“Then the Lord’s breath did speed us in our going,
Like wind upon a fire of shavings blowing;
For, as we turned of these to take farewell,
Came messengers, before our feet who fell,
And passionately cried, ‘O god-sent strangers!
Hear yet the story of our cruel dangers.
“‘To our unhappy city came the sound
Of marvels wrought and oracles new found.
She sends us hither. We are dead who stand
Before you! Such a monster wastes our land!
A scourge of God, greedy of human gore,
It haunts our woods and gorges. We implore
“‘Your help. The monster hath a dragon’s tail,
Bristles its back with many a horrid scale.
It hath six human feet, and fleet they are;
A lion’s jaw; eyes red like cinnabar.
Its prey it hideth in a cavern lone,
Under a rock that beetles o’er the Rhone.
“‘Now day by day our fishermen grow few
And fewer.’ Saying this, they wept anew
And bitterly,—the men of Tarascon.
Then maiden Martha said, serene and strong,
‘Ready am I, and my heart yearns with pity.
Marcellus, haste: we two will save the city!’
“For the last time on earth we did embrace,
With hope of meeting in a happy place,
And parted. Martial to Limoges him hied,
While fair Toulouse became Saturnius’ bride:
And our Eutropius the new cause did plead,
And sow, in brave Orange, the blessèd seed.
“And thou, sweet virgin, whither goest thou?
With step unfaltering and untroubled brow,
Martha her cross and holy-water carried
Against the dragon dire, and never tarried.
The wild men clomb the pine-trees round about,
The fray to witness and the maiden’s rout.
“Startled from slumber in his darksome cave,
Thou shouldst have seen the leap the monster gave
Yet vainly writhed he ’neath the holy dew,
And growled and hissed as Martha near him drew,
Bound with a frail moss-halter, and forth led
Snorting. Then all the people worshippèd.
“‘Huntress Diana art thou?’ prostrate falling
Before the Christian maid, began they calling;
‘Or yet Minerva, the all-wise and chaste?’
‘Nay, nay!’ the damsel answered in all haste:
‘I am God’s handmaid only.’ And the crowd
She taught until with her to Him they bowed.
“Then by the power of her young voice alone,
She smote Avignon’s rock; and from the stone
Welled faith in so pellucid stream, that, later,
Clements and Gregories in that fair water
Dipped holy chalices their thirst to slake,
And Rome long years did for her glory quake.
“And all Provence, regenerate, sang so clear
A hymn of praise, that God was glad to hear.
Hast thou not marked, when rain begins to fall,
How spring the drooping trees and grasses all,
How soon the foliage with joy will quiver?
So fevered souls drank of this cooling river!