Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/145

] "Hear!" shrieked the imp: "now hear the old hag talk! 'Tis like the creak of an ill-greasèd block! No doubt, my withered olive," the thing said, "I twitch the bedclothes off a sleeping maid Sometimes at midnight, and she starts with fear And trembles, and her breast heaves. Oh, I see her!"

And with its whinnying laugh the sprite was gone; Then, for a brief space, as they journeyed on Under the grots, the witcheries were stayed; And in the gloomy silence, long delayed, They heard the water drop from vaulted roof To crystal ground. Now there had sat aloof,

Upon a ledge of rock, a tall, white thing, Which rose in the half-light as menacing With one long arm. Then stiff as a quartz rock Stood Vincen; while, transported by the shock, Mirèio would have leaped a precipice, Had such been there. "Old scare-crow, what is this?

"What mean you," cried Taven, "by swaying so Your limp head like a poplar to and fro?" Then turning to the stricken twain, "My dears, You know the Laundress? Oft-times she appears On Mount Ventour, and then the common crowd Are wont to take her for a long, white cloud.