Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/187

] "And my feet by the hot stones blisterèd!" Then, in high heaven, heard what Mirèio said The good St. Gent: and soon she doth discover A well far off, with a bright stone laid over; And, like a marten through a shower of rain, Speeds through the flaming sun-rays, this to gain.

The well was old, with ivy overrun,— A watering-place for flocks; and from the sun Scarce by it sheltered sat a little boy, With basket-full of small white snails for toy. With his brown hands, he one by one withdrew them, The tiny harvest-nails ; and then sang to them,—

"Snaily, snaily, little nun, Come out of the cell, come into the sun! Show me your horns without delay, Or I 'll tear your convent-walls away."

Then the fair maid of Crau, when she had dipped Her burning lips into the pail, and sipped, Quickly upraised a lovely, rosy face, And, "Little one! what dost thou here?" she says. A pause. "Pick snailies from the stones and grass?" "Thou hast guessed right!" the urchin's answer was.