Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/258

232 Saints of God, ere now sea-faring On these briny plains of ours, Who have set a temple bearing Massy walls and snowy towers,

Watch the wave-tossed seaman kindly; Lend him aid the bark to guide; Send him fair winds, lest he blindly Perish on the pathless tide!

See the woman poor and sightless: Ne'er a word she uttereth; Dark her days are and delightless,— Darkness aye is worse than death.

Vain the spells they have told o'er her, Blank is all her memory. Queens of Paradise, restore her! Touch those eyes that they may see!

We who are but fishers lowly, Lift our hearts ere forth we go; Ye, the helpful saints and holy, Fill our nets to overflow.

So, when penitents heart-broken Sue for pardon at your door, Flood their souls with peace unspoken, White flowers of our briny moor!"