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diff --git a/38766.txt b/38766.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e37211 --- /dev/null +++ b/38766.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3432 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of the Mexican Seas, by Joaquin Miller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Songs of the Mexican Seas + +Author: Joaquin Miller + +Release Date: February 4, 2012 [EBook #38766] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS *** + + + + +Produced by Daniel Emerson Griffith and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + +SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS + + BY JOAQUIN MILLER + AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF THE SIERRAS," "SONGS OF ITALY," ETC. + + + BOSTON + ROBERTS BROTHERS + 1887 + + + Copyright, 1887, + By Roberts Brothers. + + UNIVERSITY PRESS: + John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. + + +TO ABBIE. + + +NOTE.--The lines in this little book, as in all my others, were +written, or at least conceived, in the lands where the scenes are +laid; so that whatever may be said of the imperfections of my work, +I at least have the correct atmosphere and color. I have now and +then sent forth from Mexico, and from remoter shores of the Gulf, +fragments of these thoughts as they rounded into form, and some +of them have been used at a Dartmouth College Commencement, and +elsewhere; but as a whole the book is new. + +From the heart of the Sierra, where I once more hear the awful +heart-throbs of Nature, I now intrust the first reception of these +lessons entirely to my own country. And may I not ask in return, +now at the last, when the shadows begin to grow long, something +of that consideration which, thus far, has been accorded almost +entirely by strangers? + + Joaquin Miller. + + Mount Shasta, California, + A.D. 1887. + + + + +SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. + + + + +THE SEA OF FIRE. + + + In that far land, farther than Yucatan, + Hondurian height, or Mahogany steep, + Where the great sea, hollowed by the hand of man + Hears deep come calling across to deep; + Where the great seas follow in the grooves of men + Down under the bastions of Darien: + + In that land so far that you wonder whether + If God would know it should you fall down dead; + In that land so far through the wilds and weather + That the lost sun sinks like a warrior sped,-- + Where the sea and the sky seem closing together, + Seem closing together as a book that is read: + + In that nude warm world, where the unnamed rivers + Roll restless in cradles of bright buried gold; + Where white flashing mountains flow rivers of silver + As a rock of the desert flowed fountains of old; + By a dark wooded river that calls to the dawn, + And calls all day with his dolorous swan: + + In that land of the wonderful sun and weather, + With green under foot and with gold over head, + Where the spent sun flames, and you wonder whether + 'Tis an isle of fire in his foamy bed: + Where the oceans of earth shall be welded together + By the great French master in his forge flame red,-- + + Lo! the half-finished world! Yon footfall retreating,-- + It might be the Maker disturbed at his task. + But the footfall of God, or the far pheasant beating, + It is one and the same, whatever the mask + It may wear unto man. The woods keep repeating + The old sacred sermons, whatever you ask. + + The brown-muzzled cattle come stealthy to drink, + The wild forest cattle, with high horns as trim + As the elk at their side: their sleek necks are slim + And alert like the deer. They come, then they shrink + As afraid of their fellows, of shadow-beasts seen + In the deeps of the dark-wooded waters of green. + + It is man in his garden, scarce wakened as yet + From the sleep that fell on him when woman was made. + The new-finished garden is plastic and wet + From the hand that has fashioned its unpeopled shade; + And the wonder still looks from the fair woman's eyes + As she shines through the wood like the light from the skies. + + And a ship now and then from some far Ophir's shore + Draws in from the sea. It lies close to the bank; + Then a dull, muffled sound of the slow-shuffled plank + As they load the black ship; but you hear nothing more, + And the dark dewy vines, and the tall sombre wood + Like twilight droop over the deep sweeping flood. + + The black masts are tangled with branches that cross, + The rich, fragrant gums fall from branches to deck, + The thin ropes are swinging with streamers of moss + That mantle all things like the shreds of a wreck; + The long mosses swing, there is never a breath: + The river rolls still as the river of death. + + +I. + + In the beginning,--ay, before + The six-days' labors were well o'er; + Yea, while the world lay incomplete, + Ere God had opened quite the door + Of this strange land for strong men's feet,-- + There lay against that westmost sea + One weird-wild land of mystery. + + A far white wall, like fallen moon, + Girt out the world. The forest lay + So deep you scarcely saw the day, + Save in the high-held middle noon: + It lay a land of sleep and dreams, + And clouds drew through like shoreless streams + That stretch to where no man may say. + + Men reached it only from the sea, + By black-built ships, that seemed to creep + Along the shore suspiciously, + Like unnamed monsters of the deep. + It was the weirdest land, I ween, + That mortal eye has ever seen: + + A dim, dark land of bird and beast, + Black shaggy beasts with cloven claw,-- + A land that scarce knew prayer or priest, + Or law of man, or Nature's law; + Where no fixed line drew