Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/161

] "Plague on my poverty!" poor Vincen cried, Tearing his hair. "Is God who hath denied All that could make life worthy,—is He just? And wherefore are we poor? And wherefore must We still the refuse of the vineyard gather, While others pluck the purple clusters rather?"

Lifting his hands, the old man sternly said, "Weave on, and drive this folly from your head! Shall the corn-ears rebuke the reaper, pray? Or Billy worm to God the Father say, 'Why am I not a star in heaven to shine?' Or shall the ox to be a drover pine,

"So to eat corn instead of straw? Nay, nay! Through good and ill we all must hold our way. The hand's five fingers were unequal made. Be you a lizard, as your Master bade, And dwell content upon your wall apart, And drink your sunbeam with a thankful heart!"

"I tell thee, father, I this maid adore More than my sister, than my Maker more; And if I have her not, 'tis death, I say!" Then to the rough stream Vincen fled away; While little Vinceneto burst out weeping, Let fall her net, and near the weaver creeping,—