Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/174

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His caddis-cloak upon the ground he threw,
And spake no more. "What great thing wilt thou do?"
Asked Ramoun, and his tone was full of scorn.
"I, too, have heard the cannon-thunder borne
Along the valley of Toulon, have Been
The bridge of Arcole stormed, and I have been

"In Egypt when her sands were red with gore;
But we, like men, when those great wars were o'er,
Returning, fiercely fell upon the soil,
And dried our very marrow up with toil.
The day began long ere the eastern glow,
The rising moon surprised us at the hoe.

"They say the Earth is generous. It is true!
But, like a nut-tree, naught she gives to you
Unless well-beaten. And if all were known,
Each clod of landed ease thus hardly won,
He who should number them would also know
The sweat-drops that have fallen from my brow.

"And must I, by Ste. Ann of Apt, be still?
Like satyr toil, of siftings eat my fill,
That all the homestead may grow wealthy, and
Myself before the world with honor stand,
Yet go and give my daughter to a tramp,
A vagabond, a straw-loft-sleeping scamp?