Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/186

160 "And shady trees hath planted, ho the rose To save upon your cheeks. Why, then, expose Your brow to the unpitying summer heat?" Vainly as well the butterflies entreat. For her the wings of love, the wind of faith, Bear on together, as the tempest's breath

White gulls astray over the briny plains Of Agui-Morto. Utter sadness reigns In scattered sheep-cots of their tenants left, And overrun with salicorne. Bereft In the hot desert, seemed the maid to wake, And see nor spring nor pool her thirst to slake,

And slightly shuddered. "Great St. Gent!"$5$ she cried, "O hermit of the Bausset mountain-side! O fair yonng laborer, who to thy plough Didst harness the fierce mountain-wolf ere now, And in the flinty rock, recluse divine, Didst open springs of water and of wine,

"And so revive thy mother, perishing Of heat! like me, when they were slumbering, Thou didst forsake thy household, and didst fare Alone with God through mountain-passes, where Thy mother found thee! For me, too, dear Saint, Open a spring; for I am very faint,