rust.]

[Footnote 11: Prisoner of the Saracens, accoutred like a gypsy, with a
crimson turban, dried by the white sun, turning the creaking
water-wheel, Blac prayed thus.]

[Footnote 12: A son of Maillane, if I had come in the days of Queen
Joanna when she was in her springtime and a sovereign such as they were
in those days, with no other diplomacy than her bright glance, in love
with her, I should have found, lucky I, so fine a song that the fair
Joanna would have given me a mantle to appear in the castles.]

[Footnote 13: This poem will be found translated in full at the end of
the book.]

[Footnote 14:

It was an afternoon of this summer,
While I neither woke nor slept,
I was taking my noonday rest, as is my pleasure,
My head touching the ground at ease.
]

[Footnote 15:

The ghostly moon is unwinding wool.
Afar off is heard the gurgling water shaking the clapper behind the mill.
The ghostly moon is unwinding flax.
]

[Footnote 16: When the slaughter is over, when the wolf and the buzzard
have gnawed the bones, the flaming sun scatters merrily the hurtful
vapors and the battlefield soon becomes green once more.

After the long trampling of the Turks and Russians, thou, too, art seen
thus reborn, O nation of Trajan, like the shining star coming forth from
the dark eclipse, with the youth of a maiden of fifteen.

And the Latin races, in thy silvery speech, have recognized the honor
that lay in thy blood; and calling thee sister, the Romance Provence
sends thee, Roumania, an olive branch.]

CHAPTER V

MISTRAL'S DICTIONARY OF THE PROVENCAL LANGUAGE

AU MIEJOUR

Sant Jan, vengue meissoun, abro si fio de joio;
Amount sus l'aigo-vers lou pastre pensatieu,
En l'ounour dou pais, enausso uno mount-joio
E marco li pasquie mounte a passa l'estieu.

Emai ieu, en laurant--e quichant moun anchoio,
Per lou noum de Prouvenco ai fa co que poudieu;
E, Dieu de moun pres-fa m'aguent douna la voio,
Dins la rego, a geinoui, vuei rende graci a Dieu.

En terro, fin qu'au sistre, a cava moun araire;
E lou brounze rouman e l'or dis emperaire
Treluson au souleu dintre lou blad que sort....

O pople dou Miejour, escouto moun arengo:
Se vos recounquista l'emperi de ta lengo,
Per t'arnesca de nou, pesco en aqueu Tresor.

"Saint John, at harvest time, kindles his bonfires; high up on the
mountain slope the thoughtful shepherd