Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/160

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"Ah!" said the other, "for the ass to stray,
Sweet must the mead be. But what do I say?
Thou knowest her! If she to Arles should fare,
All other maids would hide them in despair;
For, after her, I think the mould was broken.
And what say to the words herself hath spoken,

"'You I will have!'"—"Why, naught, poor fool! say I:
Let poverty and riches make reply!"
"O father!" Vincen cried, "go, I implore thee,
To Lotus Farm, and tell them all the story!
Tell them to look for virtue, not for gain!
Tell them that I can plough a stony plain,

"Or harrow, or prune vines with any man!
Tell them their six yoke, with my guiding, can
Plough double! Tell them I revere the old;
And, if they part us for the sake of gold,
We shall both die, and they may bury us!"
"Oh, fie! But you are young who maunder thus,"

Quoth Master Ambroi. "All this talk I know.
The white hen's egg,³ the chaffinch on the bough,
You 'll have the pretty bird this very minute!
Whistle, bring sugared cake, or die to win it;
Yet will the chaffinch never come, be sure,
And perch upon your finger! You are poor!"