sharp dispute + 'Twixt savage man and silent brute. + + +II. + + It hath a history most fit + For cunning hand to fashion on; + No chronicler hath mentioned it; + No buccaneer set foot upon. + 'Tis of an outlawed Spanish Don,-- + A cruel man, with pirate's gold + That loaded down his deep ship's hold. + + A deep ship's hold of plundered gold! + The golden cruise, the golden cross, + From many a church of Mexico, + From Panama's mad overthrow, + From many a ransomed city's loss, + From many a follower stanch and bold, + And many a foeman stark and cold. + + He found this wild, lost land. He drew + His ship to shore. His ruthless crew, + Like Romulus, laid lawless hand + On meek brown maidens of the land, + And in their bloody forays bore + Red firebrands along the shore. + + +III. + + The red men rose at night. They came, + A firm, unflinching wall of flame; + They swept, as sweeps some fateful sea + O'er land of sand and level shore + That howls in far, fierce agony. + The red men swept that deep, dark shore + As threshers sweep a threshing-floor. + + And yet beside the slain Don's door + They left his daughter, as they fled: + They spared her life, because she bore + Their Chieftain's blood and name. The red + And blood-stained hidden hoards of gold + They hollowed from the stout ship's hold, + And bore in many a slim canoe-- + To where? The good priest only knew. + + +IV. + + The course of life is like the sea: + Men come and go; tides rise and fall; + And that is all of history. + The tide flows in, flows out to-day,-- + And that is all that man may say; + Man is, man was,--and that is all. + + Revenge at last came like a tide,-- + 'Twas sweeping, deep, and terrible; + The Christian found the land, and came + To take possession in Christ's name. + For every white man that had died + I think a thousand red men fell,-- + A Christian custom; and the land + Lay lifeless as some burned-out brand. + + +V. + + Ere while the slain Don's daughter grew + A glorious thing, a flower of spring, + A lithe slim reed, a sun-loved weed, + A something more than mortal knew; + A mystery of grace and face,-- + A silent mystery that stood + An empress in that sea-set wood, + Supreme, imperial in her place. + + It might have been men's lust for gold,-- + For all men knew that lawless crew + Left hoards of gold in that ship's hold, + That drew ships hence, and silent drew + Strange Jasons to that steep wood shore, + As if to seek that hidden store,-- + I never either cared or knew. + + I say it might have been this gold + That ever drew and strangely drew + Strong men of land, strange men of sea, + To seek this shore of mystery + With all its wondrous tales untold: + The gold or her, which of the two? + It matters not; I never knew. + + But this I know, that as for me, + Between that face and the hard fate + That kept me ever from my own, + As some wronged monarch from his throne, + God's heaped-up gold of land or sea + Had never weighed one feather's weight. + + Her home was on the wooded height,-- + A woody home, a priest at prayer, + A perfume in the fervid air, + And angels watching her at night. + I can but think upon the skies + That bound that other Paradise. + + +VI. + + Below a star-built arch, as grand + As ever bended heaven spanned; + Tall trees like mighty columns grew-- + They loomed as if to pierce the blue, + They reached as reaching heaven through. + + The shadowed stream rolled far below, + Where men moved noiseless to and fro + As in some vast cathedral, when + The calm of prayer comes to men, + With benedictions, bending low. + + Lo! wooded sea-banks, wild and steep! + A trackless wood; a snowy cone + That lifted from this wood alone! + This wild wide river, dark and deep! + A ship against the shore asleep! + + +VII. + + An Indian woman crept, a crone, + Hard by about the land alone, + The relic of her perished race. + She wore rich, rudely-fashioned bands + Of gold above her bony hands: + She hissed hot curses on the place! + + +VIII. + + Go seek the red man's last retreat! + A lonesome land, the haunted lands! + Red mouths of beasts, red men's red hands: + Red prophet-priest, in mute defeat! + + His boundaries in blood are writ! + His land is ghostland! That is his, + Whatever man may claim of this; + Beware how you shall enter it! + He stands God's guardian of ghostlands; + Ay, this same wrapped half-prophet stands + All nude and voiceless, nearer to + The awful God than I or you. + + +IX. + + This bronzed child, by that river's brink, + Stood fair to see as you can think, + As tall as tall reeds at her feet, + As fresh as flowers in her hair; + As sweet as flowers over-sweet, + As fair as vision more than fair! + + How beautiful she was! How wild! + How pure as water-plant, this child,-- + This one wild child of Nature here + Grown tall in shadows. + And how near + To God, where no man stood between + Her eyes and scenes no man hath seen,-- + This maiden that so mutely stood, + The one lone woman of that wood. + + Stop still, my friend, and do not stir, + Shut close your page and think of her. + The birds sang sweeter for her face; + Her lifted eyes were like a grace + To seamen of that solitude, + However rough, however rude. + + The rippled rivers of her hair, + That ran in wondrous waves, somehow + Flowed down divided by her brow,-- + Half mantled her within its care, + And flooded all, or bronze or snow, + In its uncommon fold and flow. + + A perfume and an incense lay + Before her, as an incense sweet + Before blithe mowers of sweet May + In early morn. Her certain feet + Embarked on no uncertain way. + + Come, think how perfect before men, + How sweet as sweet magnolia bloom + Embalmed in dews of morning, when + Rich sunlight leaps from midnight gloom + Resolved to kiss, and swift to kiss + Ere yet morn wakens man to bliss. + + +X. + + The days swept on. Her perfect year + Was with her now. The sweet perfume + Of womanhood in holy bloom, + As when red harvest blooms appear, + Possessed her now. The priest did pray + That saints alone should pass that way. + + A red bird built beneath her roof, + Brown squirrels crossed her cabin sill, + And welcome came or went at will. + A hermit spider wove his web, + And up against the roof would spin + His net to catch mosquitoes in. + + The silly elk, the spotted fawn, + And all dumb beasts that came to drink, + That stealthy stole upon the brink + In that dim while that lies between + The coming night and going dawn, + On seeing her familiar face + Would fearless stop and stand in place. + + She was so kind, the beasts of night + Gave her the road as if her right; + The panther crouching overhead + In sheen of moss would hear her tread + And bend his eyes, but never stir + Lest he by chance might frighten her. + + Yet in her splendid strength, her eyes, + There lay the lightning of the skies; + The love-hate of the lioness, + To kill the instant, or caress: + A pent-up soul that sometimes grew + Impatient; why, she hardly knew. + + At last she sighed, uprose, and threw + Her strong arms out as if to hand + Her love, sun-born and all complete + At birth, to some brave lover's feet + On some far, fair, and unseen land, + As knowing now not what to do! + + +XI. + + How beautiful she was! Why, she + Was inspiration! She was born + To walk God's summer hills at morn, + Nor waste her by this wood-dark sea. + What wonder, then, her soul's white wings + Beat at its bars, like living things! + + Once more she sighed! She wandered through + The sea-bound wood, then stopped and drew + Her hand above her face, and swept + The lonesome sea, and all day kept + Her face to sea, as if she knew + Some day, some near or distant day, + Her destiny should come that way. + + +XII. + + How proud she was! How darkly fair! + How full of faith, of love, of strength! + Her calm, proud eyes! Her great hair's length,-- + Her long, strong, tumbled, careless hair, + Half curled and knotted anywhere, + From brow to breast, from cheek to chin, + For love to trip and tangle in! + + +XIII. + + At last a tall strange sail was seen: + It came so slow, so wearily, + Came creeping cautious up the sea, + As if it crept from out between + The half-closed sea and sky that lay + Tight wedged together, far away. + + She watched it, wooed it. She did pray + It might not pass her by, but bring + Some love, some hate, some anything, + To break the awful loneliness + That like a nightly nightmare lay + Upon her proud and pent-up soul + Until it barely brooked control. + + +XIV. + + The ship crept silent up the sea, + And came-- + You cannot understand + How fair she was, how sudden she + Had sprung, full-grown, to womanhood: + How gracious, yet how proud and grand; + How glorified, yet fresh and free, + How human, yet how more than good. + + +XV. + + The ship stole slowly, slowly on;-- + Should you in Californian field + In ample flower-time behold + The soft south rose lift like a shield + Against the sudden sun at dawn, + A double handful of heaped gold, + Why you, perhaps, might understand + How splendid and how queenly she + Uprose beside that wood-set sea. + + The storm-worn ship scarce seemed to creep + From wave to wave. It scarce could keep-- + How still this fair girl stood, how fair! + How proud her presence as she stood + Between that vast sea and west wood! + How large and liberal her soul, + How confident, how purely chare, + How trusting; how untried the whole + Great heart, grand faith, that blossomed there! + + +XVI. + + Ay, she was as Madonna to + The tawny, lawless, faithful few + Who touched her hand and knew her soul: + She drew them, drew them as the pole + Points all things to itself. + She drew + Men upward as a moon of spring, + High wheeling, vast and bosom-full, + Half clad in clouds and white as wool, + Draws all the strong seas following. + + Yet still she moved as sad, as lone + As that same moon that leans above, + And seems to search high heaven through + For some strong, all-sufficient love, + For one brave love to be her own, + To lean upon, to love, to woo, + To lord her high white world, to yield + His clashing sword against her shield. + + Oh, I once knew a sad, white dove + That died for such sufficient love, + Such high-born soul with wings to soar: + That stood up equal in its place, + That looked love level in the face, + Nor wearied love with leaning o'er + To lift love level where she trod + In sad delight the hills of God. + + +XVII. + + How slow before the sleeping breeze, + That stranger ship from under seas! + How like to Dido by her sea, + When reaching arms imploringly,-- + Her large, round, rich, impassioned arms, + Tossed forth from all her storied charms,-- + This one lone maiden leaning stood + Above that sea, beside the wood! + + The ship crept strangely up the seas; + Her shrouds seemed shreds, her masts seemed trees,-- + Strange tattered trees of toughest bough + That knew no cease of storm till now. + The maiden pitied her; she prayed + Her crew might come, nor feel afraid; + She prayed the winds might come,--they came, + As birds that answer to a name. + + The maiden held her blowing hair + That bound her beauteous self about; + The sea-winds housed within her hair: + She let it go, it blew in rout + About her bosom full and bare. + Her round, full arms were free as air, + Her high hands clasped, as clasped in prayer. + + +XVIII. + + The breeze grew bold, the battered