place in any anthology of general
poetry, and an ode on the death of Lamartine is sincere and beautiful.
Such poems must be read in the original.

The first one, _The Drummer of Arcole_, is the story of a drummer boy
who saved the day at Arcole by beating the charge; but after the wars
are over, he is forgotten, and remains a drummer as before, becomes old
and regrets his life given up to the service of his country. But one
day, passing along the streets of Paris, he chances to look up at the
Pantheon, and there in the huge pediment he reads the words, "_Aux
grands hommes la patrie reconnaissante_."

"'Drummer, raise thy head!' calls out a passer-by! 'The one up there,
hast thou seen him?' Toward the temple that stood superb the old man
raised his bewildered eyes. Just then the joyous sun shook his golden
locks above enchanted Paris....

"When the soldier saw the dome of the Pantheon rising toward heaven, and
with his drum hanging at his side, beating the charge, as if it were
real, he recognized himself, the boy of Arcole, away up there, right at
the side of the great Napoleon, intoxicated with his former fury, seeing
himself, so high, in full relief, above the years, the clouds, the
storms, in glory, azure, sunshine, he felt a gentle swelling in his
heart, and fell dead upon the pavement."

_Lou Prego-Dieu_ is a sweet poem embodying a popular belief. Prego-dieu
is the name of a little insect, so called from the peculiar arrangement
of its legs and antennse that makes it appear to be in an attitude of
prayer. Mistral's poetic ideas have been largely suggested to him by
popular beliefs and the stories he heard at his fireside when a boy.
This poem is one of the best of the kind he has produced, and, being
eminently, characteristic, will find juster treatment in a literal
translation than in a commentary. The first half was written during the
time he was at work upon _Mireio_ in 1856, the second in 1874. We quote
the first stanza in the original, for the sake of showing its rhythm.

"Ero un tantost d'aquel estieu
Que ni vihave ni dourmieu:
Fasieu miejour, tau que me plaise,
Lou cahessou
Toucant lou son
A l'aise."

I

It was one afternoon this summer, while I was neither awake nor asleep.
I was taking a noon siesta, as is my pleasure, my head at ease upon the
ground.

And greenish among the stubble, upon a spear of blond barley, with a
double row of seeds, I sa