Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/116

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Ere turning on the dogs upon his track,
Erects the rugged bristles of his back,
And whets his tusks upon the mountain oaks.
And now young Vincen with his comely looks
Must needs have chosen the herdsman's very path,
And meets him full face, boiling o'er with wrath.

Whereas the simple dreamer wandered smiling,
His memory with a sweet tale beguiling,
That he had heard a fond girl whispering
Beneath a mulberry-tree one morn in spring.
Straight is he as a cane from the Durance;
And love, peace, joy, beam from his countenance.

The soft air swells his loose, unbuttoned shirt:
His firm, bare feet are by the stones unhurt,
And light as lizard slips he o'er the way.
Oh! many a time, when eve was cool and gray,
And all the land in shadow lay concealed,
He used to roam about the darkling field,

Where the chill airs had shut the tender clover;
Or, like a butterfly, descend and hover
About the homestead of Mirèio;
Or, hidden cleverly, his hiding show,
Like a gold-crested or an ivy wren,
By a soft chirrup uttered now and then.