Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/222

196 The medlar and the service-plum, So sharp to taste When gathered, strewn on straw become A pleasant feast.

O holy Maries, who can cheer The sorrow-laden, Lend, I beseech, a pitying ear To one poor maiden! ······ Oh, what can mean this dazzling light? The church is riven O'erhead; the vault with stars is bright. Can this be heaven?

Oh, who so happy now as I? The Saints, my God,— The shining Saints,—toward me fly, Down yon bright road!

O blessed patrons, are you there To help, to stay me? Yet hide the dazzling crowns you wear, Or these will slay me.

Veil in a cloud the light appalling! My eyes are heavy. Where is the chapel? Are you calling? O Saints, receive me!"