Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/224

198 The next came with a palm in her hand holden, And the wind lifting her long hair and golden. The third was young, and wound a mantle white About her sweet brown visage; and the light Of her dark eyes, under their failing lashes, Was greater than a diamond's when it flashes.

So, nearer to the mourner drew these three, And leaned above, and spake consolingly, And bright and tender were the smiles that wreathed Their lips, and soft the message that they breathed. They made the thorns of cruel martyrdom, That pierced Mirèio, into flowers bloom.  "Be of good cheer, thou poor Mirèio; For we are they men call the Saints of Baux,— The Maries of Judæa: and we three— Be of good cheer!—we watch the stormy sea, That we may succor vessels in distress. Beholding us, the vexèd waves have peace.

"Now lift thine eyes, and see St. James's road! A moment since, and we together stood On high at its extremity remote; And, gazing through the clustered stars, took note How faithful souls to Campoustello$9$ fare, To seek the dear Saint's tomb, and worship there.