With thy fair women’s pure and noble forms
The world’s pantheons everywhere are stored;
And at thy triumphs, yea, thy tears, thy storms,
Men’s hearts must palpitate with one accord;
The earth’s in blossom when thy meadows bloom,
And o’er thy follies every one goes mad;
But when thy glory is eclipsed in gloom
The whole world puts on mourning and is sad.
Thy limpid sea, that sea serene, where fleet
The whitening sails innumerable ply,
That crisps the soft, wet sand about thy feet,
And mirrors back the azure of the sky,
That ever-smiling sea, God poured its flood
From out His splendour with a lavish hand,
To bind the brown-hued peoples of thy blood
With one unbroken, scintillating band.
Arise, arise renewed, &c.
Upon thy sun-kissed slopes, on every side
The olive grows, the tree of peace divine,
And all thy lands are crownèd with the pride
Of thy prolific, broadly-spreading vine.
O Latin race, in faithful memory
Of that thy glorious, ever-shining past,
Arise in hope toward thy destiny,
One brotherhood beneath the Cross at last!
Arise, arise renewed, O Latin race,
Beneath the great cope of thy golden sun!
The russet grape is bubbling in the press,
And gushing forth the wine of God shall run!
(Trans. Alma Strettell.)
To conclude with the words of Mistral quoted from one of his addresses:
“If thou wouldst that the blood of thy race maintain its virtue, hold fast to thy historic tongue.... In language there lies a mystery, a precious treasure.... Every year the nightingale renews his feathers, but he changes not his note.”
C. E. Maud.