushed as bees on new-found wings 
 
 Forsake the hive, begin their wanderings. 
 
 And, by the din of clanging cymbals led, 
 
 Gather them to a pine. So also fled 
 
 The laborers one and all ; the waggoners. 
 And they who tended them ; the rick-builders. 
 Gleaners, and shepherds, and of sheaves the heapers, 
 Binders of sheaves, rakers, mowers, and reapers, 
 Mustered them at the homestead. There, heart-sore 
 And silent, on the grass-grown treading-floor,
 
 Canto IX.] THE MUSTER. 177 
 
 The master and his wife sat down to bide 
 The coming of the hands ; who, as they hied 
 Thither, much marvelled at the strange behest 
 So calling them from toil, and who addrest 
 These words unto old Ramoun, drawing near : 
 " Thou sentest for us, master. We are here." 
 
 Then Ramoun raised his head, and thus replied : 
 " The great stoiTU alway comes at harvest-tide. 
 However well-advised, as we advance 
 We must, poor souls, all stumble on mischance : 
 I cannot say it plainer. Friends, I pray, 
 Let each tell what he knows, without delay ! " 
 
 Lauren de Gout came forward first. Now he 
 Had failed no single year since infoncy 
 His quivered sickle from the hills to bring 
 Down into Aries when ears were yellowing. 
 Brown as a church-stone, he, with weather-stain, 
 Or ancient rock the sea-waves charge in vain. 
 
 The sun might scorch, the north-west wind might roar. 
 But this old king of reapers evermore 
 Was first at work. And now with him there came 
 Seven rough and stalwart boys who bore his name. 
 Him with one voice the harvesters did make 
 Their chief, and justly: therefore thus he spake: 
 
 12
 
 178 MIRiJIO. [Canto IX. 
 
 " If it be true that, when the dawning sky 
 Is ruddj'-, there is rain or snow close by, 
 Then what I saw this very morn, my master, 
 Presagcth surely sorrow and disaster. 
 So may God stay the earthquake ! But as night 
 Fled westward, followed by the early light, 
 
 " And w^et with dew as ever, I the men 
 First summoned briskly to their toil again, 
 And then myself, my sleeves uprolling gayly. 
 Bent me to mine own task, as I do daily ; 
 But at the first stroke wounded thus my hand, — 
 A thing which hath not happened, understand, 
 
 " For thirty years." His fingers then he showed, 
 And the deep gash, wherefrom the blood yet flowed. 
 Then groaned, more piteously than before, 
 Mireio's parents ; while a lusty mower. 
 One Jan Bouquet, a knight of La Tarasque^ 
 From Tarascon, a hearing rose to ask. 
 
 A rough lad he, yet kind and comely too. 
 
 "None with such grace in Condamino threw 
 
 The pike and flag,® and never merrier fellow 
 
 Sang Lagadigadeu's ritournello "^ 
 
 About the gloomy streets of Tarascon, 
 
 When, once a year, they ring with shout and song,
 
 Canto IX.] THE MUSTER. 179 
 
 And brighten up with dances and are blithe. 
 He might have been a master of the scythe, 
 Could he have held the straight, laborious path ; 
 But, when the fete-days came, farewell the swath, 
 And welcome revels underneath the trees, 
 And orgies in the vaulted hostelries, 
 
 And bull-baitings, and never-ending dances ! 
 
 A very roisterer he who now advances, 
 
 "With, " As we, master, in long sweeps were mowing, 
 
 I hailed a nest of francolines, just showing 
 
 Under a tuft of tares ; and, as I bent 
 
 Over the pendent grass, with the intent 
 
 " To count the fluttering things, what do I see 
 
 But hon-ible red ants — oh, misery ! — 
 
 In full possession of the nest and young ! 
 
 Three were then dead. The rest, with vermin stung. 
 
 Their little heads out of the nest extended. 
 
 As though, poor things, they cried to be defended ; 
 
 " But a great cloud of ants, more venomous 
 Than nettles, greedy, eager, ftirious. 
 Them were o'erwhelming even then ; and T, 
 Leaning upon my scythe right pensively, 
 Could hear, far off, the mother agonize 
 Over their cruel fate, with piteous cries."
 
 180 MIRiJIO. [Cauto IX. 
 
 This tale of woe, following upon the other, 
 Is a lance-thrust to father and to mother : 
 Their worst foreboding it hath justified. 
 Then, as a tempest in the hot June-tide, 
 Gathering silently, ascends the air. 
 The weather darkening ever, till the glare 
 
 Of liohtnino- shows in the north-east, and loud 
 Peal follows peal, another left the crowd. 
 One Lou Marran. It was a name renowned 
 In all the farms when winter-eves came round. 
 And laborers, chatting while the mules were stalled 
 And pulling lucerne from the rack, recalled 
 
 What things befell when first this man was hired, 
 Until the lights for lack of oil expired. 
 Seed-time it was, and every other man 
 Was opening up his furrow save Marran ; 
 Who, hanging back, eyed coulter, tackle, share. 
 As he the like had seen not anywhere. 
 
 Till the chief-ploughman spake : " Here is a lout 
 To plough for hire ! Why, a hog with his snout 
 I wager would work better ! " — "I will take 
 Thy bet," said Lou Marran ; " and be the stake 
 Three golden louis ! Either thou or I, 
 blaster, that sum will forfeit presently."
 
 Canto IX.] THE MUSTER. , 181 
 
 " Let blow the trumpet ! " Then the ploughmen tAv^ain 
 In two unswerving lines upturn the plain, 
 Making for the chosen goal, — two poplars high. 
 The sun-rays gild the ridges equally. 
 And all the laborers call out, " Well done ! 
 Thy furrow, chieftain, is a noble one ; 
 
 " Yet, sooth to say, so straight the other is, 
 
 One might an arrow shoot the length of this." 
 
 And Lou Marran was winner, — he who here 
 
 Before the baffled council doth appear, 
 
 All pale, to bear his bitter evidence : 
 
 " Comrades, as I was whistling, not long since, 
 
 " Over my share, methought the land was rough, 
 And we would stretch, the day to finish off; 
 When, lo ! my beasts with fear began to quake. 
 Bristled their hairy sides, their ears lay back. 
 They stopped ; and, with dazed eyes, I saw all round 
 The field-herbs fade, and wither to the ground. 
 
 " I touch my pair. Baiardo sadly eyes 
 His master, but stirs not. Falet applies 
 His nostril to the furrow. Then I lash 
 Their shins ; and, all in terroi-, ofi" they dash. 
 So that the ash-wood beam — the beam, I say — 
 Is rent, and yoke and tackle borne away.
 
 182 MIRi:lO. [Canto IX. 
 
 " Then 1 grew pale, and all my breath was gone ; 
 
 And, seized as with a strong convulsion, 
 
 I ground my jaws. A dreadful shudder grew 
 
 Upon me, — and my hair upraised, I knew. 
 
 As thistle-down is raised by the wind's breath ; . 
 
 But the wind sweeping over me was Death." 
 
 " Mother of God ! " Mireio's mother cried 
 
 In anguish, " do thou in thy mantle hide 
 
 Mine own sweet child ! " and on her knees she dropped, 
 
 With lifted eyes and parted lips ; yet stopped 
 
 Ere any word was spoken, for she saw 
 
 Anteume, shepherd-chief and milker, draw 
 
 Hurriedly toward them. " And why," he was panting, 
 
 "Was she the junipers untimely haunting?" 
 
 Then, the ring entering, his tale he told. 
 
 " This morn, as we Avere milking in the fold, — 
 
 So early that above the bare plain showed 
 
 The sky yet hob-nailed with the stars of God, — 
 
 " A soul, a shadow, or a spectre swept 
 
 Across the way. The dogs all silence kept. 
 
 As if afraid, and the sheep huddled close. 
 
 Thought I, — who scarce have time, as master knows. 
 
 Ever an Ave in the church to offer, — 
 
 ' Speak, soul, if thou art blest. If not, go suffer ! '
 
 Canto IX.] THE MUSTER. 183 
 
 "Then came a voice I knew, — it never varies, — 
 ' Will none go with me to the holy Maries, 
 Of all the shepherds ? ' Ere the word was said, 
 Afar over the plain the voice had fled. 
 Wilt thou believe it, master? — it was she, 
 Mireio ! " Cried the people, » Can it be ? " 
 
 " It was herself ! " the shepherd-chief replied : 
 " I saw her in the star-light past me glide, 
 Not, surely, as she was in other days. 
 But lifting up a wan, affrighted face ; 
 Whereby she was a living soul, I knew, 
 And stung by some exquisite anguish too." 
 
 At this dread word, the laborers groan, and wring 
 Each other's horny palms. " But who will bring," 
 The stricken mother began wildly shrieking, 
 " Me to the saints ? My bird I must be seeking ! 
 My partridge of the stony field," she said, 
 "I must o'ertake, wherever she has fled. 
 
 " And if the ants attack her, then these teeth 
 Shall grind them and their hill ! If greedy Death 
 Dare touch my darling rudely, then will I 
 Break his old, rusty scythe, and she shall fly 
 Away across the jungle ! " Crying thus, 
 Jano Mario fled delirious
 
 184 MIR&IO. [Canto IX. 
 
 Back to the home ; while Ramoun order gave, 
 " Cartman, set up the cart-tilt, wet the nave, 
 And oil the axle, and without delay- 
 Harness Moureto.* We go far to-day, 
 And it is late." The mother, in despair, 
 Mounted the cart ; and more and more the air 
 
 Resounded with the transports of her woe : 
 " O pretty dear ! O wilderness of Crau ! 
 O endless, briny plains ! O dreadful sun, 
 Be kind, I pray you, to the fainting one ! 
 But for her, — the accursed witch Taven, — 
 Who lured my darling into her foul den. 
 
 And poured before her, as I know right well. 
 
 Her philters and her potions horrible. 
 
 And made her drink, — now may the demons all 
 
 Who bind St. Anthony upon her fall. 
 
 And drag her body o'er the rocks of Baux ! " 
 
 As the unhappy soul lamented so, 
 
 Her tones were smothered by the cart's rude shaking ; 
 And the farm-laborers, a last look taking 
 To see if none were coming o'er the plain, 
 Tui'ned slowly, sadly, to their toil again ; 
 While swarms of gnats, the idle, happy things. 
 Filled the green walks with sound of humming wings.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO IX. 
 
 1 Lunch, a light meal taken by the reapers about ten in the 
 morning. 
 
 2 Quercus ilex. 
 
 3 Jean Althen, an Arminian adventurer, introduced in 1774 
 the cultivation of madder into the Comtat Venaissen (department 
 of Vaucluse). In 1850, a statue was erected to him on the rock of 
 Avignon. 
 
