Their ribs and backs with tufts of wool are decked,
That they may have their meed of due respect
As the flock’s grandsires. Plain to all beholders,
With sheepskin cloak folded about his shoulders,
Strides the chief-shepherd next, with lordly swing;
The main corps of his army following.
Tumbling through clouds of dust, the great ewe-dams
Call with loud bleatings to their bleating lambs.
The little hornèd ones are gayly drest,
With tiny tufts of scarlet on the breast
And o’er the neck. While, filling the next place,
The woolly sheep advance at solemn pace.
Amid the tumult now and then the cries
Of shepherd-boy to shepherd-dog arise.
For now the pitch-marked herd innumerable
Press forward: yearlings, two-year-olds as well,
Those who have lost their lambs, and those who bear
Twin lambs unborn,—and wearily they fare.
A ragamuffin troop brings up the rear.
The barren and past-breeding ewes are here,
The lame, the toothless, and the remnant sorry
Of many a mighty ram, lean now and hoary,
Who from his earthly labours long hath rested,
Of honour and of horns alike divested.
All these who fill the road and mountain-passes—
Old, young, good, bad, and neither; sheep, goats, asses—
Are Alari’s, every one. He stands the while
And watches them, a hundred in a file,
Pass on before him; and the man’s eyes laugh.
His wand of office is a maple staff.
And when to pasture with his dogs hies he,
And leathern gaiters buttoned to the knee,
His forehead to an ample wisdom grown
And air serene might be King David’s own,
When in his youth he led, as the tale tells,
The flocks at eve beside his father’s wells.
This was the chief toward Lotus Farm who drew,
And presently Mirèio’s self who knew
Flitting about the doorway. His heart bounded.
“Good Heaven!” he cried, “her praises they have sounded
Nowise too loudly! Ne’er saw I such grace
Or high or low, in life or pictured face!”
Only that face to see, his flock forsaking,
Alari had come. Yet now his heart was quaking
When, standing in the presence of the maid,
“Would you so gracious be, fair one,” he said,
“As to point out the way these hills to cross?
For else find I myself at utter loss.”
“Oh, yes!” replied the girl, ingenuously,
“Thou takest the straight road, and comest thereby
Into Pèiro-malo desert. Then
Follow the winding path till thou attain
A portico with an old tomb anear:
Two statues of great generals it doth bear.
Antiquities they call them hereabout.”
“Thanks, many!” said the youth. “I had come out
A thousand of my woolly tribe, or so,
To lead into the mountains from La Crau.
We leave to-morrow. I their way direct,
And sleeping-spots and feeding-ground select.