Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/111

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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.
Now, mounted on his mare, he paces slow
With goad erect to seek Mirèio.

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 cleaning with shave-grass;
And, lady saint! 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 Sylvarèal¹³ by the noisy wave,
No life of toil like this down here thou 'lt have!
Our fierce black cows are never milked, but these
Roam all at large, and women sit at ease."