Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/169

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"But there are flaws even in precious stones,
And tender lambs will have convulsions,
And the still waters are perfidious ever:
So my mad boy,—thou wilt believe it never,—
He loves the daughter of a rich freeholder,
And swears he will in his embrace enfold her!

"Ay, swears he will, the maniac! And his love
And his despair my soul to terror move.
I showed him all his folly, be thou sure,
And how wealth gains, and poverty grows poor
In this hard world. In vain! He would but call,
'Cost what it may, tell thou her parents all,—

"'Tell them to look for virtue, not for gain!
Tell them that I can plough a stony plain,
Or harrow, or prune vines with any man!
Tell them their six yoke, with my guiding, can
Plough double! Tell them I revere the old;
And, if they put us for the sake of gold,

"'We shall both die, and need but burial.'
Now, Master Ramoun, I have told thee all.
Shall I, clad in my rags, for this maid sue,
Or leave my son to die of sorrow?"—"Whew!"
The other. "To such wind spread thou no sail!
Nor he, nor she, will perish of this ail.