Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/143

] Then fell upon them, like a sudden gale Or white squall on the water fraught with hail, A swarm of whirling, yelping, vicious things, Under the fanning of whose icy wings The mortals, drenched with sweat and struck with cold, Stood shivering. "Away, ye over-bold,

"Ye spoilers of the harvest, unlicked whelps!" Taven exclaimed. "Must we then use such helps To the fair deeds we do? Yet, as by skill The sage physician bringeth good from ill, We witches, by our hidden arts, compel Evil to yield its fruit of good as well.

"Naught's hid from us. For where the vulgar see A stone, a whip, a stag, a malady, We witches can the inner force divine Like that which works under the scum of wine In fermentation. Pierce the vat, you know, A seething, boiling scum will outward flow.

"Find, if you can, the key of Solomon! Or speak unto the mountain in its own Dread language! It shall move at your behest, And roll into the valley ere it rest." Meanwhile they wended lower, and were 'ware Of a small, roguish voice a-piping there,