Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/127

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"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 Mirèio!" said the eager eye,
"Loot 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 spear.
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 rim,
The sea's with the blue ether. Gleaming things,
Swans, and flamingoes on their ruddy wings,
Came to salute the last declining light
Along the desert meres that glimmered white.