tell thee all;
Thou knowest that I lov'd this maid, Pascal.
For her, like thee, I would have shed my blood;
I
dreamt that I was loved again; she held me in her thrall.
Albeit my prayer was aye withstood;
Her elders
promised her to me;
And so, when other suitors barr'd my way, In spite,
Saying, in love or war, one may
use strategy,
I gave the wizard gold, my rival to affright,
Therefore, my chance did everything, insomuch
that I said,
My treasure is already won and made.
But when, in the same breath, we two our suit made
known,
And when I saw her, without turn of head,
Choose thee, to my despair, it was not to be borne.
And then I vow'd her death and thine, before the morrow morn!
I thought to lead you forth to the bridal
bower ere long,
And then, the bed beside which I had mined with care,
That they might say no prince or
power of th' air
Is here. That I might burn you for my wrong;
Ay, cross yourselves, thought I, for you shall
surely die!
But thy mother, with her tears, has made my vengeance fly
I thought of my own, Pascal,
who died so long ago.
Care thou for thine! And now fear nought from me, I trow,
Eden is coming down
to earth for thee, no doubt,
But I, whom henceforth men can only hate and flout,
Will to the wars away!
For in me something saith
I may recover from my rout,
Better than by a crime! Ay! by a soldier's death!"
Thus
saying, Marcel vanished, loudly cheered on every side;
And then with deepening blushes the twain each
other eyed,
For now the morning stars in the dark heavens shone
But now I lift my pencil suddenly.
Colours for strife and pain have I,
But for such perfect rapture--none!
And so the morning came, with
softly-dawning light,
No sound, no stir as yet within the cottage white,
At Estanquet the people of the
hamlets gathered were,
To wait the waking of the happy married pair.
Marcel had frankly told th' unhappy
truth; Nathless,
The devil had an awful power,
And ignorance was still his dower.
Some feared for bride
and bridegroom yet; and guess
At strange mischance. "In the night cries were heard,"
Others had seen
some shadows on the wall, in wondrous ways.
Lives Pascal yet? None dares to dress
The spicy broth,11
to leave beside the nuptial door;
And so another hour goes o'er.
Then floats a lovely strain of music
overhead,
A sweet refrain oft heard before,
'Tis the aoubado12 offered to the newly-wed. 
So the door
opes at last, and the young pair was seen,
She blushed before the folk, but friendly hand and mien,
The
fragments of her garter gives,
And every woman two receives;
Then winks and words of ruth from eye
and lip are passed,
And luck of proud Pascal makes envious all at last,
For the poor lads, whose hearts
are healed but slightly,
Of their first fervent pain,
When they see Franconnette, blossoming rose-light
brightly,
All dewy fresh, so sweet and sightly,
They cry aloud, "We'll ne'er believe a Sorcerer again!"