Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/189

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He said not, fruitful Arles, that thy fine air
Gives to thy daughters 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 white,
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 'll drag thee with them into the abyss!"