 * The Provence cane, Arundo vulgaris, is very common in this 
 region. Cattle-pens and angling-rods are made of it. 
 
 6 <> 7 All the world has heard of La Tarasque, a monster who, 
 according to tradition, ravaged the banks of tlie Rhone, and was 
 destroyed by Ste. Martha. Every year the people of Tarascon 
 celebrate this deliverance by burning the monster in effigy ; and, 
 at intervals of time more or less long, the fete is enhanced by 
 various games, — such as that of the pike and flag here mentioned, 
 which consists in gracefully waving, throwing to a great height, 
 and then catching with address, a standard with large folds, or a 
 javelin. Lagadigadeu is tlie ritournello of a popular song ascribed 
 to King Rene, and sung at Tarascon at this fete. The following 
 is the best known couplet : — 
 
 " Lagadigadeu ! 
 La Tarasco ! 
 Lagadigadeu ! 
 La Tarasco 
 De Castcu ! 
 Leisses la passa, 
 La vieio Masco ! 
 Leisses la passa 
 Que nai dansa."
 
 186 MIBi:iO. [Canto IX. 
 
 Condamino (Campus Domini) is tlie name of a certain quarter in 
 Tarascon. 
 
 ^ Moiireto is the name of the female, Mouret that of the male 
 animal. In this country, beasts of burthen are usually named for 
 their color, — Mouret, black; Bluiiqiiei, white; Brunen, brown; 
 Falet, gray ; Baiard, bay ; Roubin, light bay.
 
 CANTO X. 
 
 CAM ARGUE., 
 
 T ISTEN to me, good people of Provence, 
 
 "^^ Countrymen one and all, from Aries to Vence, 
 
 From Yalensolo even to Marseilles, 
 
 And, if the heat oppress you, come, I pray. 
 
 To Durancolo ^ banks, and, lying low. 
 
 Hear the maid's tale, and.weej) the lover's woe! 
 
 The little boat, in Andreloun's control. 
 Parted the water silent as a sole, 
 The while the enamoured maiden whom I sing. 
 Herself on the great Rhone adventuring. 
 Beside the urchin sat, and scanned the wave 
 Intently, with a dreamy eye and grave. 
 
 Till the boy-boatman spake: "Now knewest thou ever, 
 Young lady, how immense is the Rhone river ? 
 Betwixt Camargue and Crau might holden be 
 Right noble jousts ! That is Camargue ! " said he ; 
 " That isle so vast it can discern, I deem. 
 All the seven mouths of the Arlesian stream."
 
 188 MIR£lO. [Canto X. 
 
 The rose-lights of the morn were beauteous 
 
 Upon the river, as he chatted thus. 
 
 And the tartanes,^ with snowy sails outspread, 
 
 Tranquilly glided up the stream, impelled 
 
 By the light breeze that blew from off the deep, 
 
 As by a shepherdess her milk-white sheep. 
 
 And all along the shore was noble shade 
 By feathery ash and silver poplar made, 
 Whose hoary trunks the river did reflect, 
 And giant limbs with wild vines all bedeckt 
 With ancient vines and tortuous, that upbore 
 Their knotty, clustered fruit the waters o'er. 
 
 Majestically calm, but wearily 
 
 And as he fain would sleep, the Rhone passed by 
 
 Like some great veteran dying. He recalls 
 
 Music and feasting in Avignon's halls 
 
 And castles, and profoundly sad is he 
 
 To lose his name and waters in the sea. 
 
 Meanwhile the enamoured maiden whom I sing 
 Had leaped ashore ; and the boy, tarrying 
 Only to say, " The road that lies before 
 Is thine ! The Saints will guide thee to the door 
 Of their great chapel," took his oars in hand. 
 And swiftly turned his shallop from the land.
 
 Canto X.] CAMAEGUE. 189 
 
 Under the pouring fire of the June sky, 
 
 Like lightning doth Mireio fly and fly. 
 
 East, west, north, south, she seems to see extend 
 
 One weary plain, savannas without end. 
 
 With glimpses of the sea, and here and there 
 
 Tamarisks lifting their light heads in air. 
 
 Golden-herb, samphire, shave-gi-ass, soda, — these 
 Alone grow on the bitter prairies, 
 Where the black J)ulls in savage liberty 
 Rejoice, where the white horses all are free 
 To roam abroad and breast the briny gale. 
 Or air surcharged with sea-fog to inhale. 
 
 But now o'er all the maffsh, dazzling to view, 
 Soars an immeasurable vault of blue. 
 Intense, profound. The only living thing 
 A solitary gull upon the wing 
 Or a gaimt hermit,^ whose dark shadow falls 
 Over the desert meres at intervals. 
 
 Or red-legged chevalier,* or hem,^ wild-eyed 
 With crest of three white plumes upraised in pride. 
 But soon the sun so beats upon the plain 
 That the poor, weary wanderer is fain 
 To loose and lift her folded neckerchief, 
 So from the burning heat to find rehef
 
 190 MIB£;I0. [Cajjto X. 
 
 Yet gi'ows the torment ever more and more ; 
 The sun ascending higher than before, 
 Until it rides in the unshaded zenith, 
 And thence a very flood of fire raineth, — 
 As a starved lion with his eye devours 
 The Abyssinian desert in his course. 
 
 Now were it sweet beneath a beech to slumber ! 
 Now, like a swarm of hornets without number, — 
 An angry swarm, fierce darting high and low, — 
 Or like the hot sparks from a grindstone, grow 
 The pitiless rays ; and Love's poor pilgrim, worn 
 And gasping, and by weariness o'erborne. 
 
 Forth from her bodice draws its golden pin. 
 So that her panting bosom shows within. 
 All dazzling white, like the campanulas ® 
 That bloom beside the summer sea, it was, 
 And, like twin-billows in a brooklet, full. 
 Anon, the solitary scene and dull 
 
 Loses a little of its sadness, and 
 
 A lake shows on the limit of the land, — 
 
 A spacious lake, whose wavelets dance and shine, — 
 
 While shrubs of golden-herb '' and jessamine ' 
 
 On the dark shore appear to soar aloft 
 
 Until they cast a shadow cool and soft. 
 
 ■T"
 
 Canto X.] CAMABGUE. 191 
 
 It seems to the poor maid a heavenly vision, 
 A heartening glimpse into the land elysian. 
 And soon, afar, by that blue wave she sees 
 A town with circling walls and palaces, 
 And fountains gay, and churches without end, 
 And slender spires that to the sun ascend. 
 
 And ships and lesser sailing-craft, sun-bright, 
 Entering the port ; and the wind seemeth light. 
 So that the oriflambs and streamers all 
 Languidly round the masts arise and fall, 
 " A miracle ! " the maiden thought, and now 
 Wipes the abundant moisture from her brow. 
 
 And, with new hope, toward the town doth fare, 
 Deeming the Maries' tomb is surely there. 
 Alas ! alas ! be her flight ne'er so speedy, 
 A change will pass upon the scene. Already 
 The sweet illusion seems to fade and flit; 
 Recedes the vision as she follows it. 
 
 An airy show, the substance of a dream. 
 
 By spirit woven out of a sunbeam. 
 
 And all its fair hues borrowed from the sky, — 
 
 The filmy fabric wavers presently. 
 
 And melts away, and like a mist is gone. 
 
 Bewildered by the heat, and quite alone,
 
 192 MIE£:I0. [Canto X. 
 
 Is left Mireio : yet her course she keeps, 
 Toiling over the burning, moving heaps 
 Of sand; over the salt- encrusted waste — 
 Seamed, swollen, dazzling to the eye — doth haste. 
 On through the tall marsh-grasses and the reeds 
 And rushes, haunted by the gnat, she speeds, 
 
 With Vincen ever in her thought. And soon, 
 
 Skirting the lonesome Vacares lagune, 
 
 She sees it loom at last in distance dim, — 
 
 She sees it grow on the horizon's rim, — 
 
 The Saints' white tower, across the billowy plain. 
 
 Like vessel homeward bound upon the main. 
 
 And, even at that blessed moment, one 
 
 Of the hot shafts of the unpitying sun 
 
 The ill-starred maiden's forehead pierced, and she 
 
 Staggered, death-smitten, by the glassy sea, 
 
 And dropped upon the sand. Weep, sons of Crau, 
 
 The sweetest flower in all the land lies low. 
 
 When, in a valley by the river-side. 
 
 Young turtle-doves a huntsman hath espied, 
 
 Some innocently drinking, others cooing, 
 
 He, through the copse-wood with his gun pursuing, 
 
 At the most fair takes alway his first aim, — 
 
 The cruel sun had only done the same.
 
 Canto X.] CAM ARGUE. 193 
 
 Now, as she lay in swoon upon the shore, 
 
 A swarm of busy gnats came hovering o'er. 
 
 Who seeing the white breast and fluttering breath, 
 
 And the jDOor maiden fainting to her death, 
 
 With ne'er a friendly spray of juniper 
 
 From all the pulsing fire to shelter her. 
 
 Each one the viol of his tiny wings 
 
 Imploring played with plaintive murmurings, — 
 
 " Get thee up quickly, quickly, damsel fair ! 
 
 For aye malignant is this burning air," 
 
 And stung the drooping head ; and sea-spray flew, 
 
 Sprinkling the fevered face with bitter dew : 
 
 Until at last Mireio rose again, 
 
 And, with a feeble moan of mortal pain, 
 
 " My head ! my head ! " she dragged her way forlorn 
 
 And slow from salicorne to salicorne, — 
 
 Poor little one ! — until her heavy feet 
 
 Arrived before the seaside Saints' retreat. 
 
 There, her sad eyes with tears all brimming o'ei'. 
 Upon the cold flags of the chapel-floor, 
 Wet with the infiltration of the sea. 
 She sank, and clasped her brow in agony ; 
 And on the pinions of the waiting air 
 Was borne aloft Mireio's faltering prayer : — ■ 
 
 13
 
 194 MIBJEJIO. [Canto X. 
 
 " holy Maries, who can cheer 
 The sorrow-laden, 
 Lend, I beseech, a pitying ear 
 To one poor maiden ! 
 
 "And when you see my cruel care 
 And misery, 
 Then look in mercy down the air, 
 And side with me ! 
 
 "I am so young, dear Saints above, 
 And there's a youth — 
 My handsome Vincen — whom I love 
 With utter truth ! 
 
 " I love him as the wayward stream 
 Its wanderings ; 
 As loves the new-fledged bird, I deem, 
 To try its wings. 
 
 " And now they tell me I must quench 
 This fire eternal ; 
 Must from the blossoming almond wrench 
 Its flowers vernal. 
 
 " O holy Maries, who can cheer 
 The sorrow-laden. 
 Lend, I beseech, a pitying ear 
 To one poor maiden !
 
