“Vincen is bleeding! Ah, what have they done?”
Then, lovingly, the head of the dear one
She lifted, turned, and long and mutely gazed
As though with horror and with grief amazed,
Her large tears dropping fast. And well he knows
That tender touch to be Mirèio’s,
And faintly breathes, “Pity, and pray for me,
Because I need the good God’s company!”
“Your parched throat moisten with this cordial. Strive
To drink,” old Ramoun said: “you will revive.”
The maiden seized the cup, and drop by drop
She made him drink, and spake to him of hope
Till his pain lulled. “May God keep you alway
From such distress, and your sweet care repay!”
Said Vincen; and the brave boy would not tell
It was for her sake that he fought and fell;
But “Splitting osier on my breast,” he said,
“The sharp knife slipped, and pierced me.” Therewith strayed
His thought back to his love as bee to flower.
“The anguish on thy face, dear, in this hour
Is far more bitter than my wound to me.
The pretty basket that in company
We once began will be unfinished now.
Would I had seen it full to overflow,
“Dear, with thy love! Oh, stay! Life’s in thine eyes.
Ah, if thou couldst do something,” the lad cries,
“For him,—the poor old basket-weaver there,—
My father, worn with toil!” In her despair,
Mirèio bathes the wound, while some bring lint,
And some run to the hills for healing mint.
Then the maid’s mother spake: “Let four men rally,
And to the Fairies’ Cavern, in the valley
They call Enfer, bear up this wounded man.
The deadlier the hurt, the sooner can
The old witch heal. Scale first the cliffs of Baux,
And circling vultures the cave’s mouth will show.”
A hole flush with the rocks, by lizards haunted,
And veiled by tufts of rosemary thereby planted.
For ever, since the holy Angelus swells,
In Mary’s honour from the minster-bells,
The antique fairies have been forced to hide
From sunlight, and in this deep cavern bide.
Strange, airy things, they used to flit about
Dimly, ’twixt form and substance, in and out:
Half-earthly made, to be the visible
Spirit of Nature; female made as well,
To tame the savagery of primal men.
But these were fair in fairies’ eyes, and then
They loved: and so, infatuate, lifted not
Mortals unto their own celestial lot;
But, lusting, fell into our low estate,
As birds fall, whom a snake doth fascinate,
From their high places. But, while thus I write,
The bearers have borne Vincen up the height.
A dim, straight passage led the cavern toward,
A rocky funnel where they gently lowered
The sufferer; and he did not go alone,—
Yet was Mirèio’s self the only one
Who dared to follow down that awesome road,
Commending, as she went, his soul to God.