Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/142

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"Stay not!" she cried. "The time is now to gather
The mandrake!" And, fast holding one another,
Obedient to the voice the two crept on,
Through the infernal passage, till they won
A grotto larger than the rest. "Lo! now,
Lord Nostradamus' plant, the golden bough,

"The staff of Joseph and the rod of Moses!"
Thus crying, Taven a slander shrub discloses,
And, kneeling, with her chaplet crowns. Then said,
Arising, "We too must be garlanded
With mandrake;" and the plant in the rock's cleft
Of three fair sprays mysteriously bereft,

Herself crowned first, and next the wounded man,
And last the maid. Then, crying, "Forward!" ran
Down the weird way, before her footsteps lit
By shining beetles trooping over it.
Yet turned with a sage word,—"All paths of glory,
My children, have their space of purgatory!

"Therefore have courage! for we must, alas!
The terrors of the Sabatori⁵ pass."
And, while she spake, their faces cut they find,
And breathing stopped, by rush of keenest wind.
"Lie down!" she whispered hurriedly,—"lie low!
The triumph of the Whirlwind Sprites is now!"