Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/238

212 "To-day, fair Arles, a harvester thou seemest, Who sleepest on thy threshing-floor, and dreamest Of glories past; but a queen wert thou then, And mother of so brave sea-faring men, The noisy winds themselves aye lost their way In the great harbor where thy shipping lay.

"Rome had arrayed thee in white marble newly, As an imperial princess decked thee duly. Thy brow a crown of stately columns wore; The gates of thy arenas were sixscore; Thou hadst thy theatre and hippodrome, So to make mirth in thy resplendent home!

"We pass within the gates. A crowd advances Toward the theatre, with songs and dances. We join them; and the eager thousands press Through the cool colonnades of palaces; As thou, mayhap, a mighty flood hast seen Rush through a maple-shaded, deep ravine.

"Arrived,—oh, shame and sorrow!—we saw there On the proscenium, with bosoms bare, Young maidens waltzing to a languid lyre, And high refrain sung by a shrill-voiced choir. They in the mazes of their dance surrounded A marble shape, whose name like 'Venus' sounded.