 Canto X.] CAMARGUE. 195 
 
 "Now am I come, dear Saints, from far, 
 To sue for peace : 
 Nor mother-prayer my way could bar, 
 Nor wilderness ; 
 
 " The sun, that cruel archer, shot 
 Into my brain, — 
 Thorns, as it were, and nails red-hot, — 
 Sharp is the pain ; 
 
 " Yet give me but my Vincen dear : 
 Then will we duly. 
 We two, with glad hearts worship here, — 
 Oh, I say- truly ! 
 
 " Then the dire pain will rend no more 
 These brows of mine, 
 And the face bathed in tears befoi'e 
 Will smile and shine. 
 
 "My sire raislikes our love; is cold 
 And cruel often : 
 'Twere naught to you, fair Saints of gold, 
 His heart to soften. 
 
 " Howe'er so hard the olive grow, 
 'Tis mollified 
 By all the winds that alway blow 
 At Advent-tide. 
 
 u^
 
 196 MIB£I0. [Canto X. 
 
 " The medlar and the service-plum, 
 So shai-p to taste 
 When gathered, strewn on straw become 
 A pleasant feast. 
 
 " O holy Maries, who can cheer 
 The sorrow-laden, 
 Lend, I beseech, a pitying ear 
 To one poor maiden ! 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 " Oh, what can mean this dazzling light ? 
 The church is riven 
 O'erhead ; the vault with stars is bright. 
 Can this be heaven ? 
 
 " Oh, who so happy now as I ? 
 The Saints, my God, — 
 The shining Saints, — toward me fly, 
 Down yon bright road ! 
 
 " O blessed patrons, are you there 
 To help, to stay me ? 
 Yet hide the dazzling crowns you wear. 
 Or these will slay me. 
 
 " Veil in a cloud the light appalling ! 
 My eyes are heavy. 
 Where is the chapel ? Are you calling ? 
 O Saints, receive me ! "
 
 Canto X.] CAM ARGUE. 197 
 
 So, in a trance and past all earthly feeling, 
 
 The stricken girl upon the pavement kneeling, 
 
 With pleading hands, and head thrown backward, cried. 
 
 Her large and lovely eyes were opened wide, 
 
 As she beyond the veil of flesh discerned 
 
 St. Peter's gates, and for the glory yearned. 
 
 Mute were her lij^s now ; but lier face yet shone, 
 
 And wrapped in glorious contemplation 
 
 She seemed. So, when the gold-red rays of dawn 
 
 Early alight the poplar-tips upon. 
 
 The flickering night-lamp turneth pale and wan 
 
 In the dim chamber of a dying man. 
 
 And, as at daybreak, also, flocks arouse 
 From slumber and disperse, the sacred house 
 Appeared to open, all its vaulted roof 
 To part, and pillars tall to stand aloof, 
 Before the three fair w^omen, — heavenly fair, — 
 Who on a starry path came down the air. 
 
 White in the ether pure, and luminous. 
 
 Came the three Maries out of heaven thus. 
 
 One of them clasped an alabaster vase 
 
 Close to her breast, and her celestial face 
 
 In splendor had that star alone for peer 
 
 That beams on shepherds when the nights are clear.
 
 198 SlIRi:iO. [Canto X. 
 
 The next came with a palm in her hand holden, 
 And the wind lifting her long hair and golden. 
 The third was young, and Avound a mantle white 
 About her sweet brown visage ; and |-he light 
 Of her dark eyes, under their falling lashes, 
 Was greater than a diamond's when it flashes. 
 
 So, nearer to the mourner drew these three, 
 
 And leaned above, and spake consolingly. 
 
 And bright and tender were the smiles that wreathed 
 
 Their lips, and soft the message that they breathed. 
 
 They made the thorns of cruel martyrdom, 
 
 Th'at pierced Mireio, into flowers bloom. 
 
 -:- 
 
 " Be of good cheer, thou poor Mireio ; 
 
 For we are they men call the Saints of Baux, — 
 
 The Maries of Judsea : and we three — 
 
 Be of good cheer ! — we watch the stormy sea, 
 
 That we may succor vessels in distress. 
 
 Beholding us, the vexed waves have peace. 
 
 " Now lift thine eyes, and see St. James's road ! 
 
 A moment since, and we together stood 
 
 On high at its extremity remote ; 
 
 And, gazing through the clustered stars, took note 
 
 How faithful souls to Campoustello ^ fare, 
 
 To seek the dear Saint's tomb, and worship there.
 
 Canto X.] CAMARGUE. 199 
 
 " And, with the tune of falling fountains blending, 
 We heard the solemn litanies ascending 
 From pilgrims gathered in the fields at even, 
 And pealing of church-bells, and glory given 
 Unto our son and nephew, by his names 
 Of Spain's apostle and the greater James. 
 
 " Then were we glad of all the pious vows 
 Paid to his memory ; and, on the brows 
 Of those poor pilgrims, dews of peace shed we, 
 And their souls flooded with serenity ; 
 When, suddenly, thy warm petition came, 
 And seemed to smite us like a jet of flame. 
 
 " Dear child, thy faith is great ; yet thy request 
 Our pitying hearts right sorely hath opprest. 
 For thou wouldst drink the Avaters of pure love, 
 Or ever to its source thee Death remove. 
 The bliss we have in God himself to share. 
 Hast thou, then, seen contentment anywhere 
 
 " On earth ? Is the rich blest, who softly lies, 
 
 And in his haughty heart his God denies. 
 
 And cares not for his felloAV-man at all ? 
 
 Thou knowest the leech when it is gorged will fall, 
 
 And he before the judgment-seat must pass 
 
 Of One who meekly rode upon an ass.
 
 200 MIR&IO. [Canto X. 
 
 " Is the young mother happy to impart 
 Unto her baby, with a swelling heart, 
 The first warm jet of milk ? One bitter drop, 
 Mingled therewith, may poison all her hope. 
 Now see her lean, distraught, the cradle over, 
 And a fair little corse with kisses cover. 
 
 " And hath she happiness, the promised bride, 
 Wandering churchward by her lover's side? 
 Ah, no ! The path under those lingering feet 
 Thornier shall prove, to those who travel it. 
 Than sloe-bush of the moorland. Here below 
 Are only trial sharp and weary woe. 
 
 " And here below the purest waters ever 
 
 Are bitter on the lips of the receiver ; 
 
 The worm is born within the fruit alway ; 
 
 And all things haste to ruin and decay. 
 
 The orange thou hast chosen, out of all 
 
 The basket's wealth, shall one day taste as gall. 
 
 " And in thy world, Mireio, they who seem 
 To breathe sigh only. And should any dream 
 Of drinking at the founts that run not dry, 
 Anguish alone such bitter draught will buy. . 
 So must the stone be broken evermore, 
 Ere thou extract the shining silver ore.
 
 Canto X.] CAM ARGUE. 201 
 
 " Happy is he who cares for others' woe, 
 And toils for men, and wearies only so ; 
 From his own shoulders tears their mantle warm. 
 Therein to fold some pale and shivering form ; 
 Is lowly with the lowly, and can waken 
 Fire-lio-ht on cold hearths of the world-forsaken. 
 
 " The sovereign word, that man remembereth not. 
 
 Is, ' Death is Life ; ' and happy is the lot 
 
 Of the meek soul and simple, — he who fares 
 
 Quietly heavenward, wafted by soft airs ; 
 
 And lily-white forsakes this low abode. 
 
 Where men have stoned the very saints of God. 
 
 "And if, Mireio, thou couldst see before thee. 
 
 As we from empyrean heights of glory. 
 
 This world ; and what a sad and foolish thing 
 
 Is all its passion for the perishing. 
 
 Its churchyard terrors, — then, O lambkin sweet. 
 
 Mayhap thou wouldst for death and pardon bleat ! 
 
 "But, ere the wheat-ear hath its feathery birth. 
 
 Ferments the grain within the darksome earth, — 
 
 Such ever is the law ; and even we, 
 
 Before we wore our crowns of majesty, 
 
 Drank bitter draughts. Therefore, thy soul to stay. 
 
 We '11 tell the pains and perils of our way."
 
 202 MIBMO. [Canto X. 
 
 Paused for a moment, then, the holy three. 
 The waves, being fain to listen, coaxingly 
 Had flocked along the ocean sand ; the pines 
 Unto the rustling water-weeds made signs ; 
 And teal and gull beheld, with deep amaze. 
 Peace on the restless heart of Vacares ; 
 
 The sun and moon, afar the desert o'er. 
 Bow their great crimson foreheads, and adore ; 
 And all Camargue — salt-sown, forsaken isle — 
 Seems thrilled with sacred expectation ; while 
 The saints, to hearten for her mortal strife 
 Love's martyr, tell the story of their life.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO X. 
 
 1 Durancolo : this name is given to the canals derived from the 
 Duranse. 
 
 2 Tartanes, the name of a small trading-craft common in the 
 Mediterranean. 
 
 8*5 Birds common in Camargue. The Proven9aI name Camhet 
 designates several birds of the order of the echassiers, chiefly the 
 large red-legged chevalier, Scolopax celidrix, and the small red- 
 legged chevalier, Tringa gainbetta. The hei-n is the Ardea nyctl- 
 corax of LinnjEus. 
 
 ^ The Pancratian maritimus. 
 
 7 ^ Atriplex portidacoides and Phylleria latifolia, a large shrub of 
 the jessamine family. 
 
 9 Campoustello, in the middle ages Campus Stellae, once the 
 capital of Galhcia, in Spain, now a town of thirty thousand inhab- 
 itants, with a fine old cathedral, containing the tomb of St. James 
 the Major, patron saint of Spain.
 
 CANTO XL 
 
 THE SAINTS. 
 
 " 'TpHE cross was looming yet, Mireio, 
 
 Aloft on the Judoean mount of woe, 
 "Wet with the blood of God ; and all the time 
 Seemed crying to the city of the crime, 
 ' What hast thou done, thou lost and slumbering, — 
 What hast thou done, I say, with Bethlehem's King?' 
 
 " The angry clamors of the streets were stayed: 
 Cedron alone a low lamenting made 
 Afar ; and Jordan rolled a gloomy tide, 
 Hastina: into the desert, there to hide 
 The overflowings of his grief and rage 
 'Mid terebinth and lentisk fohage, 
 
 " And all the poorer folk were heavy-hearted, 
 Knowing it was the Christ who had departed, 
 First having opened his own prison-door, 
 On friends and followers to look once more. 
 The sacred keys unto St. Peter given. 
 And, hke an eagle, soared away to heaven.
 