ship + Began to flap her weary wings; + The tall, torn masts began to dip + And walk the wave like living things. + She rounded in, she struck the stream, + She moved like some majestic dream. + + The captain kept her deck. He stood + A Hercules among his men; + And now he watched the sea, and then + He peered as if to pierce the wood. + He now looked back, as if pursued, + Now swept the sea with glass, as though + He fled or feared some hidden foe. + + Swift sailing up the river's mouth, + Swift tacking north, swift tacking south, + He touched the overhanging wood; + He tacked his ship; his tall black mast + Touched tree-top mosses as he passed; + He touched the steep shore where she stood. + + +XIX. + + Her hands still clasped as if in prayer, + Sweet prayer set to silentness; + Her sun-browned throat uplifted, bare + And beautiful. + Her eager face + Illumed with love and tenderness, + And all her presence gave such grace, + Dark shadowed in her cloud of hair, + That she seemed more than mortal fair. + + +XX. + + He saw. He could not speak. No more + With lifted glass he sought the sea; + No more he watched the wild new shore. + Now foes might come, now friends might flee; + He could not speak, he would not stir,-- + He saw but her, he feared but her. + + The black ship ground against the shore, + She ground against the bank as one + With long and weary journeys done, + That would not rise to journey more. + + Yet still this Jason silent stood + And gazed against that sun-lit wood, + As one whose soul is anywhere. + + All seemed so fair, so wondrous fair! + At last aroused, he stepped to land + Like some Columbus. They laid hand + On lands and fruits, and rested there. + + +XXI. + + He found all fairer than fair morn + In sylvan land, where waters run + With downward leap against the sun, + And full-grown sudden May is born. + He found her taller than tall corn + Tiptoe in tassel; found her sweet + As vale where bees of Hybla meet. + + An unblown rose, an unread book; + A wonder in her wondrous eyes; + A large, religious, steadfast look + Of faith, of trust,--the look of one + New welcomed in her Paradise. + + He read this book,--read on and on + From titlepage to colophon: + As in cool woods, some summer day, + You find delight in some sweet lay, + And so entranced read on and on + From titlepage to colophon. + + +XXII. + + And who was he that rested there,-- + This Hercules, so huge, so rare, + This giant of a grander day, + This Theseus of a nobler Greece, + This Jason of the golden fleece? + And who was he? And who were they + That came to seek the hidden gold + Long hallowed from the pirate's hold? + I do not know. You need not care. + + . . . . . . + + They loved, this maiden and this man, + And that is all I surely know,-- + The rest is as the winds that blow. + He bowed as brave men bow to fate, + Yet proud and resolute and bold; + She, coy at first, and mute and cold, + Held back and seemed to hesitate,-- + Half frightened at this love that ran + Hard gallop till her hot heart beat + Like sounding of swift courser's feet. + + +XXIII. + + Two strong streams of a land must run + Together surely as the sun + Succeeds the moon. Who shall gainsay + The fates that reign, that wisely reign? + Love is, love was, shall be again. + Like death, inevitable it is; + Perchance, like death, the dawn of bliss. + Let us, then, love the perfect day, + The twelve o'clock of life, and stop + The two hands pointing to the top, + And hold them tightly while we may. + + +XXIV. + + How piteous strange is love! The walks + By wooded ways; the silent talks + Beneath the broad and fragrant bough. + The dark deep wood, the dense black dell, + Where scarce a single gold beam fell + From out the sun. + They rested now + On mossy trunk. They wandered then + Where never fell the feet of men. + + Then longer walks, then deeper woods, + Then sweeter talks, sufficient sweet, + In denser, deeper solitudes,-- + Dear careless ways for careless feet; + Sweet talks of paradise for two, + And only two, to watch or woo. + + She rarely spake. All seemed a dream + She would not waken from. She lay + All night but waiting for the day, + When she might see his face, and deem + This man, with all his perils passed, + Had found the Lotus-land at last. + + +XXV. + + The year waxed fervid, and the sun + Fell central down. The forest lay + A-quiver in the heat. The sea + Below the steep bank seemed to run + A molten sea of gold. + Away + Against the gray and rock-built isles + That broke the molten watery miles + Where lonesome sea-cows called all day, + The sudden sun smote angrily. + + Therefore the need of deeper deeps, + Of denser shade for man and maid, + Of higher heights, of cooler steeps, + Where all day long the sea-wind stayed. + + They sought the rock-reared steep. The breeze + Swept twenty thousand miles of seas; + Had twenty thousand things to say + Of love, of lovers of Cathay, + To lovers 'mid these high-held trees. + + +XXVI. + + To left, to right, below the height, + Below the wood by wave and stream, + Plumed pampas grasses grew to gleam + And bend their lordly plumes, and run + And shake, as if in very fright + Before sharp lances of the sun. + + They saw the tide-bound battered ship + Creep close below against the bank; + They saw it cringe and shrink; it shrank + As shrinks some huge black beast with fear + When some uncommon dread is near. + They heard the melting resin drip, + As drip the last brave blood-drops when + Life's battle waxes hot with men. + + +XXVII. + + Yet what to her were burning seas, + Or what to him was forest flame? + They loved; they loved the glorious trees, + The gleaming tides, or rise or fall; + They loved