Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/45

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"The others. On, on, on, with steady gait,
Just like the pasteboard horses¹⁵ at Aix fête.
The famous Marseillais thought he must win
(They used to say of him he had no spleen);
But, ah! my lady, on that day of days,
He found his man,—Lou Cri of Mouriès.

"For now they pass beyond the gazing line,
And almost touch the goal. O beauty mine!
Couldst thou have seen Lou Cri leap forward then!
Never, I think, in mountain, park, or glen,
A stag, a hare, so fleet of foot you 'd find.
Howled like a wolf the other, just behind.

"Lou Cri is victor!—hugs the post for joy.
Then all of Nismes comes flocking round the boy,
To learn the birthplace of this wondrous one.
The pewter plate is flashing in the sun,
The hautboys flourish, cymbals clang apace,
As he receives the guerdon of the race."

"And Lagalanto?" asks Mirèio.
"Why, he upon the ground was sitting low,
Amid the dust raised by the gathering throng,
Clasping his knees. With shame his soul was stung;
And, with the drops that from his forehead fell,
Came tears of bitterness unspeakable.