 Canto XL] THE SAINTS. 205 
 
 " Oh ! then in Jewry woe and weeping were 
 For the fair Galilean carpenter, — 
 Him who his honeyed parables distilled 
 Over their hearts, and fainting thousands filled 
 Upon the hillsides with unleavened bread, 
 And healed the leper and revived the dead. 
 
 " But scribes and kings and priests, and all the horde 
 
 Of sacrilescious vendors whom the Lord 
 
 Had driven from his house, their hatred uttered, 
 
 'And who the people will restrain,' they muttered, 
 
 ' Unless in all the region round about 
 
 The glory of this cross be soon pvit out ? ' 
 
 " So raged they, and the martyrs testified : . 
 Stephen the first was stoned until he died, 
 James with the sword was slain, and many a one 
 Cruelly crushed beneath a weight of stone. 
 Yet, dying, all bear record undismayed : 
 ' Christ Jesus is the Son of God ! ' they said. 
 
 " Then us, brothers and sisters of the slain. 
 Who him had followed in a loving train. 
 They thrust into a crazy bark ; and we, 
 Oarless and sailless, drifted out to sea. 
 We women sorely wept, the men their eyes 
 Anxiously lifted to the lowering skies.
 
 206 MIR&IO. [Canto XI. 
 
 " Palaces, temples, olive-trees, we saw — 
 Swiftly, oh swiftly ! — from our gaze withdraw, 
 All saving Carmel's rugged crests, and those 
 But as a wave on the horizon rose. 
 When suddenly a sharp cry toward us drifted. 
 We turned, and saw a maid with arms uplifted. 
 
 " ' Oh, take me with you ! ' cried she in distress ; 
 ' Oh, take me in the bark, my mistresses, 
 With you ! I, too, must die for Jesus' sake ! ' 
 It was our handmaid Sarah thus who spake. 
 Up there in heaven, whither she is gone, 
 She shineth sweetly as an April dawn ! 
 
 " Seaward before the wind our vessel drave. 
 Then God a thought unto Salome gave : 
 Her veil upon the foamy deep she threw, — 
 Oh, wondrous faith ! — and on the water, blue 
 And white commingling wildly, it sustained 
 The maid until our fragile craft she gained, 
 
 " To her as well the strong breeze lending aid. 
 Now saw we in the hazy distance fade. 
 Hilltop by hilltop, our dear native land ; 
 The sea encompassed us on every hand ; 
 And a sharp home-sickness upon us fell. 
 The pangs whereof he who hath felt may tell.
 
 Canto XL] TEE SAINTS. 207 
 
 " So must we say farewell, O sacred shore ! 
 
 O doomed Judsea, farewell evermore ! 
 
 Thy just are banished, thy God crucified ! 
 
 Henceforth let sei-pents in thy halls abide ; 
 
 And wandering lions, tawny, terrible, 
 
 Feed on thy vines and dates. Farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 " The gale had grown into a tempest now : 
 The vessel fled before it. On the prow 
 Martial was kneeling, and Saturnius : 
 While, in his mantle folded, Troi)himus 
 The aged saint silently meditated ; 
 And Maximin the bishop near him waited. 
 
 " High on the main-deck Lazarus held his place. 
 There was an awful pallor on his face, — 
 Hues of the winding-sheet and of the grave. 
 He seemed to face the anger of the wave. 
 Martha his sister to his side had crept. 
 And Magdalene behind them cowered and wept. 
 
 « The slender bark, pursued of demons thus, 
 
 Contained, beside, Cleon, Eutropius, 
 
 Marcellus, Joseph of Arimathea, 
 
 Sidonius. And sweet it was to hear 
 
 The psalms they sang on the blue waste of sea, 
 
 Leaned o'er the tholes. Te Deum, too, said we.
 
 208 MIR£:I0. [Canto XI. 
 
 " How rushed the boat the sparkling billows by ! 
 
 E'en yet that sea seems present to the eye. 
 
 The breeze, careering, on the waters hurled, 
 
 Whereby the snowy spray was tossed and whii-led, 
 
 And lifted in light wreaths into the air, 
 
 That soared like souls aloft, and vanished there. 
 
 " Out of the waves at morning rose the Sun, 
 And set therein when his day's course was run. 
 Mere waifs were we upon the briny plain, 
 The sport of all the winds that scour the main ; 
 Yet of our God withheld from all mischance, 
 That we might bear His gospel to Provence. 
 
 " At last there came a morning still and bright. 
 We noted how, with lamp in hand, the night 
 Most like an anxious widow from us fled, 
 Risen betimes to turn her household bread 
 Within the oven. Ocean seemed as napping. 
 The languid waves the boatside barely tapping. 
 
 " Till a dull, bellowing noise assailed the ear. 
 Unknown before, it chilled our blood to hear. 
 And next we marked a strange, upheaving motion 
 Upon the utmost limit of the ocean. 
 And, stricken speechless by the gathering roar, 
 Helplessly gazed the troubled waters o'er.
 
 Canto XI.] THE SAINTS. 209 
 
 " Then saw we all the deep with hoiTor lower, 
 As the swift squall descended in its power ; 
 The waves drop dead still, — 'twas a portent fell ; 
 The bark hang motionless, as by a spell 
 Entranced ; and far away, against the skies, 
 A mountain of black water seemed to rise, 
 
 " And all the heaped-up sea, with vapor crested. 
 To burst upon our vessel, thus arrested. 
 
 r 
 
 God, 'twas an awful hour ! One monster wave 
 Seemed thrusting us into a watery grave. 
 Fainting to death. Or ever it closed o'er us. 
 The next upon a dizzy height upbore us. 
 
 " The lightning cleft the gloom with blades of fire ; 
 Peal followed peal of thunder, deafening, dire. 
 It was as if all hell had been unchained 
 Upon our tiny craft, which groaned and strained 
 So hunted, and seemed rushing on her wreck, 
 And smote our foreheads with her heavins deck. 
 
 " Now rode we on the shoulders of the main ; 
 Now sank into its inky gulfs again. 
 Where the seal dwelleth and the mighty shark. 
 And the sea-peacock ; and we seemed to hark 
 To the sad cry, lifted unceasingly, 
 By the unresting victims of the sea. 
 
 14
 
 210 MIRi:iO. [Canto XI. 
 
 " A great wave brake above us, and hope died. 
 Then Lazarus prayed : ' O Lord, be thou our guide. 
 Who me ere now out of the tomb didst bring ! 
 Succor the bark, for she is foundering ! ' 
 Like a wood-pigeon's wing, this outcry clove 
 The tempest, and went up to realms above. 
 
 " And Jesus, looking from the palace fair 
 Where he sat throned, beheld his friend's despair. 
 And the fierce deep yawning to swallow him. 
 Straightway the Master's gentle eyes grew dim. 
 His heart yearned over us with pity warm. 
 And one long sun-ray "leaped athwart the storm. 
 
 " Now God be praised ! For, though we yet were tost 
 Right roughly up and down, and sank almost 
 With bitter sea-sickness, our fears were stayed : 
 The haughty waves began to be allayed ; 
 Clouds brake afar, then vanished altogether, 
 And a green shore gleamed through the bright'ning 
 weather. 
 
 " Long was it yet ere the shocks quite subsided 
 Of the tempestuous waves ; and our boat glided, 
 Our crazy boat, nearer that welcome shore 
 All tranquilly, a dying breeze before. 
 Smooth as a grebe our keel the breakers clomb, 
 Furrowing into great flakes the snowy foam.
 
 Canto XI.] THE SAINTS. 211 
 
 " Until — once more all glory be to God ! — 
 
 Upon a rockless beach we safely trod, 
 
 And knelt on the wet sand, crying, ' O Thou 
 
 Who saved from sword and tempest, hear our vow ! 
 
 Each one of us is an evangelist 
 
 Thy law to preach. We swear it, O Lord Christ ! ' 
 
 " At that great name, that cry till then unheard. 
 Noble Provence, wert thou not deeply stirred ? 
 Thy woods and fields, in all their fair extent, 
 Thiilled with the rapture of a sweet content ; 
 As a dog scents his master's coming feet. 
 And flies with bounding welcome him to meet. 
 
 " Thou, Heavenly Father, also didst provide 
 
 A feast of shell-fish, stranded by the tide, 
 
 To stay our hunger ; and, to quench our thirst, 
 
 Madest among the salicornes outburst 
 
 The same clear, healing spring, which flows alway 
 
 Inside the church where our dust sleeps to-day. 
 
 " Glowing with zeal, we track the shingly Rhone 
 From moor to moor. In faith we travel on 
 Until right gladly Ave discern the traces 
 Of human husbandry in those wild places. 
 And soon, afar, the tall Arlesian towers, 
 Crowned by the standard of the emperors.
 
 212 MIBt:iO. LCanto XL 
 
 " To-day, fair Aries, a harvester thou seemest. 
 Who sleepest on thy threshing-floor, and dreamest 
 Of glories past; bufa queen wert thou then, 
 And mother of so brave sea-faiing men. 
 The noisy winds themselves aye lost their way 
 In the great harbor where thy shipping lay. 
 
 " Rome had arrayed thee in w^hite marble newly. 
 As an imperial princess decked thee duly. 
 Thy brow a crown of stately columns wore ; 
 The gates of thy arenas were sixscore ; 
 Thou hadst thy theatre and hippodrome, 
 So to make mirth in thy resplendent home ! 
 
 " We pass within the gates. A crowd advances 
 Toward the theatre, with songs and dances. 
 We join them; and the eager thousands press 
 Throuo-h the cool colonnades of palaces ; 
 As thou, mayhap, a mighty flood hast seen 
 Rush through a maple-shaded, deep ravine. 
 
 " Arrived, — oh, shame and sorrow ! — we saw there 
 
 On the proscenium, with bosoms bare, 
 
 Young maidens waltzing to a languid lyre, 
 
 And high refrain sung by a shrill-voiced choir. 
 
 They in the mazes of their dance surrounded 
 
 A marble shape, whose name like ' Venus ' sounded.
 
 Canto XL] THE SAINTS. 213 
 
 " The frenzied populace its clamor adds 
 Unto the cries of lasses and of lads, 
 Who shout their idol's praises o'er and o'er, — 
 ' Hail to the Venus, of joy the bestower ! 
 Hail to thee, Venus, goddess of all grace ! 
 Mother of earth and of the Arlesian race ! ' 
 
 " The statue, myrtle-crowned, with nostrils wide 
 
 And head high-borne, appears to swell with pride 
 
 Amid the incense-clouds ; when suddenly, 
 
 In horror of so great audacity. 
 
 Leaps Trophimus amid the maddened wretches. 
 
 And o'er the bewildered throng his arms outstretches. 
 