the lisping winds that came + From sea-lost spice-set isles unknown, + With breath not warmer than their own: + They loved, they loved,--and that was all. + + +XXVIII. + + Full noon! Below the ancient moss + With mighty boughs high clanged across, + The man with sweet words, over-sweet, + Fell pleading, plaintive, at her feet. + + He spake of love, of boundless love,-- + Of love that knew no other land, + Or face, or place, or anything; + Of love that like the wearied dove + Could light nowhere, but kept the wing + Till she alone put forth her hand, + And so received it in her ark + From seas that shake against the dark! + + He clasped her hands, climbed past her knees, + Forgot her hands and kissed her hair,-- + The while her two hands clasped in prayer, + And fair face lifted to the trees. + + Her proud breast heaved, her pure proud breast + Rose like the waves in their unrest + When counter storms possess the seas. + Her mouth, her arched, uplifted mouth, + Her ardent mouth that thirsted so,-- + No glowing love-song of the South + Can say; no man can say or know + The glory there, and so live on + Content without that glory gone! + + Her face still lifted up. And she + Disdained the cup of passion he + Hard pressed her panting lips to touch. + She dashed it by despised, and she + Caught fast her breath. She trembled much, + And sudden rose full height, and stood + An empress in high womanhood: + She stood a tower, tall as when + Proud Roman mothers suckled men + Of old-time truth and taught them such. + + +XXIX. + + Her soul surged vast as space is. She + Was trembling as a courser when + His thin flank quivers, and his feet + Touch velvet on the turf, and he + Is all afoam, alert, and fleet + As sunlight glancing on the sea, + And full of triumph before men. + + At last she bended some her face, + Half leaned, then put him back a pace, + And met his eyes. + Calm, silently + Her eyes looked deep into his eyes,-- + As maidens down some mossy well + Do peer in hope by chance to tell + By image there what future lies + Before them, and what face shall be + The pole-star of their destiny. + + Pure Nature's lover! Loving him + With love that made all pathways dim + And difficult where he was not,-- + Then marvel not at form forgot. + And who shall chide? Doth priest know aught + Of sign, or holy unction brought + From over seas, that ever can + Make man love maid or maid love man + One whit the more, one bit the less, + For all his mummeries to bless? + Yea, all his blessing or his ban? + + The winds breathed warm as Araby: + She leaned upon his breast, she lay + A wide-winged swan with folded wing. + He drowned his hot face in her hair, + He heard her great heart rise and sing; + He felt her bosom swell. + The air + Swooned sweet with perfume of her form. + Her breast was warm, her breath was warm, + And warm her warm and perfumed mouth + As summer journeys through the South. + + +XXX. + + The argent sea surged steep below, + Surged languid in a tropic glow; + And two great hearts kept surging so! + + The fervid kiss of heaven lay + Precipitate on wood and sea. + Two great souls glowed with ecstasy, + The sea glowed scarce as warm as they. + + +XXXI. + + 'Twas love's low amber afternoon. + Two far-off pheasants thrummed a tune, + A cricket clanged a restful air. + The dreamful billows beat a rune + Like heart regrets. + Around her head + There shone a halo. Men have said + 'Twas from a dash of Titian + That flooded all her storm of hair + In gold and glory. But they knew, + Yea, all men know there ever grew + A halo round about her head + Like sunlight scarcely vanished. + + +XXXII. + + How still she was! She only knew + His love. She saw no life beyond. + She loved with love that only lives + Outside itself and selfishness,-- + A love that glows in its excess; + A love that melts pure gold, and gives + Thenceforth to all who come to woo + No coins but this face stamped thereon,-- + Ay, this one image stamped upon + Its face, with some dim date long gone. + + +XXXIII. + + They kept the headland high; the ship + Below began to chafe her chain, + To groan as some great beast in pain; + While white fear leapt from lip to lip: + "The woods are fire! the woods are flame! + Come down and save us, in God's name!" + + He heard! he did not speak or stir,-- + He thought of her, of only her. + While flames behind, before them lay + To hold the stoutest heart at bay! + + Strange sounds were heard far up the flood,-- + Strange, savage sounds that chilled the blood! + Then sudden from the dense dark wood + Above, about them where they stood + A thousand beasts came peering out; + And now was thrust a long black snout, + And now a tusky mouth. It was + A sight to make the stoutest pause. + + "Cut loose the ship!" the black mate cried; + "Cut loose the ship!" the crew replied. + They drove into the sea. It lay + As light as ever middle day. + + The while their half-blind bitch, that sat + All slobber-mouthed, and monkish cowled + With great, broad, floppy, leathern ears, + Amid the men, rose up and howled, + And doleful howled her plaintive fears, + While all looked mute aghast thereat. + It was the grimmest eve, I think, + That ever hung on Hades' brink. + + Great broad-winged bats possessed the air, + Bats whirling blindly everywhere; + It was such troubled twilight eve + As never mortal would believe. + + +XXXIV. + + Some say the crazed hag lit the wood + In circle where the lovers stood; + Some say the gray priest feared the crew + Might find at last the hoard of gold + Long hidden from the black ship's hold,-- + I doubt me if men ever knew. + But such mad, howling, flame-lit shore + No mortal ever saw before. + + Huge beasts