Quand l’ouro dóu tremount es vengudo pèr l’astre,
 Sus li mourre envahi pèr lou vèspre, li pastre
 Alargon sis anouge e si fedo e si can;
 E dins li baisso palunenco
 Lou grouün rangoulejo en bramadisso unenco:
 “Aquéu soulèu èro ensucant!”
Di paraulo de Diéu magnanime escampaire,
 Ansin, o Lamartine, o moun mèstre, o moun paire,
 En cantico, en acioun, en lagremo, en soulas,
 Quand aguerias à noste mounde
 Escampa de lumiero e d’amour soun abounde,
 E que lou mounde fuguè las,
Cadun jitè soun bram dins la nèblo prefoundo,
 Cadun vous bandiguè la pèiro de sa foundo,
 Car vosto resplendour nous fasié mau is iue,
 Car uno estello que s’amosso,
 Car un diéu clavela, toujour agrado en foço,
 E li grapaud amon la niue....
E’m’acò, l’on veguè de causo espetaclouso!
 Eu, aquelo grand font de pouësio blouso
 Qu’avié rejouveni l’amo de l’univers,
 Li jóuini pouèto riguèron
 De sa malancounié proufetico, e diguèron
 Que sabié pas faire li vers.
De l’Autisme Adounai éu sublime grand-prèire
 Que dins sis inne sant enaurè nòsti crèire
 Sus li courdello d’or de l’arpo de Sioun,
 En atestant lis Escrituro
 Li devot Farisen cridèron sus l’auturo
 Que n’avié gens de religioun.
Eu, lou grand pietadous, que, sus la catastrofo
 De nòstis ancian rèi, avié tra sis estrofo
 E qu’en mabre poumpous i’avié fa’n mausoulèu,
 Dóu Reialisme li badaire
 Trouvèron á la fin qu’èro un descaladaire,
 E tóuti s’aliunchèron lèu.
Eu, lou grand óuratour, la voues apoustoulico,
 Que faguè dardaia lou mot de Republico
 Sus lou front, dins lou cèu di pople tresanant,
 Pèr uno estranjo fernesio
 Tóuti li chin gasta de la Demoucracio
 Lou mourdeguèron en renant.
Eu, lou grand ciéutadin que dins la goulo en flamo
 Avié jita soun viéure e soun cors e soun amo,
 Pèr sauva dóu voulcan la patrio en coumbour,
 Quand demandè soun pan, pechaire!
 Li bourgés e li gros l’apelèron manjaire,
 E s’estremèron dins soun bourg.
Adounc, en se vesènt soulet dins soun auvàri,
 Doulènt, emé sa crous escalè soun Calvàri ...
 E quàuqui bònis amo, eiça vers l’embruni.
 Entendeguèron un long gème,
 E pièi, dins lis espàci, aqueste crid suprème:
 Heli! lamma sabacthani!
Mai degun s’avastè vers la cimo deserto ...
 Emé li dous iue clin e li dos man duberto,
 Dins un silènci grèu alor éu s’amaguè;
 E, siau coume soun li mountagno,
 Au mitan de sa glòri e de sa malamagno,
 Sènso rèn dire mouriguè.

LA COUPO

Prouvençau, veici la coupo
 Que nous vèn di Catalan:
 A-de-rèng beguen en troupo
 Lou vin pur de noste plant!
Coupo santo
 E versanto,
 Vuejo à plen bord,
 Vuejo abord
 Lis estrambord
 E l’enavans di fort!
D’un vièi pople fièr e libre
 Sian bessai la finicioun;
 E, se toumbon li Felibre,
 Toumbara nosto nacioun.
Coupo santo, &c.
D’uno raço que regreio
 Sian bessai li proumié gréu;
 Sian bessai de la patrio
 Li cepoun emai li priéu.
Coupo santo, &c.
Vuejo-nous lis esperanço
 E li raive dóu jouvènt,
 Dóu passat la remembranço
 E la fe dins l’an que vèn.
Coupo santo, &c.
Vuejo-nous la couneissènço
 Dóu Verai emai dóu Bèu,
 E lis àuti jouïssènço
 Que se trufon dóu toumbèu.
Coupo santo, &c.
Vuejo-nous la Pouësio
 Pèr canta tout ço que viéu,
 Car es elo l’ambrousio
 Que tremudo l’ome en diéu.
Coupo santo, &c.
Pèr la glòri dóu terraire
 Vautre enfin que sias counsènt,
 Catalan, de liuen, o fraire,
 Coumunien tóutis ensèn!
Coupo santo
 E versanto,
 Vuejo à plen bord,
 Vuejo abord
 Lis estrambord
 E l’enavans di fort!

A LA RAÇO LATINO.

(Peço Dicho a Mount-Pelié sus la Plaço dóu Peirou, lou 25 de Mai de 1878.)

