VAQUERO
by Joaquin Miller
is broad-brimm'd hat push'd 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
- 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 timber'd hills that belt about the plain;
- 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,
- 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 toss'd about and blown
- About the limbs as lithe as any reed;
- The swift long lasso twirl'd above is thrown
- From flying hand; the fall, the fearful groan
- Of bullock toil'd and tumbled in the dust disown
- The fallen, struggling monarch that has thrust
- His tongue in rage and roll'd his red eyes in disgust.