Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/166

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And the rest in their order, for the lunch.
Forthwith the laborers began to crunch
Hard-crusted bread their sturdy teeth between,
And hail the salad made of goats-beard green;
While fair as an oat-leaf the table shone,
And in superb profusion heaped thereon

Were odorous cheese, onions and garlic hot,
Grilled egg-plant, fiery peppers, and what not,
To sting the palate. Master Ramoun poured
The wine, king in the field and at the board;
Raising his mighty flagon now and then,
And calling for a bumper on the men.

"To keep the sickles keen on stony ground,
They must be often whetted, I have found."
The reapers held their goblets, bidden so,
And red and clear the wine began to flow.
"Ay, whet the blades!" the cheery master cries;
And furthermore gives order in this wise:

"Now eat your fill, and all your strength restore.
But go thereafter, as you used of yore,
And branches in the copse-wood cut, and bring
In fagots; thus a great heap gathering.
And when 'tis night, my lads, we 'll do the rest!
For this the fête is of Saint John the blest,—