THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLÈ FROM THE GASCON OF JASMIN I. T the foot of the mountain height A the foot of the mountain cuille, When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve: "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending, When lo! a merry company Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, Each one with her attendant swain, Came to the cliff, all singing the same strain; Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has sent And soon descending The narrow sweep Of the hillside steep, They wind aslant Towards Saint Amant, Singing their chant : "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom, When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom, A rustic bridal, ah! how sweet it is! To sounds of joyous melodies, That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom, A band of maidens Gayly frolicking, A band of youngsters Caressing, With fingers pressing, Till in the veriest Madness of mirth, as they dance, They retreat and advance, Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest; While the bride, with roguish eyes, Sporting with them, now escapes and cries: "Those who catch me Married verily This year shall be!" And all pursue with eager haste, And touch her pretty apron fresh and new, Meanwhile, whence comes it that among Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue? And yet the bride is fair and young! What lovers! they give not a single caress! These are grand people, one would say. It is, tilat, half way up the hill, And you must know, one year ago, Love, the deceiver, them ensnared ; The dread disease that none can stay, All at the father's stern command was changed; Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged. Wearied at home, erelong the lover fled; Returned but three short days ago, The golden chain they round him throw, To marry Angela, and yet Is thinking ever of Margaret. Then suddenly a maiden cried, "Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate! Here comes the cripple Jane!" And by a fountain's side A woman, bent and gray with years, It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, And the bride a lovely boy straightway. All comes to pass as she avers; She never deceives, she never errs. But for this once the village seer Wears a countenance severe, And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue, |