above that shining sea, + Wild, hideous beasts with shaggy hair, + With red mouths lifting in the air, + They piteous howled, and plaintively,-- + The wildest sounds, the weirdest sight + That ever shook the walls of night. + + How lorn they howled, with lifted head, + To dim and distant isles that lay + Wedged tight along a line of red, + Caught in the closing gates of day + 'Twixt sky and sea and far away,-- + It was the saddest sound to hear + That ever struck on human ear. + + They doleful called; and answered they + The plaintive sea-cows far away,-- + The great sea-cows that called from isles, + Away across wide watery miles, + With dripping mouths and lolling tongue, + As if they called for captured young,-- + + The huge sea-cows that called the whiles + Their great wide mouths were mouthing moss; + And still they doleful called across + From isles beyond the watery miles. + No sound can half so doleful be + As sea-cows calling from the sea. + + +XXXV. + + The drowned sun sank and died. He lay + In seas of blood. He sinking drew + The gates of sunset sudden to, + Where shattered day in fragments lay, + And night came, moving in mad flame: + The night came, lighted as he came, + As lighted by high summer sun + Descending through the burning blue. + It was a gold and amber hue, + And all hues blended into one. + The night spilled splendor where she came, + And filled the yellow world with flame. + + The moon came on, came leaning low + Along the far sea-isles aglow; + She fell along that amber flood + A silver flame in seas of blood. + It was the strangest moon, ah me! + That ever settled on God's sea. + + +XXXVI. + + Slim snakes slid down from fern and grass, + From wood, from fen, from anywhere; + You could not step, you would not pass, + And you would hesitate to stir, + Lest in some sudden, hurried tread + Your foot struck some unbruised head: + + They slid in streams into the stream,-- + It seemed like some infernal dream; + They curved, and graceful curved across, + Like graceful, waving sea-green moss,-- + There is no art of man can make + A ripple like a rippling snake! + + +XXXVII. + + Abandoned, lorn, the lovers stood, + Abandoned there, death in the air! + That beetling steep, that blazing wood,-- + Red flame! and red flame everywhere! + Yet was he born to strive, to bear + The front of battle. He would die + In noble effort, and defy + The grizzled visage of despair. + + He threw his two strong arms full length + As if to surely test their strength; + Then tore his vestments, textile things + That could but tempt the demon wings + Of flame that girt them round about, + Then threw his garments to the air + As one that laughed at death, at doubt, + And like a god stood grand and bare. + + She did not hesitate; she knew + The need of action; swift she threw + Her burning vestments by, and bound + Her wondrous wealth of hair that fell + An all-concealing cloud around + Her glorious presence, as he came + To seize and bear her through the flame,-- + An Orpheus out of burning hell! + + He leaned above her, wound his arm + About her splendor, while the noon + Of flood-tide, manhood, flushed his face, + And high flames leapt the high headland!-- + They stood as twin-hewn statues stand, + High lifted in some storied place. + + He clasped her close, he spoke of death,-- + Of death and love in the same breath. + He clasped her close; her bosom lay + Like ship safe anchored in some bay. + + +XXXVIII. + + The flames! They could not stand or stay; + Before the beetling steep, the sea! + But at his feet a narrow way, + A short steep path, pitched suddenly + Safe open to the river's beach, + Where lay a small white isle in reach,-- + A small, white, rippled isle of sand + Where yet the two might safely land. + + And there, through smoke and flame, behold + The priest stood safe, yet all appalled! + He reached the cross; he cried, he called; + He waved his high-held cross of gold. + He called and called, he bade them fly + Through flames to him, nor bide and die! + + Her lover saw; he saw, and knew + His giant strength would bear her through. + And yet he would not start or stir. + He clasped her close as death can hold, + Or dying miser clasp his gold,-- + His hold became a part of her. + + He would not give her up! He would + Not bear her waveward though he could! + That height was heaven; the wave was hell. + He clasped her close,--what else had done + The manliest man beneath the sun? + Was it not well? was it not well? + + O man, be glad! be grandly glad, + And kinglike walk thy ways of death! + For more than years of bliss you had + That one brief time you breathed her breath. + Yea, more than years upon a throne + That one brief time you held her fast, + Soul surged to soul, vehement, vast,-- + True breast to breast, and all your own. + + Live me one day, one narrow night, + One second of supreme delight + Like that, and I will blow like chaff + The hollow years aside, and laugh + A loud triumphant laugh, and I, + King-like and crowned, will gladly die. + + Oh, but to wrap my love with flame! + With flame within, with flame without! + Oh, but to die like this, nor doubt-- + To die and know her still the same! + To know that down the ghostly shore + Snow-white she waits me evermore! + + +XXXIX. + + He poised her, held her high in air,-- + His great strong limbs, his great arm's length!