Aubouro-te, raço latino,
 Souto la capo dóu soulèu!
 Lou rasin brun boui dins la tino,
 Lóu vin de Diéu gisclara lèu.
Emé toun péu que se desnouso
 A l’auro santo dóu Tabor,
 Tu siés la raço lumenouso
 Que viéu de joio e d’estrambord;
 Tu siés la raço apoustoulico
 Que sono li campano à brand:
 Tu siés la troumpo que publico
 E siés la man que trais lou gran.
Aubouro-te, raço latino, &c.
Ta lengo maire, aquéu grand flume
 Que pèr sèt branco s’espandis,
 Largant l’amour, largant lou lume
 Coume un resson de Paradis,
 Ta lengo d’or, fiho roumano
 Dóu Pople-Rèi, es la cansoun
 Que rediran li bouco umano,
 Tant que lou Verbe aura resoun.
Aubouro-te, raço latino, &c.
Toun sang ilustre, de tout caire,
 Pèr la justiço a fa rajòu;
 Pereilalin ti navegaire
 Soun ana querre un mounde nòu;
 Au batedis de ta pensado
 As esclapa cènt cop ti rèi ...
 Ah! se noun ères divisado
 Quau poudrié vuei te faire lèi?
Aubouro-te, raço latino, &c.
A la belugo dis estello
 Abrant lou mou de toun flambèu,
 Dintre lou mabre e sus la telo
 As encarna lou subre-bèu.
 De l’art divin siés la patrio
 E touto gràci vèn de tu;
 Siés lou sourgènt de l’alegrio
 E siés l’eterno jouventu!
Aubouro-te, raço latino, &c.
Di formo puro de ti femo
 Li panteon se soun poupla;
 A ti triounfle, à ti lagremo
 Tóuti li cor an barbela;
 Flouris la terro, quand fas flòri;
 De ti foulié cadun vèn fòu;
 E dins l’esclùssi de ta glòri
 Sèmpre lou mounde a pourta dòu.
Aubouro-te, raço latino, &c.
Ta lindo mar, la mar sereno
 Ounte blanquejon li veissèu,
 Friso à ti pèd sa molo areno
 En miraiant l’azur dóu cèu.
 Aquelo mar toujour risènto,
 Diéu l’escampè de soun clarun
 Coume la cencho trelusènto
 Que dèu liga ti pople brun.
Aubouro-te, raço latino, &c.
Sus ti coustiero souleiouso
 Crèis l’óulivié, l’aubre de pas,
 E de la vigno vertuiouso
 S’enourgulisson ti campas:
 Raço latino, en remembranço
 De toun destin sèmpre courous,
 Aubouro-te vers l’esperanço,
 Afrairo-te souto la Crous!
Aubouro-te, raço latino,
 Souto la capo dóu soulèu!
 Lou rasin brun boui dins la tino,
 Lou vin de Diéu gisclara lèu!

Printed by Ballantyne & Co Limited
Tavistock Street, London

FOOTNOTES:

[1] JINGLE OF JOHN O’ THE PIG’S HEAD.

Come tell me, who is dead?—
 ’Tis John o’ the Pig’s Head.
 And who his dirge doth sing?—
 Why, ’tis the Moorish King.
 And who laughs o’er him now?
 The partridge doth, I trow.
Who makes a lay for him that’s gone?—
 The mangle with its creaking stone.
 Who was it that his knell began?—
 The bottom of the frying-pan.
 Who wears for him a mourning veil?—
 The kettle’s sooty tail!

[2] A legendary character renowned as a spendthrift.

[3] The three tablecloths are graduated in size, commencing with the largest, and are de rigueur for festal occasions.

[4] For Provençal text, see p. 324.

[5] Poles crowned with Phrygian caps.

[6] Signifying the Republic.

[7] Poles crowned with Phrygian caps.

[8]

In the city of the Baux for a florin’s value
 You have an apron full of cheeses
 Which melt in the mouth like fine sugar.

[9] The national instrument of Provence.

[10] Athène du Midi.

[11] Monsieur Paul Mariéton in his “Terre Provençale” says of this work: “The history of a people is contained in this book. No one can ever know what devotion, knowledge, discrimination and intuition such a work represents, undertaken and concluded as it was during the twenty best years of a poet’s life. All the words of the Oc language in its seven different dialects, each one compared with its equivalent in the Latin tongue, all the proverbs and idioms of the South together with every characteristic expression either in use or long since out of vogue, make up this incomparable Thesaurus of a tenacious language, which is no more dead to-day than it was three hundred years ago, and which is now reconquering the hearts of all the faithful.” This “Treasury of the Félibres” opens with the following lines:

“O people of the South, hearken now to my words:

“If thou would’st regain the lost Empire of thy speech and equip thyself anew, dig deep in this mine.”

[12] The Mayor’s sash of office.

[13] Mistral has glorified this legend in his Mireille, where the saints appear to the young girl and recount to her their Odyssey (pp. 427-437, Mireille).—C. E. M.

[14] For Provençal text see p. 324.

[15] For Provençal text see p. 326.

[16] The elder half-brother of Frédéric Mistral inherited the Mas du Juge.

[17] A well-known poet and writer of Nîmes, author of a small poem regarded as a classic in France: “L’Ange et l’Enfant.”

[18] For Provençal text see p. 329.

[19] Les Aliscamps, the famous burying-ground of the Romans. In the old pagan days it was said that this wonderful necropolis made Arles, the queen of cities, more opulent beneath her soil than above. Here the great Romans in the time of Augustus and Constantine regarded it as their privilege to be buried.—C. E. M.

[20] Mireille was crowned by the Academy, and the poet received a prize of ten thousand francs.

[21] For Provençal text see p. 332.

[22] For Provençal text see p. 334.