“Why love, whence came you? Do you mind, I pray,
A word you said down at the Farm one day,
Walking under the trellis, by my side?
You said, ‘If ever any harm betide,
Hie thee right quickly to the holy Saints,
Who cure all ills and hearken all complaints.’
“Dearest, I would you saw my heart this minute,
As in a glass, and all the comfort in it!
Comfort and peace like a full fountain welling
Through all my happy spirit! There’s no telling—
A grace beyond my uttermost desires!
Look, Vincen: see you not God’s angel-choirs?”
Pausing, she gazed into the deep blue air.
It was as if she could discern up there
Wonderful things hidden from mortal men.
But soon her dreamy speech began again:
“Ah, they are happy, happy souls that soar
Aloft, tethered by flesh to earth no more!
“Did you mark, Vincen dear, the flakes of light
That fell when they began their heavenward flight?
If all their words to me had written been,
They would have made a precious book, I ween.”
Here Vincen, who had striven his tears to stay,
Brake forth in sobs, and gave his anguish way.
“Would to God I had seen them ere they went!
Ah, would to God! Then to their white raiment,
Like a tick fastening, I would have cried,
‘O queens of heaven! Sole ark where we may bide,
In this late hour, do what you will with me!
Maimed, sightless, toothless, I would gladly be;
“‘But leave my pretty little fairy sane
And sound!’” Here brake Mirèio in again:
“There are they, in their linen robes of grace!
They come!” and from her mother’s fond embrace
Began to struggle wildly to be free,
And waved her hand afar toward the sea.
Then all the folk turned also to the main,
And under shading hands their eyes ’gan strain;
Yet, save the pallid limit of the brine,
The blending and the separating line
’Twixt wave and vault, they nothing could descry.
“Naught cometh,” said they. But the child, “Oh, ay!
“Look closer! There’s a bark, without a sail,
Wafted toward us by a gentle gale,
And they are on it! And the swell subsides
Before them, and the bark so softly glides!
Clear is the air and all the sea like glass,
And the sea-birds do homage as they pass!”
“Poor child! she wanders,” murmured they; “for we
See only the red sunset on the sea!”
“Yet it is they! Mine eyes have told me true,”
The sick one panted—“’Tis the boat in view!
Now low, now lifted, it is drawing near,
Oh, miracle of God!—the boat is here!”
Now was she paling, as a marguerite
Half-blown and smitten by a tropic heat,
While crouching Vincen, horror in his heart,
Or ere his well-belovèd quite depart
Hath her in charge unto our Lady given,
To the Saints of the chapel and of heaven.