Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/198

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Raking the hay and in cocks piling it;
While crickets, that before the mowers flit,
Hark to their singing. Also, farther on,
An ash-wood cart, by two white oxen drawn,
Heaped with cured grass, where a skilled waggoner
Doth, by huge armfuls, high and higher rear

The forage roand his waist, till it conceals
The rails, the cart-beam, and the very wheels;
And, when the cart moves on, with the hay trailing,
It seems like some unwieldy vessel sailing.
But now the loader rises, and descries
The runner, and "Hold, men! there 's trouble!" cries;

And cartman's aids, who in great forkfuls carry
To him the hay, now for a moment tarry,
And wipe their streaming brows; and mowers rest
The scythe-back carefully upon the breast,
And whet the edge, as they the plain explore
That Phœbos wings his burning arrows o'er.

Began the rustic messenger straightway,
"Hear, men, what our good master bade me say:
"'Cup-bearer,' was his word, 'upon your track
Across the fields like lightning go you back,
And bid the ploughmen and the mowers all
Quit ploughs and scythes, the harvesters let fall