 " ' People of Aries ! ' in mighty tones he cried, 
 ' Hear me, even for the sake of Christ who died ! ' 
 No more. But, smitten by his shaggy frown, 
 The idol groaned and staggered, and fell down, 
 Headlong, from off its marble pedestal. 
 Fell, too, the awe-struck dancers, one and all. 
 
 " Therewith went up, as 'twere, a single howl ; 
 Choked were the gateways with a rabble foul, 
 Who through all Aries spread terror and dismay, 
 So that patricians tore their crowns away ; 
 And all the enraged youth closed round us there, 
 While flashed a thousand poniards in the air.
 
 214 MIRi^IO. [Canto XI. 
 
 " Yet they recoiled ; — whether it were the sight 
 
 Of us, in our salt-crusted robes bedight ; 
 
 Or Trophimus' calm brow Avhich beamed on them, 
 
 As wreathed with a celestial diadem ; 
 
 Or tear-veiled Magdalene, who stood between us, — 
 
 How tenfold fairer than their sculptured Venus ! 
 
 " And the old saint resumed : ' Arlesian men, 
 Hear ye my message first ; and slay me then. 
 If need be. Ye have seen your goddess famed 
 Shiver like glass when my God was but named : 
 Deem not, Arlesians, that the thing was wrought 
 By my poor, feeble voifce ; for we are naught. 
 
 " ' The God who laid, erewhile, your idol low 
 No lofty temple hath on the hill's brow; 
 But Day and Night see him alone up there ! 
 And stern to sin, but generous to prayer, 
 Is he ; and he hath made, with his own hand. 
 The sky, the sea, the mountains, and the^ land. 
 
 " ' One day he saw, from his high dwelling-place. 
 All his good things devoui-ed by vermin base ; 
 Slaves who drank hatred with their tears, and had 
 No comforter ; and Evil, priestly clad, 
 At altars keeping school ; and, in the street, 
 Maids who ran out the libertines to meet.
 
 Canto XL] THE SAINTS. 215 
 
 " ' Wherefore, to purge this vileness, and to end 
 Man's torment and our pilloried race befriend, 
 He sent his own Son out of heaven down. 
 N"aked and poor, wearing no golden crown. 
 He came, was of a virgin born, and saw 
 The daylight first pillowed on stable-straw. 
 
 " ' People of Aries, turn to this lowly One. 
 Ourselves can show the wonders he hath done, 
 Who were his comrades ; and, in that far land 
 Where rolls. the yellow Jordan, saw him stand. 
 In his white linen robe, amid tlie crowd. 
 Who him assailed with maledictions loud. 
 
 " ' Full gentle was his message : for he showed 
 That men should love each other, and that God 
 Is both almighty and all merciful ; 
 And that the kingdom where he beareth rule 
 Descendeth not to tyrants, cheats, and scorners, 
 But to the poor, the lowly, and the mourners. 
 
 " ' These were his teachings : and he them attested 
 By walking on the waters ; and arrested 
 Sickness most bitter by a glance, a word. 
 The dead, by the grim rampart undeterred. 
 Came back to earth. This Lazarus w^hom you see 
 Once rotted in the grave. But jealousy
 
 216 MIEi:lO. [Canto XI. 
 
 " ' Inflamed the bad hearts of the Jewish kings. 
 They led him to a mountain for these things, 
 And cruelly unto a tree-trunk nailed. 
 Spat on the sacred face, and coarsely railed 
 And lifted him on hiffh.' Here all the throne: 
 Brake into loud lament and sobbing stronsr. 
 
 "'Mercy,' they cried, 'for our iniquities! 
 What shall we do the Father to appease ? 
 Answer us, man of God ! If blood must flow, 
 He shall have hecatombs.' — ' Ah, no ! ah, no ! ' 
 Replied the saint; 'but slay before the Father 
 Your vices and your evil passions rather ! ' 
 
 " So knelt, and prayed : ' Lord, thou dost not desire 
 
 Odor of slaying, sacrificial fire, 
 
 Or stately temples ! Dearer far to thee 
 
 Is the bread given to those who fainting be ; 
 
 Or sweet girl's timid coming, who doth bring 
 
 Her pure heart, like a May-flower, to her king.' 
 
 " As o'er the Apostle's lips, like sacred oil. 
 The word of God was flowing, 'gan recoil 
 The idols everywhere, and plunged at last 
 Adown the temple stairs ; while tears dropped fast, 
 And rich and poor and working-men all ran 
 To kiss the garment of the holy man.
 
 Canto XL] THE SAINTS. . ' 217 
 
 " Then bare Sidonius witness. In his night — 
 He was bora blind — he led to the true light 
 The men of Aries, And Maximin, beside, 
 The resurrection of the Crucified 
 Set forth, and bade them turn from sin away. 
 Aries was baptized upon that very day. 
 
 " The Spirit of the Lord hurried us on. 
 Like wind upon a fire of shavings blown. 
 Then, as we turned of these to take farewell. 
 Came messengers, before our feet who fell. 
 And passionately cried, ' O god-sent strangers ! 
 Hear yet the story of our cruel dangers. 
 
 " ' To our unhappy city came the sound 
 Of marvels wrought and oracles new found. 
 She sends us hither. We are dead who stand 
 Before you ! Such a monster Avastes our land ! 
 A scourge of God, greedy of human gore. 
 It haunts our woods and gorges. We implore 
 
 " ' Your pity. The beast hath a dragon's tail ; 
 Bristles its back with many a horrid scale. 
 It hath six human feet, and fleet they are ; 
 A lion's jaw ; eyes red like cinnabar. 
 Its prey it hideth in a cavern lone, 
 Under a rock that beetles o'er the Rhone.
 
 218 MIRi:iO. [Canto XI. 
 
 " ' Now day by day our fishermen grow few 
 And fewer.' Saying this, they wept anew 
 And bitterly, — the men of Tarascon. 
 Then maiden Martha said, serene and strong, 
 ' Ready am I, and my heart yearns with pity. 
 Marcellus, haste : we two will save the city ! ' 
 
 " For the last time on earth we did embrace, 
 With hope of meeting in a happy place. 
 And parted. Martial did Limoges choose ; 
 Saturnins was wedded to Touloiise ; 
 Eutropius was first this cause to plead. 
 And sow in stately Orange the good seed. 
 
 " And thou, sweet virgin, whither goest thou ? 
 With step unfaltering and untroubled brow, 
 Martha her cross and holy-water carried 
 Against the dragon dire, and never tarried. 
 The wild men clomb the pine-trees round about. 
 The fray to witness and the maiden's rout. 
 
 "Startled from slumber in his darksome cave. 
 Thou shouldst have seen the leap the monster gave ! 
 Yet vainly writhed he 'neath the holy dew. 
 And growled and hissed as Martha near him drew, 
 Bound with a frail moss-halter, and forth led 
 Snorting. Then all the people worshipped.
 
 Canto XI.] THE SAINTS. 219 
 
 "'Huntress Diana art thou?' prostrate flilling 
 Before the Christian maid, began they calling ; 
 ' Or yet Minerva, the all-wise and chaste ? ' 
 ' Nay, nay ! ' the damsel answered in all haste : 
 ' I am God's handmaid only.' And the crowd 
 She taught until with her to Him they bowed. 
 
 " Then by the power of her young voice alone. 
 She smote Avignon's rock ; and from the stone 
 Welled faith in so pellucid stream, that, later, 
 Clements and Gregories in that fair water 
 Dipped holy chalices their thirst to slake. 
 And Rome long years did for her glory quake. 
 
 " And all Provence, regenerate, sang so clear 
 A hymn of praise, that God was glad to hear. 
 Hast thou not marked, when rain begins to fall, 
 How spring the drooping trees and grasses all. 
 How soon the foliage with joy will quiver? 
 So fevered souls drank of this cooling river ! 
 
 "Thou fair Marseilles, who openest on the sea 
 Thy haughty eyes and gazest languidly, 
 As though naught else were worthy to behold, 
 And, though the -winds rage, dreamest but of goM, 
 When Lazarus preached to thee, thou didst begin 
 Those eyes to close, and see the night within,
 
 220 MIRi:iO. [Canto XI. 
 
 " And to the fountain of I'Huveaune ^ speeding, 
 
 The source whereof Magdalene's tears were feeding, 
 
 Didst Avash thy sins away : and in this hour 
 
 Art proud once more ; but other storms may lower. 
 
 Forget not, then, amid thy revelries. 
 
 Whose tears they are that bathe thine olive-trees ! 
 
 "Dark cedars that on Mount Sambuco^ grew, 
 
 Sheer ledges of the hills of Aix, and you. 
 
 Tall pines, clothing the flanks of Esterel,^ 
 
 And junipers of Trevaresso,* tell 
 
 How thrilled your vales with joy, when, his cross 
 
 bearing, 
 The bishop Maximin was through them faring. 
 
 " Seest thou- one with white arms on her breast, 
 Who kneels and prays in yonder grotto, dressed 
 In the bright garment of her floating hair ? 
 Poor sufferer ! Her tender knees are bare. 
 And cruelly by the sharp flints are torn. 
 The moon, with pale torch, watches the forlorn 
 
 "And sad recluse. The woods in silence bow. 
 The angels hush their very heart-throbs now, 
 As, gazing through a crevice, they espy 
 A pearly tear fall from the lifted eye, 
 And haste the precious gem to gather up, 
 And keep for ever in a golden cup.
 
 Canto XL] THE SAINTS. ^ 221 
 
 "Enough, O Magdalene! Thirty years ago, 
 The wind that in the forest whispers low 
 Bare thee the pardon of the Man divine ! 
 The tears that the rock weeps are tears of thine. 
 These, like a snowfall softly si:)rinkled o'er. 
 Shall whiten woman's love for ever more ! 
 
 " But naught can stay the mourner's gnawing grief. 
 
 Even the little bii-ds bring not relief, 
 
 That flock around her, building many a nest 
 
 On Saint Pilon ; nor spirits of the blest. 
 
 Who lift and rock her in their arms of love. 
 
 And soar, seven times a day, the vales above. 
 
 " O Lord, be thine the glory ! And may Ave 
 In thy full brightness and reality 
 Behold thee ever ! Poor and fugitive, 
 We women did of thy great grace receive. 
 We, even we, touched by thy love supernal, 
 Shed some faint reflex of the ligjht eternal. 
 
 o 
 
 " Ye, Alpine peaks and all blue hills of Baux, 
 Unto the latest hour of time will show 
 The traces of our teachinsf carved in stone ! ^ 
 And so Death found us on the marshes lone. 
 Deep in Cam argue, encircled by the sea, 
 And from our day's long labor set us free.
 
 222 MIR^rO. [Canto XI. 
 
 " And as, on earth, haste all things to decay, 
 
 Faded the memory of our tombs away. 
 
