Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/109

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But vain his fury, useless all his trouble!
The neatherd had the art to torn and double
And force the huge head with his shoulder round,
And shove it roughly back, till on the ground
Christian and beast together rolled, and made
A formless heap like some huge barricade.

The tamarisks¹² are shaken by the cry
Of "Brave Ourrias! That 's done valiantly!"
While five stout youths the bull pin to the sward;
And Ourrias, his triumph to record,
Seizes the red-hot iron with eager hand,
The vanquished monster on the hip to brand.

Then come a troop of girls on milk-white ponies,—
Arlesians,—flushed and panting every one is,
As o'er the arena at full gallop borne
They offer him a noble drinking-horn
Brimful of wine; then turn and disappear,
Each followed by her faithful cavalier.

The hero heeds them not. His mind is set
On the four monsters to be branded yet:
The mower toils the harder for the grass
He sees unmown. And so this Ourrias
Fought the more savagely as his foes warmed,
And conquered in the end,—but not unharmed.