| |
| HIS broad-brimmed hat pushed back with careless air, | |
| The proud vaquero sits his steed as free | |
| As winds that toss his black abundant hair. | |
| No rover ever swept a lawless sea | |
| With such a haught and heedless air as he | 5 |
| Who scorns the path, and bounds with swift disdain | |
| Away, a peon born, yet born to be | |
| A splendid king; behold him ride and reign. | |
| |
| How brave he takes his herds in branding days, | |
| On timbered hills that belt about the plain; | 10 |
| He climbs, he wheels, he shouts through winding ways | |
| Of hiding ferns and hanging fir; the rein | |
| Is loose, the rattling spur drives swift; the mane | |
| Blows free; the bullocks rush in storms before; | |
| They turn with lifted heads, they rush again, | 15 |
| Then sudden plunge from out the wood, and pour | |
| A cloud upon the plain with one terrific roar. | |
| |
| Now sweeps the tawny man on stormy steed, | |
| His gaudy trappings tossed about and blown | |
| About the limbs as lithe as any reed; | 20 |
| The swift long lasso twirled above is thrown | |
| From flying hand; the fall, the fearful groan | |
| Of bullock toiled and tumbled in the dust— | |
| The black herds onward sweep, and all disown | |
| The fallen, struggling monarch that has thrust | 25 |
| His tongue in rage and rolled his red eyes in disgust. | |
| |