 While sans: Provence her son^s, and time rolled on, 
 
 Till, as Durance is blended with the Rhone, 
 
 Ended the merry kingdom of Provence, 
 
 And fell asleep upon the breast of France. 
 
 " ' France, take thy sister by the hand ! ' So saith 
 Our land's last king, he drawing near to death. 
 ' On the great work the future hath in store, 
 Tosfether counsel take ! Thou art the more 
 Strong ; she, the more fair : and rebel night 
 Before your wedded glory shall take flight.' 
 
 " This did Rene. Therefore we sought the king, 
 As on his feathers he lay slumbering, 
 And showed the spot where long our bones had lain ; 
 And he, with bishops twelve and courtly train, 
 Came down into this waste of sand and waves. 
 And found, among the salicornes, our graves. 
 
 " Adieu, dear Mireio ! The hour flies ; 
 
 And, like a taper's flame before it dies, 
 
 We see life's light within thy body flicker. 
 
 Yet, ere the soul is loosed, — come quick, oh quicker. 
 
 My sisters ! — we the hills of heaven must scale 
 
 Or ever she arrive within the veil.
 
 Canto XL] THE SAINTS. 223 
 
 " Roses and a wlute robe we must prepare ! 
 
 She is love's martyr and a virgin fair 
 
 Who dies to-day ! With sweetest flowers blow, 
 
 Celestial paths! and on Mireio 
 
 Shine saintly splendors of the heavenly host ! 
 
 Glory to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! "
 
 NOTES TO CANTO XI. 
 
 1 L'HovEAUNE, a small river that rises in the Sainte Baume 
 mountain (Var), flows past Aubagne, and reaches the sea at Mar- 
 seilles, near the Prado. A poetical legend ascribes its origin to 
 the tears of Ste. Magdalene. 
 
 2 Sambuco, a mountain to the east of Aix. 
 
 ^ Esterel, a mountain and forest in the Var. 
 
 4 Trevaresso, a mountain-chain between the Touloulero and 
 the Durance. 
 
 5 It has been seen, in the relation of the holy Maries, that the 
 bark of the proscribed- saints was cast upon the extremity of the 
 isle of Camargue. These first apostles to the Gauls ascended 
 the Khone to Aries, and then dispersed over the South. It is even 
 held that Joseph of Arimathea proceeded as far as England. Such 
 is the Arlesian tradition. That of Baux continues the Odyssey 
 of the holy women. It states that they went and preached the 
 faith in the Alpines ; and, to eternalize tlio memory of their doc- 
 trine, they miraculously carved their eliigies on a rock. On 
 the eastern side of Baux this mysterious and antique monument 
 may still be seen. It is an enormous upright block, detached, and 
 standing over the brink of a precipice. Upon its eastern side are 
 sculptured three colossal faces, which are objects of veneration to 
 all the people of the region. 
 
 4
 
 CANTO XII. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 A S, when in orange-lands God's day is ending, 
 
 The maids let fly the leafy boughs, and, lending 
 A heli^ful hand, the laden baskets lift 
 On head or hip, and fishing-boats adrift 
 Are drawn ashore, and, following the sun, 
 The golden clouds evanish, one by one ; 
 
 As the full harmonies of eventide. 
 
 Swelling from hill and plain and river-side 
 
 Along the sinuous Argens, — airy notes 
 
 Of pastoral pipe, love-songs, and bleat of goats, — 
 
 Grow fainter, and then wholly fade away, 
 
 And sombre night falls on the mountains gray ; 
 
 Or as the last sigh of an anthem soft, 
 Or dying organ-peal, is borne aloft 
 O'er some old church, and on the wandering wind 
 Passes afar, — so passed the music twined 
 Of the three Maries' voices, heavenward carried. 
 For her, she seemed asleep ; for yet she tarried 
 
 16
 
 226 MIRiJIO. [Canfo XII. 
 
 Kneeling : and was more fair than ever now, 
 So strange a freak of sunlight crowned her brow. 
 And here they who had sought her through the wild, 
 The aged parents, came, and found their child ; 
 Yet stayed their faltering steps the portal under. 
 To gaze on her entranced with awe and wonder ; 
 
 Then crossed their foreheads with the holy water, 
 
 And, hasting o'er the sounding flags, besought her 
 
 To wake. But, as a frighted vireo 
 
 Who spies the huntsman, shrieked Mireio, 
 
 " O God, what is it ? Father, mother, tell ! 
 
 Where will you go ? " And therewith swooned and fell. 
 
 The weeping mother lifts her head, and yearns 
 Over her. " My sweet, your forehead burns ! 
 What means it?" And again, "No dream is this. 
 My own sweet child, — my very own it is, — 
 Low lying at my feet ! " And then she wept 
 And laughed together ; and old Ramoun crept 
 
 Beside them. " Little darling, it is I, 
 Your father, has your hand I " Then suddenly 
 His anguish choked him, and he could but hold 
 And chafe and strive to warm those fing-ers cold. 
 Meanwhile the wind the mournful tidings bore 
 Abroad, and all Li Santo thronged the door.
 
 And anxiously. " Bear the sick child," they say, 
 
 " Into the upper chapel, nor delay ; 
 
 And let her touch the dear Saints' relics thus 
 
 Within their reliquaries marvellous ; 
 
 Or kiss, at least, with dying lips ! " And there 
 
 Two women raised, and bore her up the stair. 
 
 In this fair church, altars and chapels three. 
 
 Built one upon the other, you may see. 
 
 Of solid stone. In that beneath the ground 
 
 The dusky gypsies kneel, with awe profound. 
 
 Before Saint Sai-ah, One is over it 
 
 That hath God's altar. And one higher yet, 
 
 On pillars borne, — last of the sanctuaries, — 
 
 The small, funereal chapel of the Maries, 
 
 With heavenward vault. And here long years have lain 
 
 Rich legacy, — whence fxlleth grace like rain ! — 
 
 The ever-blessed relics. Four great keys 
 
 Enlock the cypress chests that shelter these. 
 
 Once are they opened in each hundred years ; 
 And happy, happy shall he be who nears 
 And sees and touches them ! Upon the wave 
 Bright star and weather fair his bark shall have, 
 His trees be with abundant fruitage graced. 
 His faithful soul eternal blessing taste !
 
 228 MIRiJIO. [Canto XII. 
 
 An oaken door, with carvings rich and rare, 
 Gift of the pious people of Beaucaire, 
 Closes the holy precinct. And yet surely 
 That which defends is not the portal purely, — 
 Is not the circling rampart ; but the grace 
 Descending from the azure depths of space. 
 
 So to the chapel bare they the sick child, 
 While up the winding stair the folk defiled ; 
 And, as a white-robed priest threw wide the door, 
 They, entering, fell on the dusty floor, 
 As falls full-bearded barley when a squall 
 Hath smitten it, and worshipped one and all. 
 
 " O lovely Saints ! O friendly Saints ! " they said, 
 " O Saints of God, pity this poor young maid ! " 
 " Pity her ! " sobbed the mother. " I will bring, 
 When she is well, so fair an offering! 
 My flower-carved cross, my golden ring!" she cried, 
 " And tell the tale through town and country-side ! " 
 
 " Saints," groaned Ramoun, stumbling in the gloom, 
 While shook his aged head, " be kind, and come ! 
 Look on this little one ! She is ray treasure ! 
 She is my plover ! Pretty beyond measure. 
 And good and meet for life ! Send my old bones 
 To duns: the mallows, but save her ! " he moans.
 
 Canto XII.] DEATH. 229 
 
 And all the while Mireio lay in swoon, 
 Till a breeze, with decUning afternoon, 
 Blew from the tamarisks. Then, in the hope 
 To call her back to life, they lifted up 
 The flower of Lotus Farm, and tenderly 
 Laid on the tiles that overlook the sea. 
 
 There, from the doorway leading on the roof, — 
 The chapel's eye, — one may look far, far off, 
 Even to the pallid limit of the brine. 
 The blending and the separating line 
 'Twixt vaulted sky and weary sea explore. 
 And the great waves that roll for evermore. 
 
 Insensate and unceasing and untiring. 
 They follow one another on ; expiring, 
 With sullen roar, amid the drifted sand : 
 While vast savannas, on the other hand, 
 Stretch till they meet a heaven without a stain, 
 Unfathomed blue over unmeasured plain. 
 
 Only a light-green tamarisk, here and there, 
 
 Quivering in the faintest breath of air. 
 
 Or a long belt of salicornes, appears, 
 
 With swans that dip them in the desert meres, 
 
 With oxen roaming the waste moor at large. 
 
 Or swimming Vacares from marge to marge.
 
 230 MIR£:I0. [Canto XII. 
 
 At last the maiden murmured, but how weak 
 
 The voice ! how vao-ue the words ! " On either cheek 
 
 I seem to feel a breeze, — one fi-om the sea, 
 
 One from the land : and this refreshes me 
 
 Like morning airs ; but that doth sore opj^ress 
 
 And burn me, and is full of bitterness." 
 
 So ceased. The peojjle of Li Santo turn 
 Blankly from plain to ocean : then discern 
 A lad who nears them, at so fleet a pace 
 The dust in clouds is raised ; and, in the race 
 Outstripped, the tamarisks are growing small, 
 And far behind the runner seein to fall. 
 
 Vincen it was. Ah, poor unhappy youth ! 
 
 When Master Ambroi spake that sorry truth, 
 
 " My son, the pretty little lotus-spray 
 
 Is not for you ! " he turned, and fled away ; 
 
 From Yalabrego like a bandit fled. 
 
 To see her once again. And when they said 
 
 In Crau, " She in Li Santo must be sought," 
 
 Rhone, marshes, weary Crau, withheld him not ; 
 
 Nor stayed he ever in his frantic search 
 
 Till, seeing that great throng inside the church. 
 
 He rose on tiptoe deadly pale, and crying, 
 
 " Where is she ? " And they answered, " She is dying
 
 Canto XII.] DEATH. 231 
 
 '' Above there in the chapeL" lu despair 
 
 Ami all distraught, he hurried up the stair ; 
 
 But, when his eye fell on the prostrate one. 
 
 Threw his hands wildly up. " What have I done, — 
 
 What have I done against my God and hers 
 
 To call down on me such a heavy curse 
 
 " From Heaven ? Have I cut the throat of her 
 Who gave me birth ? or at a church taper 
 Lighted my pipe ? or dared I, like the Jews, 
 The holy crucifix 'mong thistles bruise ? 
 What is it, thou, accursed year of God, — 
 Why must I bear so terrible a load ? 
 
 "'Twas not enough my darling they denied 
 To me ! They 've hunted her to death ! " he cried ; 
 And then he knelt, and kissed her passionately ; 
 And all the people, when they saw how greatly 
 His heart was wrung, felt theirs too swell with pain, 
 And wept aloud above the stricken twain. 
 
