Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/166

140 And the rest in their order, for the lunch. Forthwith the laborers began to crunch Hard-crusted bread their sturdy teeth between, And hail the salad made of goats-beard green; While fair as an oat-leaf the table shone, And in superb profusion heaped thereon

Were odorous cheese, onions and garlic hot, Grilled egg-plant, fiery peppers, and what not, To sting the palate. Master Ramoun poured The wine, king in the field and at the board; Raising his mighty flagon now and then, And calling for a bumper on the men.

"To keep the sickles keen on stony ground, They must be often whetted, I have found." The reapers held their goblets, bidden so, And red and clear the wine began to flow. "Ay, whet the blades!" the cheery master cries; And furthermore gives order in this wise:

"Now eat your fill, and all your strength restore. But go thereafter, as you used of yore, And branches in the copse-wood cut, and bring In fagots; thus a great heap gathering. And when 'tis night, my lads, we 'll do the rest! For this the fête is of Saint John the blest,—