Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/199

] "'Their sickles, and the shepherds hastily Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me!'" Then, fleeter than a goat, the faithful man O'er the rich, madder-growing$3$ hillocks ran,— Althen's bequest,—and saw on every hand The gold of perfect ripeness tinge the land,

And centaury-starred fields, and ploughmen bent Above their ploughs and on their mules intent, And earth, awakened from her winter-sleep, And shapeless clods upturned from furrows deep, And wagtails frisking o'er; and yet again, "Hearken to what our master saith, good men!

"'Cupbearer,' was his word, 'upon your track Across the flelds like lightning go you back, And bid the ploughmen and the mowers all Quit ploughs and scythes, the harvesters let fall Their sickles, and the shepherds hastily Forsake their flocks, and hither come to me!'" Then the stout runner, fleeter than the goats, Dashed through the pieces waving with wild-oats, Fosses o'erleaped with meadow-flowers bright, And in great yellow wheat-fields passed from sight, Where reapers forty, sickle each in hand, Like a devouring fire fall on the land,