Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/227

] "Happy is he who cares for others' woe, And toils for men, and wearies only so; From his own shoulders tears their mantle warm, Therein to fold some pale and shivering form; Is lowly with the lowly, and can waken Fire-light on cold hearths of the world-forsaken.

"The sovereign word, that man remembereth not, Is, 'Death is Life;' and happy is the lot Of the meek soul and simple,—he who fares Quietly heavenward, wafted by soft airs; And lily-white forsakes this low abode, Where men have stoned the very saints of God.

"And if, Mirèio, thou couldst see before thee, As we from empyrean heights of glory, This world; and what a sad and foolish thing Is all its passion for the perishing, Its churchyard terrors,—then, O lambkin sweet, Mayhap thou wouldst for death and pardon bleat!

"But, ere the wheat-ear hath its feathery birth, Ferments the grain within the darksome earth,— Such ever is the law; and even we, Before we wore our crowns of majesty, Drank bitter draughts. Therefore, thy soul to stay, We 'll tell the pains and perils of our way."