Also the chamois hath a joy most keen
When through the Queiras,50 that most wild ravine
All day before the huntsman he hath flown,
And stands at length upon a peak, alone
With larches and with ice fields, looking forth.
But all these joys and charms are little worth,
With the brief rapture of the hours compared—
Ah, brief!—that Vincen and Mirèio shared,
When, by the friendly shadows favourèd,
(Speak low, my lips, for trees can hear, ’tis said,)
Their hands would seek each other and would meet,
And silence fall upon them, while their feet
Played idly with the pebbles in their way.
Until, not knowing better what to say,
The tyro-lover laughingly would tell
Of all the small mishaps that him befell;
Of nights he passed beneath the open heaven;
Of bites the farmers’ dogs his legs had given,
And show his scars. And then the maid told o’er
Her tasks of that day and the day before;
And what her parents said; and how the goat
With trellis-flowers had filled his greedy throat.
Once only—Vincen knew not what he did;
But, stealthy as a wild-cat, he had slid
Along the grasses of the barren moor,
And prostrate lay his darling’s feet before.
Then—soft, my lips, because the trees can hear—
He said, “Give me one kiss, Mirèio dear!
“I cannot eat nor drink,” he made his moan,
“For the great love I bear you! Yea, mine own,
Your breath the life out of my blood has taken.
Go not, Mirèio! Leave me not forsaken!
From dawn to dawn, at least, let a true lover
Kneel, and your garment’s hem with kisses cover!”
“Why, Vincen,” said Mirèio, “that were sin!
Then would the black-cap and the penduline51
Tell everywhere the secret they had heard!”
“No fear of that! for every tell-tale bird
I’d banish from La Crau to Arles,” said he;
“For you, Mirèio, are as heaven to me!
“Now list! There grows a plant in river Rhône,
Eel-grass,52 the name whereby that plant is known,
Two flowers it beareth, each on its own stem,
And a great space of water severs them,
For the plant springs out of the river’s bed;
But when the time for wooing comes,” he said,
“One flower leaps to the surface of the flood,
And in the genial sunshine opes its bud.
Whereon the other, seeing this so fair,
Swims eagerly to seize and kiss her there;
But, for the tangled weeds, can she not gain
Her love, till her frail stem breaks with the strain.
“Now free at last, but dying, she doth raise
Her pale lips for her sister’s last embrace.
So I! One kiss, and I will die to-night!
We are all alone!” Mirèio’s cheek grew white.
Then sprang he, wild-eyed as a lissome beast,
And clasped her. Hurriedly the maid released
Herself from his too daring touch. Once more
He strove to seize—but ah! my lips, speak lower,
For the trees hear—“Give over!” cried the girl,
And all her slender frame did writhe and curl.
Yet would he frantic cling; but straight thereafter
She pinched him, bent, slipped, and, with ringing laughter,
The saucy little damsel sped away,
And lifted up her voice in mocking lay.
So did these two, upon the twilight wold
Their moon-wheat53 sow, after the proverb old.
Flowery the moments were, and fleet with pleasure:
Of such our Lord giveth abundant measure
To peasants and to kings alike. And so
I come to what befell that eve on Crau.
Ourrias and Vincen met. As lightning cleaves
The first tall tree, Ourrias his wrath relieves.
“ ’Tis you son of a hag, for aught I know,
Who have bewitched her—this Mirèio;
“And since your path would seem to lie her way,
Tell her, tatterdemalion, what I say!
No more for her nor for her weasel face
Care I than for the ancient clout,” he says,
“That from your shoulders fluttering I see.
Go, pretty coxcomb, tell her this from me!”
Stopped Vincen thunderstruck. His wrath leaped high
As leaps a fiery rocket to the sky.
“Is it your pleasure that I strangle you,
Base churl,” he said, “or double you in two?”
And faced him with a look he well might dread,
As when a starving leopard turns her head.
His face was purple, quivered all his frame.
“Oh, better try!” the mocking answer came.
“You’ll roll headfirst upon the gravel, neighbour!
Bah, puny hands! meet for no better labour
Than to twist osiers when they’re supple made;
Or to rob hen-roosts, lurking in the shade!”
Stung by the insult, “Yea, I can twist osier,
And I can twist your neck with all composure,”
Said Vincen. “Coward, it were well you ran!
Else vow I by St. James the Gallican,
You’ll never see your tamarisks any more!
This iron first shall bray your limbs before!”
Wondering, and charmed to find by such quick chance
A man whereon to wreak his vengeance,
“Wait!” said the herdsman: “be not over-hot!
First let me have a pipe, young idiot!”
And brought to light a buckskin pouch, and set
Between his teeth a broken calumet.
Then scornfully, “While rocking you, my lamb,
Under the goose-foot,54 did your gypsy-dam
Ne’er tell the tale of Jan de l’Ours,55 I pray?—
Two men in one, who, having gone one day,
By orders, to plough stubble with two yoke,
Seized plough and teams, as shepherds do a crook,
“And hurled them o’er a poplar-tree hard by?
Well for you, urchin, there’s no poplar nigh!
You couldn’t lead a stray ass whence it came!”
But Vincen stood like pointer to the game.
“I say,” he roared in tones stentorian,
“Will you come down, or must I fetch you, man
“Or hog? Come! Brag no more your beast astride
You flinch now we are going to decide
Which sucked the better milk, or you or I?
Was it you, bearded scoundrel? We will try!
Why, I will tread you like a sheaf of wheat,
If you dare flout yon maiden true and sweet.
“No fairer flower in this land blossomed ever;
And I who am called Vincen, basket-weaver,
Yes, I—her suitor, be it understood—
Will wash your slanders out in your own blood,
If such you have!” Quoth Ourrias, “I am ready,
My gypsy-suitor to a cupboard! Steady!”
Therewith alights. They fling their coats away,
Fists fly, and pebbles roll before the fray.
They fall upon each other in the manner
Of two young bulls who, in the vast savannah,
Where the great sun glares in the tropic sky,
The sleek sides of a dark young heifer spy
In the tall grasses, lowing amorous.
The thunder bursts within them, challenged thus.
Mad, blind
