In the midst of Paris,
Thou knowest that, in thy home, the day thou saidst to me,
"Tu Marcellus eris!"

Like the pomegranate in the ripening sunbeam,
My heart opened,
And, unable to find more tender speech,
Broke out in tears.

It is interesting to notice that the earliest poem of our author, _La
Bella d'Avoust_, is a tale of the supernatural, a poem of mystery; it is
an order of poetic inspiration rather rare in his work, and this first
poem is quite as good as anything of its kind to be found in _Mireio_ or
_Nerto_. It has the form of a song with the refrain:--

Ye little nightingales, ye grasshoppers, be still!
Hear the song of the beauty of August!

Margai of Val-Mairane, intoxicated with love, goes down into the plain
two hours before the day. Descending the hill, she is wild. "In vain,"
she says, "I seek him, I have missed him. Ah, my heart trembles."

The poem is full of imagery, delicate and pretty. Margai is so lovely
that in the clouds the moon, enshrouded, says to the cloud very softly,
"Cloud, beautiful cloud, pass away, my face would let fall a ray on
Margai, thy shadow hinders me." And the bird offers to console her, and
the glow-worm offers his light to guide her to her lover. Margai comes
and goes until she meets her lover in the shadow of the trees. She tells
of her weeping, of the moon, the birdling, and the glow-worm. "But thy
brow is dark, art thou ill? Shall I return to my father's house?"

"If my face is sad, on my faith, it is because a black moth hovering
about hath alarmed me."

And Margai says, "Thy voice, once so sweet, to-day seems a trembling
sound beneath the earth; I shudder at it."

"If my voice is so hoarse, it is because while waiting for thee I lay
upon my back in the grass."

"I was dying with longing, but now it is with fear. For the day of our
elopement, beloved, thou wearest mourning!"

"If my cloak be sombre and black, so is the night, and yet the night
also glimmers."

When the star of the shepherds began to pale, and when the king of
stars was about to appear, suddenly off they went, upon a black horse.
And the horse flew on the stony road, and the ground shook beneath the
lovers, and 'tis said fantastic witches danced about them until day,
laughing loudly.

Then the white moon wrapped herself again, the birdling on the branch
flew off in fright, even the glow-worm, poor little thing, put out his
lamp, an