Page:Mistral - Mirèio. A Provençal poem.djvu/122

96 "And hurled them o'er a poplar-tree hard by? Well for you, urchin, there 's no poplar nigh! You couldn't lead a stray ass whence it came!" But Vincen stood like pointer to the game. "I say," he roared in tones stentorian, "Will you come down, or must I fetch you, man

"Or hog? Come! Brag no more upon your beast: You flinch now we are coming to the test. Which sucked the better milk, or you or I? Was it you, bearded scoundrel? We will try! Why, I will tread you like a sheaf of wheat, If you dare flout yon maiden true and sweet.

"No fairer flower in this land blossomed ever; And I who am called Vincen, basket-weaver, Yea, I—her suitor, be it understood— Will wash your slanders out in your own blood, If such you have!" Quoth Ourrias, "I am ready, My gypsy-suitor to a cupboard! Steady!"

Therewith alights. They fling their coats away, Fists fly, and pebbles roll before the fray. They fall upon each other in the manner Of two young bulls who, in the vast savannah, Where the great sun glares in the tropic sky, The sleek sides of a dark young heifer spy