Mirèio lay upon her little bed, Clasping in both her hands her burning head. Dim was the chamber; for the stars alone Saw the maid weep, and heard her piteous moan,-- “Help, Mother Mary, in my sore distress! Oh, cruel fate! Oh, father pitiless, “Who tread me underfoot! Could you but see My heart’s mad tumult, you would pity me! You used to call me darling long ago, And now you bend me to the yoke as though I were a vicious colt that you were fain To break. Why does the sea not flood this plain? “I would the wealthy lands that make me weep Were hid for evermore in the great deep! Ah, had I in a serpent’s hole been born, Of some poor vagrant, I were less forlorn! For then if any lad, my Vincen even, Had asked my hand, mayhap it had been given. “O Vincen, who so handsome are and true! If only they would let me go to you, I’d cling as clings the tender ivy-vine Unto the oak: I would not ever pine For food, but life in your caresses find, And drink at wayside pools with happy mind.” So on her pallet the sweet maid lay sobbing, Fire in her heart and every vein a-throbbing, And all the happy time remembering-- Oh, calm and happy!--of her love’s fair spring, Until a word in Vincen’s very tone Comes to her memory. “’Twas you, my own,-- “’Twas you,” she cried, “came one day to the farm, And said, ‘If ever thou dost come to harm,-- If any lizard, wolf, or poisonous snake, Ever should wound thee with its fang,--betake Thyself forthwith to the most holy Saints, Who cure all ills and hearken all complaints.’ “And sure I am in trouble now,” she said: “Therefore we’ll go, and come back comforted.” Then lightly from her white cot glided she, And straightway opened, with a shining key, The wardrobe where her own possessions lay: It was of walnut wood, and carven gay. Here were her childhood’s little treasures all: Here sacredly she kept the coronal Worn at her first communion; and thereby A faded sprig of lavender and dry, And a wax taper almost burned, as well, Once blessed, the distant thunder to dispel. A smart red petticoat she first prepares, Which she herself had quilted into squares,-- Of needlework a very masterpiece; And round her slender waist she fastens this; And over it another, finer one She draws; and next doth a black bodice don, And fasten firmly with a pin of gold. On her white shoulders, her long hair unrolled, Curling, and loose like a dark garment, lay, Which, gathering up, she swiftly coils away Under a cap of fine, transparent lace; Then decks the veilèd tresses with all grace,