 Then, as the sound of many waters, falling 
 
 Far down a rocky valley, rises calling 
 
 Unto the shepherd high the hills among, 
 
 Rose from the church a sound of full-choired song, 
 
 And all the temple trembled with the swell 
 
 Of that sweet psalm the Santen sing so well : —
 
 232 MIRi:iO. [C^NTo XIL 
 
 " Saints of God, ere now sea-faring 
 On these briny plains of ours, 
 Who have set a temple bearing 
 Massy walls and snowy towers, 
 
 " Watch the wave-tossed seaman kindly ; 
 Lend him aid the bark to guide ; 
 Send him fair winds, lest he blindly 
 Perish on the pathless tide ! 
 
 " See the woman poor and sightless : 
 Ne'er a word she uttereth ; 
 Dark her days are and delightless, — 
 Darkness aye is worse than death. 
 
 " Vain the spells they have told o'er her. 
 Blank is all her memory. 
 Queens of Paradise, restore her ! 
 
 Touch those eyes that they may see ! 
 
 " We who are but inshers lowly, 
 Lift our hearts ere forth we go ; 
 Ye, the helpful saints and holy. 
 Fill our nets to overflow. 
 
 " So, when penitents heart-broken 
 Sue for pardon at your door. 
 Flood their souls with peace unspoken. 
 White flowers of our briny moor ! "
 
 Canto XII.] DEATH. 233 
 
 So prayed the Santen, with tears and strong crying. 
 
 Then came the patrons to the maid low-lying, 
 
 And breathed a Uttle life into her frame ; 
 
 So that her wan eyes brightened, and there came 
 
 A tender flush of joy her visage over, 
 
 At the sweet sight of Vincen bent above her. 
 
 " Why love, whence came you ? Do you mind, I pray, 
 
 A word you said down at the Farm one day, 
 
 Walking under the trellis, by my side ? 
 
 You said, ' If ever any harm betide. 
 
 Hie thee right quickly to the holy Saints, 
 
 Who cure all ills and hearken all complaints.' 
 
 " Dearest, I would you saw my heart this minute. 
 
 As in a glass, and all the comfort in it ! 
 
 Comfort and peace like a full fountain welling 
 
 Through all my happy spirit ! There 's no telling — 
 
 A grace beyond my uttermost desires ! 
 
 Look, Vincen : see you not God's angel-choirs ? " 
 
 Pausing, she gazed into the deep blue air. 
 It was as if she could discern up there 
 Wonderful things hidden from mortal men. 
 But soon her dreamy speech began again : 
 " Ah, they are happy, happy souls that soar 
 Aloft, tethered by flesh to earth no more !
 
 234 MlliiJIO. [Canto XII. 
 
 " Did you mark, Vincen dear, the flakes of light 
 That fell when they hegan their heavenward flight? 
 If all their words to me had written been. 
 They would have made a precious book, I ween." 
 Here Vincen, who had striven his tears to stay, 
 Brake forth in sobs, and gave his anguish way. 
 
 " Would to God I had seen them ere they went ! 
 Ah, would to God ! Then to their white raiment, 
 Like a tick fastening, I would have cried, 
 ' O queens of heaven ! Sole ark where we may bide. 
 In this late hour, do what you will with me ! 
 Maimed, sightless, toothless, I would gladly be ; 
 
 " ' But leave my pretty little fairy sane 
 And sound ! ' " Here brake Mireio in again : 
 " There are they, in their linen robes of grace ! 
 They come ! " and from her mother's fond embrace 
 Began to struggle wildly to be free. 
 And waved her hand afar toward the sea. 
 
 Then all the folk turned also to the main, 
 
 And under shading hands their eyes 'gan strain ; 
 
 Yet, save the pallid limit of the brine, 
 
 The blending and the separating line 
 
 'Twixt sea and heaven, naught might they descry. 
 
 "Naught Cometh," said they. But the child, "Oh, ay!
 
 Caxto XII.] DEATH. 235 
 
 " Look closei- ! There 's a bark, without a sail, 
 Wafted toward us by a gentle gale. 
 And they are on it ! And the swell subsides 
 Before them, and the bark so softly glides ! 
 Clear is the air and all the sea like glass, 
 And the sea-birds do homage as they pass ! " 
 
 " Poor child ! she wanders," murmured they ; " for we 
 
 See only the red sunset on the sea ! " 
 
 " Yet it is they ! Mine eyes deceive me not," 
 
 The sick one answered eagerly. " The boat — 
 
 Now low, now lifted — I see drawing near. 
 
 Oh, miracle of God ! — the boat is here ! " 
 
 Now was she paling, as a marguerite 
 Half-blown and smitten by a tropic heat, 
 While crouching Vincen, horror in his heart, 
 Or ere his well-beloved quite depart 
 Hath her in charge unto our Lady given. 
 To the Saints of the chapel and of heaven. 
 
 Lit are the tapers, and, in violet stole 
 Begirt, the priest, to stay the passing soul, 
 Lays angel's bread to those dry lips of hers. 
 And the last unction so administers ; 
 Then of her body the seven parts anoints 
 "With holy oil, as holy church appoints.
 
 236 MIREIO. [CA.NTO XII. 
 
 The hour was cahn. Ui)on the tiles no word 
 
 Save the oremus of the priest was heard. 
 
 The last red shaft of the declining day 
 
 Struck on the wall and passed, and heaven turned gray. 
 
 The sea's long waves came slowly up the shore, 
 
 Brake with a murmur soft, and w^ere no more. 
 
 Beside the maid knelt father, mother, lover, 
 And hoarsely sobbed at intervals above her ; 
 Till once again her lips moved, and she spake : 
 " Now is the parting close at hand ! So take 
 My hand, and press it quickly, dears. Lo, now 
 The glory grows on either Mary's brow ! 
 
 "The pink flamingoes flock from the Rhone shore, 
 
 The tamarisks in blossom all adore. 
 
 The dear Saints beckon me to them," she said. 
 
 " They tell me I need never be afraid : 
 
 They know the constellations of the skies ; 
 
 Their bark will take us quick to Paradise ! " 
 
 " My little pet," said Ramoun, quite undone, 
 
 " You will not go, and leave the home so lone ! 
 
 Why have I felled my oaks with such ado ? 
 
 The zeal that nerved me only came of you. 
 
 If the hot sun on sultry glebe o'ertook me, 
 
 I thought of you, and heat and thirst forsook me."
 
 Canto XH.] DEATH. 237 
 
 "Dear father, if a moth shall somethne fly 
 About your lamp at night, that will be I. 
 But see ! the Saints are standing on the prow ! 
 They wait. I 'm coming in a moment now ! 
 Slowly I move, good Saints, for I am ailing." 
 " It is too much ! " the mother brake out, wailing. 
 
 " Oh, stay witb me ! I cannot let you die. 
 And, when you 're well, Mireio, by and by 
 We '11 go some day to Aunt Aurano's, dear, 
 And carry pomegranates. Do you hear ? 
 Maiano is not distant from our home ; 
 And, in one day, one may both go and come." 
 
 " Not very distant, mother, — that I know ; 
 But all alone thou wilt the journey go ! 
 Now give me my white raiment, mother mine. 
 Oh, how the mantles of the Maries shine ! 
 Sawest thou ever such a dazzling sight? 
 The snow upon the hillsides is less white ! " 
 
 « O thou," cried the dark weaver, " who didst ope 
 
 The palace of thy love to me, my hope, 
 
 My queen, ray all ! A blossoming alms thou gavest ; 
 
 The mire of my low life in thine thou lavest, 
 
 Till it shines like a mirror, and dost place 
 
 Me in eternal honor by thy grace.
 
 238 MIRiJTO. [Canto XII. 
 
 " Pearl of Provence ! of my young days the sun ! 
 
 Shall it be ever said of such an one, 
 
 I saw upon her forehead the death-dew ? 
 
 Shall it be said, puissant Saints, of you, 
 
 You looked unmoved upon her mortal pain. 
 
 Letting her clasp your sacred sill in vain ? " 
 
 Slowly the maiden answered, "My poor friend. 
 
 What is it doth affright you, and offend ? 
 
 Believe me, dear, tlie thing that we call death 
 
 Is a delusion. Lo ! it vanisheth, 
 
 As a fog when the bells begin their pealing; 
 
 As dreams with davlight throug-h the window stealing. 
 
 " I am not dying ! See, I mount the boat 
 With a light foot ! And now we are afloat ! 
 Good-by ! good-by ! We are drifting out to sea. 
 The waves encompass us, and needs must be 
 The very avenue to Paradise, 
 For all around they touch the azure skies ! 
 
 " Gently they rock us now. And overhead 
 
 So many stars are shining! Ah," she said, 
 
 " Among those worlds one surely may be found 
 
 Where two may love in peace ! Hark, Saints, that 
 
 sound ! 
 Is it an organ played across the deep ? " 
 Then sighed, and fell, as it had been, asleep.
 
 Canto XH.] DEATH. 239 
 
 And, by her smiling lijis, you might have guessed 
 That yet she spake. Only the Santen pressed 
 About the sleeper in a mournful band, 
 And, with a taper passed fi-om hand to hand, 
 Signed the cross o'er her. While, as turned to stone, 
 The parents gazed on what themselves had done. 
 
 To them her form is all enrayed with light. 
 Vainly they feel her cold, they see her white : 
 The awful sti-oke they comprehend not now. 
 But, soon as Vincen marked the level brow. 
 The rigid arms, the sweet eyes wholly veiled, 
 " See you not she is dead ? " he loudly wailed. 
 
 " Quite dead ? " And therewith fiercely wrung his 
 
 hands. 
 As he of old had wi-ung the osier-strands, 
 And threw his naked arms abroad. " My own ! " 
 He cried, " they will not weep for you alone : 
 With yours, the trunk of my life too they fell. 
 'Dead' was I saying? 'Tis impossible : 
 
 " A demon whispered me the word, no doubt ! 
 Tell me, in God's name, ye who stand about, — 
 Ye who have seen dead women ere to-day, — 
 If, passing through the gates, they smile that way. 
 Her look is well-nigh merry, do you see? 
 Why do they turn their heads away from me.
 
 240 MIRi:iO. [Canto XII. 
 
 " And weep ? This means, I think, that all is o'er. 
 
 Her pretty prattle I shall hear no more : 
 
 Still is the voice I loved!" All hearts wei-e thrilled; 
 
 Tears rushed like rain, and sobs would not be stilled. 
 
 One sound went up of weeping and lament, 
 
 Till the waves on the beach returned the plaint. 
 
 So when in some great herd a heifer dies. 
 
