Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/206

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This tale of woe, following upon the other,
Is a lance-thrust to father and to mother:
Their worst foreboding it hath justified.
Then, as a tempest in the hot June-tide,
Gathering silently, ascends the air,
The weather darkening ever, till the glare

Of lightning shows in the north-east, and loud
Peal follows peal, another left the crowd,
One Lou Marran. It was a name renowned
In all the farms when winter-eves came round,
And laborers, chatting while the mules were stalled
And pulling lucerne from the rack, recalled

What things befell when first this man was hired,
Until the lights for lack of oil expired.
Seed-time it was, and every other man
Was opening up his furrow save Marran;
Who, hangig back, eyed coulter, tackle, share,
As he the like had seen not anywhere.

Till the chief-ploughman spake: "Here is a lout
To plough for hire! Why, a hog with his snout
I wager would work better!"—"I will take
Thy bet," said Lou Marran; "and be the stake
Three golden louis! Either thou or I,
Master, that sum will forfeit presently."