sto en terro soumiho,
Et tu dormes la som que n'a ges de revei;
Toun cadabre toumbo en douliho.
Un jour, en tafurant, la fournigo lou vei,

De tu magro peu dessecado
La marriasso fai becado;
Te curo lou perus, te chapouto a mouceu,
T'encafourno per car-salado,
Requisto prouvisioun, l'iver, en tems de neu.

III.

Vaqui l'istori veritablo
Ben liuen dou conte de la fablo.
Que n'en pensas, caneu de sort!
--O rammaissaire de dardeno
Det croucu, boumbudo bedeno
Que gouvernas lou mounde eme lou coffre-fort,

Fases courre lou bru, canaio,
Que l'artisto jamai travaio
E deu pati, lou bedigas.
Teisas-vous dounc: quand di lambrusco
La Cigalo a cava la rusco,
Raubas soun beure, e piei, morto, la rousigas.

So speaks my friend in the expressive Provencal idiom, rehabilitating
the creature so libelled by the fabulist.

Translated with a little necessary freedom, the English of it is as
follows:--

I.

Fine weather for the Cigale! God, what heat!
Half drunken with her joy, she feasts
In a hail of fire. Pays for the harvest meet;
A golden sea the reaper breasts,
Loins bent, throat bare; silent, he labours long,
For thirst within his throat has stilled the song.

A blessed time for thee, little Cigale.
Thy little cymbals shake and sound,
Shake, shake thy stomach till thy mirrors fall!
Man meanwhile swings his scythe around;
Continually back and forth it veers,
Flashing its steel amidst the ruddy ears.

Grass-plugged, with water for the grinder full,
A flask is hung upon his hip;
The stone within its wooden trough is cool,
Free all the day to sip and sip;
But man is gasping in the fiery sun,
That makes his very marrow melt and run.

Thou, Cigale, hast a cure for thirst: the bark,
Tender and juicy, of the bough.
Thy beak, a very needle, stabs it. Mark
The narrow passage welling now;
The sugared stream is flowing, thee beside,
Who drinkest of the flood, the honeyed tide.

Not in peace always; nay, for thieves arrive,
Neighbours and wives, or wanderers vile;
They saw thee sink the well, and ill they thrive
Thirsting; they seek to drink awhile;
Beauty, beware! the wallet-snatcher's face,
Humble at first, grows insolent apace.

They seek the merest drop; thy leavings take;
Soon discontent, t