Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/153

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"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 leveled,
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.

"O cruel Jews! Wherefore 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 tumultuous motion.
Peace to thy stormy waves, thou vexèd Ocean!
Shall Peter's ancient bark withstand the shock?
Alas, it strikes upon the senseless rock!