-- + Then turned his knotted shoulders bare + As birth-time in his splendid strength, + And strode, strode with a lordly stride + To where the high and wood-hung edge + Looked down, far down upon the molten tide. + The flames leapt with him to the ledge, + The flames leapt leering at his side. + + +XL. + + He leaned above the ledge. Below + He saw the black ship idly cruise,-- + A midge below, a mile below. + His limbs were knotted as the thews + Of Hercules in his death-throe. + + The flame! the flame! the envious flame! + She wound her arms, she wound her hair + About his tall form, grand and bare, + To stay the fierce flame where it came. + + The black ship, like some moonlit wreck, + Below along the burning sea + Crept on and on all silently, + With silent pygmies on her deck. + + That midge-like ship far, far below; + That mirage lifting from the hill! + His flame-lit form began to grow,-- + To grow and grow more grandly still. + The ship so small, that form so tall, + It grew to tower over all. + + A tall Colossus, bronze and gold, + As if that flame-lit form were he + Who once bestrode the Rhodian sea, + And ruled the watery world of old: + As if the lost Colossus stood + Above that burning sea of wood. + + And she, that shapely form upheld, + Held high, as if to touch the sky, + What airy shape, how shapely high,-- + A goddess of the seas of eld! + + Her hand upheld, her high right hand, + As if she would forget the land; + As if to gather stars, and heap + The stars like torches there to light + Her Hero's path across the deep + To some far isle that fearful night. + + It was as if Colossus came, + Came proudly reaching from the flame + Above the sea in sheen of gold, + His sea-bride leaping from his hold; + The lost Colossus, and his bride + In bronze perfection at his side: + As if the lost Colossus came + Companioned from the past, his bride + With torch all faithful at his side: + + With star-tipped torch that reached and rolled + Through cloud-built corridors of gold: + His bride, austere and stern and grand,-- + Bartholdi's goddess by the sea, + Far lifting, lighting Liberty + From prison seas to Freedom's land. + + +XLI. + + The flame! the envious flame, it leapt + Enraged to see such majesty, + Such scorn of death; such kingly scorn. + Then like some lightning-riven tree + They sank down in that flame--and slept + And all was hushed above that steep + So still, that they might sleep and sleep; + As still as when a day is born. + + At last! from out the embers leapt + Two shafts of light above the night,-- + Two wings of flame that lifting swept + In steady, calm, and upward flight; + Two wings of flame against the white + Far-lifting, tranquil, snowy cone; + Two wings of love, two wings of light, + Far, far above that troubled night, + As mounting, mounting to God's throne. + + +XLII. + + And all night long that upward light + Lit up the sea-cow's bed below: + The far sea-cows still calling so + It seemed as they must call all night. + All night! there was no night. Nay, nay, + There was no night. The night that lay + Between that awful eve and day,-- + That nameless night was burned away. + + + + +THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. + +PART I. + + + Rhyme on, rhyme on in reedy flow, + O river, rhymer ever sweet! + The story of thy land is meet, + The stars stand listening to know. + + Rhyme on, O river of the earth! + Gray father of the dreadful seas, + Rhyme on! the world upon its knees + Shall yet invoke thy wealth and worth. + + Rhyme on, the reed is at thy mouth, + O kingly minstrel, mighty stream! + Thy Crescent City, like a dream, + Hangs in the heaven of my South. + + Rhyme on, rhyme on! these broken strings + Sing sweetest in this warm south wind; + I sit thy willow banks and bind + A broken harp that fitful sings. + + +I. + + And where is my city, sweet blossom-sown town? + And what is her glory, and what has she done? + By the Mexican seas in the path of the sun + Sit you down: in the crescent of seas sit you down. + + Ay, glory enough by my Mexican seas! + Ay, story enough in that battle-torn town, + Hidden down in the crescent of seas, hidden down + 'Mid mantle and sheen of magnolia-strown trees. + + But mine is the story of souls; of a soul + That bartered God's limitless kingdom for gold,-- + Sold stars and all space for a thing he could hold + In his palm for a day, ere he hid with the mole. + + O father of waters! O river so vast! + So deep, so strong, and so wondrous wild,-- + He embraces the land as he rushes past, + Like a savage father embracing his child. + + His sea-land is true and so valiantly true, + His leaf-land is fair and so marvellous fair, + His palm-land is filled with a perfumed air + Of magnolia blooms to its dome of blue. + + His rose-land has arbors of moss-swept oak,-- + Gray, Druid old oaks; and the moss that sways + And swings in the wind is the battle-smoke + Of duellists, dead in her storied days. + + His love-land has churches and bells and chimes; + His love-land has altars and orange flowers; + And that is the reason for all these rhymes,-- + These bells, they are ringing through all the hours! + + His sun-land has churches, and priests at prayer, + White nuns, as white as the far north snow; + They go where danger may bid them go,-- + They dare when the angel of death is there. + + His love-land has ladies so fair, so fair, + In the Creole quarter, with great black eyes,-- + So fair that the Mayor must keep them there + Lest troubles, like troubles of Troy, arise. + + His love-land has ladies, with eyes held down,-- + Held down, because if they lifted them, + Why, you would be lost in that old French town, + Though you held even to God's garment hem. + + His love-land has ladies so fair, so fair, + That they bend their eyes to the holy book + Lest you should forget yourself, your prayer, + And never more cease to look and to look. + + And these are the ladies that no men see, + And this is the reason men see them not. + Better their modest sweet mystery,-- + Better