Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/252

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[Canto XII.

Kneeling: and was more fair than ever now,
So strange a freak of suntight crowned her brow.
And here they who had sought her through the wild,
The aged parents, came, and found their child;
Yet stayed their faltering steps the portal under,
To gaze on her entranced with awe and wonder;

Then crossed their foreheads with the holy water,
And, hasting o'er the sounding flags, besought her
To wake. But, as a flighted vireo
Who spies the huntsman, shrieked Mirèio,
"O God, what is it? Father, mother, tell!
Where will you go?" And therewith swooned and fell.

The weeping mother lifts her head, and yearns
Over her. "My sweet, your forehead burns!
What means it?" And again, "No dream is this.
My own sweet child,—my very own it is,—
Low lying at my feet!" And then she wept
And laughed together; and old Ramoun crept

Beside them. "Little darling, it is I,
Your father, has your hand!" Then suddenly
His anguish choked him, and he could but hold
And chafe and strive to warm those fingers cold.
Meanwhile the wind the mournful tidings bore
Abroad, and all Li Santo thronged the door,