Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/199

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Canto IX.]
THE MUSTER.
173

"'Their sickles, and the shepherds hastily
Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me!'"
Then, fleeter than a goat, the faithful man
O'er the rich, madder-growing3 hillocks ran,—
Althen's bequest,—and saw on every hand
The gold of perfect ripeness tinge the land,

And centaury-starred fields, and ploughmen bent
Above their ploughs and on their mules intent,
And earth, awakened from her winter-sleep,
And shapeless clods upturned from furrows deep,
And wagtails frisking o'er; and yet again,
"Hearken to what our master saith, good men!

"'Cupbearer,' was his word, 'upon your track
Across the flelds like lightning go you back,
And bid the ploughmen and the mowers all
Quit ploughs and scythes, the harvesters let fall
Their sickles, and the shepherds hastily
Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me!'"
 
Then the stout runner, fleeter than the goats,
Dashed through the pieces waving with wild-oats,
Fosses o'erleaped with meadow-flowers bright,
And in great yellow wheat-fields passed from sight,
Where reapers forty, sickle each in hand,
Like a devouring fire fall on the land,