Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/144

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Most like a goldfinch: "Our good granny spins,
And winds and spins, and then anew begins,
And thinks that she spins worsted night and day,
And ha! ha! gossip, she spins only hay!
Te! he! spin, Aunty, spin!" And long-drawn laughter,
Like whinnying of young colts, followed thereafter.

"Why, what can that be?" asked Mirèio,—
"The little voice that laughs and jeers us so?"
Again the childish treble came, "Te! he!
Who is this pretty mortal? Let us see!
We 'll raise the neckerchief a little bit:
Are nuts and pomegranates under it?"

Then the poor maid had nearly cried outright;
But the hag stayed her, "Here 's no cause for fright.
The singing, jeering thing is but a Glari:
Fantasti is his name, a sprightly fairy.
In his good mood he will your kitchen sweep,
Mind fire, turn roast, and a full hen's-nest keep.

"But what a marplot when he takes the whim!
He 'll salt your broth just as it pleaseth him,
Or blow your light out ere you 're half in bed!
Or, if to vespers you would go," she said,
"At great Saint Trophimus',⁶ gayly bedight,
He 'll hide your Sunday suit, or spoil it quite!"