Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/210

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Back to the home; while Ramoun order gave,
"Cartman, set up the cart-tilt, wet the nave,
And oil the axle, and without delay
Harness Moureto.⁸ We go far to-day,
And it is late." The mother, in despair,
Mounted the cart; and more and more the air

Resounded with the transports of her woe:
"O pretty dear! O wilderness of Crau!
O endless, briny plains! O dreadful sun,
Be kind, I pray you, to the fainting one!
But for her,—the accursèd witch Taven,—
Who lured my darling into her foul den,

And poured before her, as I know right well,
Her philters and her potions horrible,
And made her drink,—now may the demons all
Who bind St. Anthony upon her fall,
And drag her body o'er the rocks of Baux!"
As the unhappy soul lamented so,

Her tones were smothered by the cart's rude shaking;
And the farm-laborers, a last look taking
To see if none were coming o'er the plain,
Turned slowly, sadly, to their toil again;
While swarms of gnats, the idle, happy things,
Filled the green walks with sound of humming wings.