Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/190

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"Trau-de-la-Capo! What may that be, pray?"
"I 'II tell thee, lady, as we pick our way
Over the stones," And forthwith he began:
"Once was a treading-floor that overran
With wealth of sheaves. To-morrow, on thy ways,
Thou 'lt paas, upon the riverside, the place.

"Trod by a circle of Camargan steeds,
The tall sheaves had been yielding up their seeds
To the incessant hoofs, a month or more.
No pause, no rest; and, on the treading-floor,
Dusty and winding, there was yet bestowed
Of sheaves a very mountain to be trod.

"Also, the weather was so fiercely hot,
The floor would burn like fire; and rested not
The wooden fork's that more sheaves yet supplied;
While at the horses' muzzles there were shied
Clusters of bearded ears unceasingly,—
They flew as arrows from the cross-bow fly.

"And on St. Peter's day and on St. Charles'
Rang, and rang vainly, all the bells of Arles:
There was no Sunday and no holiday
For the unhappy horses; but alway
The heavy tramp around the weary road,
Alway the pricking of the keeper's goad,