From the outset the poem enjoyed great success, and the enthusiastic praise of Lamartine contributed greatly thereto.  In gratitude for this, Mistral dedicated the work to Lamartine in one of his most happy inspirations, and these dedicatory lines appear in Lis Isclo d’Or and in all the subsequent editions of Mireio.  Mistral had professed great admiration for the author of Jocelyn even before 1859, but as poets they stand in marked contrast.  We may partly define Mistral’s art in stating that it is utterly unlike that of Lamartine.  Mistral’s inspiration is not that of a Romantic; his art sense is derived directly from the study of the Greek and Roman classics.  In all that Mistral has written there is very little that springs from his personal sorrows.  The great body of his poetry is epic in character, and the best of his work in the lyric form gives expression not to merely personal emotion, but to the feeling of the race to which he belongs.

The action of the poem begins one day that Vincen and his father Meste Ambroi, the basket-makers, were wandering along the road in search of work.  Their conversation makes them known, and depicts for us the old Mas des Micocoules, the home of the prosperous father of Mireio.  We learn of his wealth in lands, in olives, in almonds, and in bees.  We watch the farm-hands coming home at evening.  When the basket-makers reach the gate, they find the daughter of the house, who, having just fed her silkworms, is now twisting a skein.  The man and the youth ask to sleep for the night upon a haystack, and stop in friendly talk with Mireio.  The poet describes Vincen, a dark, stalwart youth of sixteen, and tells of his skill at his trade.  Meste Ramoun invites them in to supper.  Mireio runs to serve them.  In exquisite verse the poet depicts her grace and beauty.

When all have eaten, at the request of the farm-hands, to which Mireio adds hers, Meste Ambroi sings a stirring ballad about the naval victories of Suffren, and the gallant conduct of the Provencal sailors who whipped the British tars.

“And the old basket-maker finished his naval song in time, for his voice was about to break in tears, but too soon, surely, for the farm-hands, for, without moving, with their heads intent and lips parted, long after the song had ceased, they were listening still.”

And then the men go about their affairs and leave Vincen and Mireio alone together.  Their talk is full of charm.  Vincen is eloquent, like a true southerner, and tells his experiences with flashing eye and animated gestures.  Here we learn of the belief in the three Maries, who have their church in the Camargue.  Here Vincen narrates a foot-race in which he took part at Nimes, and Mireio listens in rapt attention.

“It seems to me,” said she to her mother, “that for a basket-maker’s child he talks wonderfully.  O mother, it is a pleasure to sleep in winter, but now the night is too bright to sleep, but let us listen awhile yet.  I could pass my evenings and my life listening to him.”