Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/187

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"And my feet by the hot stones blisterèd!"
Then, in high heaven, heard what Mirèio said
The good St. Gent: and soon she doth discover
A well far off, 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 watering-place for flocks; and from 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-nails ; 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 'll 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.