 About the carcass where it starkly lies 
 
 Nine following eves the beasts take up their station, 
 
 And seem to mourn after their speechless fashion ; 
 
 The sea, the plain, the winds, thereover blowing, 
 
 Echo nine days with melancholy lowing, — 
 
 " Poor Master Ambroi ! " Vincen wandered on, 
 " Thou wilt weep heavy tears over thy son ! 
 And now, good Santen, one last wish is mine, — 
 Bury me with my love, below the brine ; 
 Scoop in the oozy sand a crib for two : 
 Tears for so great a mourning will not do. 
 
 " And a stone wall about the basin set. 
 
 So the sea flow not in, and part us yet ! 
 
 Santen, I tnist you ! Then, while they are beating 
 
 Their brows, and with remorse ber name repeating. 
 
 There at the farm where her home used to be, 
 
 Far from the unrest of the upper sea.
 
 Canto XII.J DEATH. 241 
 
 " Down in the peaceful blue we will abide, 
 My oh so pretty, alway side by side ; 
 And you shall tell me of your Maries over. 
 Over, until with shells the great stonns cover." 
 Here the crazed weaver on the corse him threw, 
 And from the church arose the psalm anew. 
 
 • 
 "So, Avhen penitents heart-broken 
 
 Sue for pardon at your door, 
 Flood their souls with peace unspoken, 
 
 White flowers of our briny moor!" 
 
 16
 
 ^
 
 J- 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 MAGALI. 
 
 MELODIE PROVENgALE POPULAIRE. 
 
 Allegeetto. 
 
 Transcrite par Fr. SEurtN. 
 
 
 O Jra - ga - li, ma tant a - ma - do! Jlete la 
 O Ma - ga - Ij, my love, my treas-ure! Open thy 
 
 i^ 
 
 'j=&: 
 
 
 4^^ 
 
 — rN- 
 
 — * — ^— z-^—l—fi.zz^—i 
 
 \ ^S nJ 
 
 tet' ail fe - nes tronn; 
 casement while I sing 
 
 Escout' un pan a - quest' an ■ 
 A morn-ing song, and round tlie
 
 244 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 ^=?^=^==^ 
 
 i~fzzi. 
 
 -Jtr:zyiz^9—fz 
 
 ^^J^3EfE5=s'= 
 
 ba - do De tarn - bou - rin e de viou - loun. El plen d'es ■ 
 meas - uro With tarn - bou - rine and vi - ol string. Tlie sky -with 
 
 
 
 -0 0—0—r 
 
 /Tv 
 
 
 ::^: 
 
 , ^ ^ 1 pr ^- r 
 
 _3_^ ^ . 
 
 tell' a - pe - ramount, L'aur' es toum - ba - do; Mai lis es - 
 stars is glit - ter - ing, The wind 's at lei - sure ; But pale the 
 
 tel - lo pa - 11 
 stars of heav'n will 
 
 ran, 
 be. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Quand te vei 
 Be - hold - ing 
 
 ran. 
 thee. 
 
 n 
 
 • 
 
 — ::i: 
 -#- 
 
 -0- 
 
 Wi 
 
 pi=£ 
 
 -t: 
 
 1113]
 
 M A G A L I. 
 
 Magalt, my love, my treasure ! 
 Open thy casement while I sing 
 
 A morning song, and round the measure 
 With tambourine and viol string. 
 
 II. 
 
 The sky with stars is glittering, 
 
 The wind 's at leisure ; 
 But pale the stars of heaven will be. 
 
 Beholding thee ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Thy morning song floats idly by me. 
 As whisper of the early breeze. 
 
 1 to the silver deep will hie me : 
 
 I '11 be an eel ! I '11 haunt the seas ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 O Magali ! thy witcheries 
 
 In vain shall try me ! 
 When thou art fish, I '11 fisher be. 
 
 And fish for thee !
 
 246 APPENDIX. 
 
 V, 
 
 Wilt thou a fisher be, thou sayest? 
 
 Thy bait is flung for me in vain ! 
 I will turn bird wliile thou delayest, 
 
 And Aving my way across the plain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Magali ! turn bird again, 
 
 If so thou mayest ! 
 When thou art bird, I'U fowler be, 
 Ensnaring thee ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Partridge and quail while thou art snaring 
 With cruel traps for tiny feet, 
 
 1 '11 be a flower, my head uprearing 
 
 Secure, afar in meadows sweet. 
 
 vin. 
 O Magali, my IMarguerite ! 
 
 I 'm filled with daring ! 
 When thou art flower, I stream will be, 
 
 Refreshing thee ! 
 
 If thou become a stream, what wonder 
 If I turn cloud the self-same day, 
 
 And swiftly, swiftly travel yonder, • 
 
 Even to far America. 
 
 X. 
 
 O Magali ! seek India, 
 
 Yet we '11 not sunder ! 
 Behold ! I the sea-breeze will be, 
 
 And carry thee.
 
 MA GALL 247 
 
 XI. 
 
 The sea-breeze wilt tbou, singer daring? 
 
 I can escape thee yet ; for lo ! 
 I'll be the sun-ray, blinding, glaring, — 
 
 The fierce, hot ray that wastes the snow. 
 
 xir. 
 
 Magali ! and wilt thou so ? 
 
 Then, earthward faring, 
 
 1 will an emerald lizard be. 
 
 And swallow thee. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And if thou tumest salamander, 
 Among the water-weeds to roam, 
 
 I '11 be the moon, in full-iorbed splendor. 
 Lighting the ways of witch and gnome. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Magali ! wilt thou become 
 
 Tliat planet tender ? 
 Then will I the wliitc halo be. 
 Enfolding thee ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 Yet though the halo hover o'er me, 
 I shall not feel thy folding arm. 
 
 1 will turn virgin-rose before thee : 
 
 My thorns will keep me safe from harm. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 O IMagali ! the rose's charm 
 
 Shall not secure thee ; 
 For I the butterfly will be, 
 
 Aye kissing thee.
 
 248 APPENDIX. 
 
 x\t:i. 
 Away ! away ! and woe betide thee ! 
 ^I never, never will be thine ! 
 I in the oak's rough bark will hide me, 
 In glades where sun shall never sliine. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Yet, Magali, thou shalt be mine. 
 
 Who hast defied me ! 
 I will the knotted ivy be, 
 
 Fast binding thee ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The hoary oak alone thou stayest 
 
 In thy victorious embrace ! 
 For I to Saint Blase will haste, 
 
 ^Vith the white nuns to take my place. 
 
 XX. 
 
 O Magali ! thou shalt find grace 
 
 When there thou prayest. 
 For I the shaven priest will be, 
 
 Absolving thee ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And if thou pass the portal holy, 
 
 A weeping train thou shalt descrj^ — 
 
 The convent-sisters wending slowly 
 About the coffin where I lie. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then, Magali, right glad were I ! 
 
 That sleeper lowly 
 Wert thou, I would the warm earth be. 
 
 Aye clasping thee.
 
 MAG ALL 249 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Now seest tliou a glad believer! 
 
 This is not jest, this is not art. 
 Take thou my ring ; and keep the giver, 
 
 Fail- youth, for ever in thy heart ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 O Magali ! thou dost impart 
 
 Rapture for ever ! 
 See now the stars, how pale they be 
 
 At sight of thee ! 
 
 Cambridge : Press of John Wilsou & Sou.
 
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 each of which points .she illustrates by extracts from well-known and 
 famous translations, as well as by a series of acute and masterly criticisms, 
 which none but a scholar and a poet could have written, but which all true 
 scholars and poets, as well as mere learners, will admire and gratefully 
 appreciate. Mr. liongfellow's verse is well known for the beauty and accu- 
 racy of many of its i)assages, but the prose commentary of Miss Rossetti 
 is even more vivid and more admirable. As a guide-book, a commentary, 
 and an exposition of Dante's great poem. Miss Kos.setti's work stands alone. 
 There is not oidy no book in English so good as this, but, as far as we arc- 
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 BIBLE MUSIC. Being Variations in many Keys on IMnsieal 
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 The To-Morrow of Death ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FUTURE LIFE ACCORDING 
 TO SCIENCE. 
 
 By LOUIS FIGUIER. 
 Translated from the French, by S. R. Crocker, i vol. i6ino. t^.^t,. 
 
 From the Literary World. 
 As its striking, if somewhat sensationalt title indicates, the book deals with the 
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 a true philosophy of the Universe." It is based on the ascertained facts of science 
 which the author marshals in such a multitude, and with such skill, as must com- 
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 the marvels of astronomy have ever had so impressive a presentation in popular 
 form as they have here. . . . 
 
 The opening chapters of the book treat of the three elements which compose 
 man, — body, soul, and .ife. The first is not destroyed by death, but simply changes 
 its form ; the last is a force, like light and heat, — a mere state of bodies; the soul 
 is indestructible and immortal. After death, according to M. Figuier, the soul be- 
 comes incarnated in a new body, and makes part of a new being next superior to 
 man in the scale of living existences, — the superhuman. This being lives in the 
 ether which surrounds the earth and the other planets, where, endowed with senses 
 and faculties like ours, infinitely improved, and many others that we know nothing 
 of, he leads a life whose spiritual delights it is impossible for us to imagine. . . . 
 Those who enjoy speculations about the future life will find in this book fresh and 
 pleasant food for their imaginations ; and, to those who delight in the revelations 
 of science as to the mysteries that obscure the origin and the destiny of man, these 
 pages oflFer a gallery of novel and really marvellous views. We may, perhaps, ex- 
 press our opinion of "The To-Morrow of Death " at once comprehensively and 
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 iSold every-tvhere. Mailed, post-paid, by the Publisken, 
 
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 JiEV. C. A. BARTOUS NEW BOOK. 
 
 RADICAL PROBLEMS. 
 
 By REV. C. A. BARTOL, D.D. 
 
 Contents. — Open Questions; Individualism; Transcen- 
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 By THEOPHILUS PARSONS. 
 
 AUTHOR OP " DEUS HOMO," ETC 
 
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 "No one can know," says tlie author, "better than I do, how poor and dim a 
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 that they may suggest to some minds what may expand in their minds into a truth, 
 and, germinating there, grow and scatter seed-truth widely abroad. I am sure 
 only of this : The latest revelation offers truths and principles which promise to 
 give to man a knowledge of the laws of his being and of his relation to God, — of 
 the relation of the Infinite to the Finite. . . . And therefore I believe that it will 
 gradually, — it may be very slowly, so utterly does it oppose man's regenerate 
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 Prayers offered in the Massachusetts House of Repkb- 
 
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 "As there was nubody to see, he just sat down and cried as hard as Dotty herself." 
 
 THE NEW-YEAR'S BARGAIN, 
 
 By SUSAN COOLIDGB, 
 
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