Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/124

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With pulsing flanks, like flap of bastard's wing.
And, one against the other steadying,
Bear up like the abutments huge and wide
Of that great bridge the Gardoun⁸ doth bestride.
Anon they part: their doubled fists upraise,
Once more the pestle in the mortar brays,

And in their fury ply they tooth or nail.
Good God! the blows of Vincen fall like hail.
Yet ah! what club-like hits the herdsman deals!
And, as their crushing weight the weaver feels,
He whirls as whirls a sling about his foe,
And backward bends to deal his fiercest blow.

"Look your last, villain!" Ere the word said he,
The mighty herdsman seized him bodily,
And flung him o'er his shoulder far away,
As a Provençal shovels wheat. He lay
A moment on his side, not sorely hurt.
"Pick up, O worm!" cried Ourrias,—"pick the dirt

"You have displaced, and eat it, if you will!"
"Enough of that! Brute who was broken ill,
We 'll have three rounds before this game is over!"
With bitter hate retorts the poor boy-lover;
And, reddening to his very hair for shame,
Rears like a dragon to retrieve his fame.