Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/172

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"Your mother 's right!" he said. "Go! travel yonder,
And take the tempest with you where you wander!
Nay, but you shall not! Here you shall remain,
Though I should bind you with an iron chain,
Or hold like a rebellious jumart, look!
Dragged by the nostrils with an iron hook!

"Yes, though you pine with sickly melancholy,
Till from your cheeks the roses perish wholly,
Or fade as snow fades when the sun is hot
On the hill-sides in spring, go shall you not!
And mark, Mirèio! Sure as the hearth's ashes
Rest on that brick, and sore as the Rhone dashes

"Above its banks when it is overfull,
And sure as that's a lamp, and here I rule,
You 'll see him never more!" The table leapt
Beneath his fist. Mirèio only wept.
Her heavy tears like dew on smallage rain,
Or grapes o'er ripe before a hurricane.

"And who," resumed the old man, blind with rage,—
"Curse it!—I say, who, Ambroi, will engage
Thou didst not with the younger ruffian plot
This vile abduction, yonder in thy cot?"
Then Ambroi also sprang infuriate,—
"Good Grod!" he cried, "we are of low estate;