by far than the battle-shot. + + And so, in this curious old town of tiles, + The proud French quarter of days long gone, + In castles of Spain and tumble-down piles + These wonderful ladies live on and on. + + I sit in the church where they come and go; + I dream of glory that has long since gone, + Of the low raised high, of the high brought low, + As in battle-torn days of Napoleon. + + These piteous places, so rich, so poor! + One quaint old church at the edge of the town + Has white tombs laid to the very church door,-- + White leaves in the story of life turned down. + + White leaves in the story of life are these, + The low white slabs in the long strong grass, + Where Glory has emptied her hour-glass + And dreams with the dreamers beneath the trees. + + I dream with the dreamers beneath the sod, + Where souls pass by to the great white throne; + I count each tomb as a mute milestone + For weary, sweet souls on their way to God. + + I sit all day by the vast, strong stream, + 'Mid low white slabs in the long strong grass + Where Time has forgotten for aye to pass, + To dream, and ever to dream and to dream. + + This quaint old church with its dead to the door, + By the cypress swamp at the edge of the town, + So restful seems that you want to sit down + And rest you, and rest you for evermore. + + And one white tomb is a lowliest tomb, + That has crept up close to the crumbling door,-- + Some penitent soul, as imploring room + Close under the cross that is leaning o'er. + + 'Tis a low white slab, and 'tis nameless, too-- + Her untold story, why, who should know? + Yet God, I reckon, can read right through + That nameless stone to the bosom below. + + And the roses know, and they pity her, too; + They bend their heads in the sun or rain, + And they read, and they read, and then read again, + As children reading strange pictures through. + + Why, surely her sleep it should be profound; + For oh the apples of gold above! + And oh the blossoms of bridal love! + And oh the roses that gather around! + + The sleep of a night, or a thousand morns? + Why what is the difference here, to-day? + Sleeping and sleeping the years away + With all earth's roses, and none of its thorns. + + Magnolias white and the roses red-- + The palm-tree here and the cypress there: + Sit down by the palm at the feet of the dead, + And hear a penitent's midnight prayer. + + +II. + + The old churchyard is still as death, + A stranger passes to and fro + As if to church--he does not go-- + The dead night does not draw a breath. + + A lone sweet lady prays within. + The stranger passes by the door-- + Will he not pray? Is he so poor + He has no prayer for his sin? + + Is he so poor! His two strong hands + Are full and heavy, as with gold; + They clasp, as clasp two iron bands + About two bags with eager hold. + + Will he not pause and enter in, + Put down his heavy load and rest, + Put off his garmenting of sin, + As some black burden from his breast? + + Ah, me! the brave alone can pray. + The church-door is as cannon's mouth + To sinner North, or sinner South, + More dreaded than dread battle day. + + Now two men pace. They pace apart, + And one with youth and truth is fair; + The fervid sun is in his heart, + The tawny South is in his hair. + + Ay, two men pace, pace left and right-- + The lone, sweet lady prays within-- + Ay, two men pace: the silent night + Kneels down in prayer for some sin. + + Lo! two men pace; and one is gray, + A blue-eyed man from snow-clad land, + With something heavy in each hand,-- + With heavy feet, as feet of clay. + + Ay, two men pace; and one is light + Of step, but still his brow is dark + His eyes are as a kindled spark + That burns beneath the brow of night! + + And still they pace. The stars are red, + The tombs are white as frosted snow; + The silence is as if the dead + Did pace in couples, to and fro. + + +III. + + The azure curtain of God's house + Draws back, and hangs star-pinned to space; + I hear the low, large moon arouse, + I see her lift her languid face. + + I see her shoulder up the east, + Low-necked, and large as womanhood,-- + Low-necked, as for some ample feast + Of gods, within yon orange-wood. + + She spreads white palms, she whispers peace,-- + Sweet peace on earth for evermore; + Sweet peace for two beneath the trees, + Sweet peace for one within the door. + + The bent stream, like a scimitar + Flashed in the sun, sweeps on and on, + Till sheathed like some great sword new-drawn + In seas beneath the Carib's star. + + The high moon climbs the sapphire hill, + The lone sweet lady prays within; + The crickets keep a clang and din-- + They are so loud, earth is so still! + + And two men glare in silence there! + The bitter, jealous hate of each + Has grown too deep for deed or speech-- + The lone, sweet lady keeps her prayer. + + The vast moon high through heaven's field + In circling chariot is rolled; + The golden stars are spun and reeled, + And woven into cloth of gold. + + The white magnolia fills the night + With perfume, as the proud moon fills + The glad earth with her ample light + From out her awful sapphire hills. + + White orange blossoms fill the boughs + Above, about the old church door,-- + They wait the bride, the bridal vows,-- + They never hung so fair before. + + The two men glare as dark as sin! + And yet all seems so fair, so white, + You would not reckon it was night,-- + The while the lady prays within. + + +IV. + + She prays so very long and late,-- + The two men, weary, waiting there,-- + The great magnolia at the gate + Bends drowsily above her prayer. + + The cypress in his cloak of moss, + That watches on in silent gloom, + Has leaned and shaped a shadow-cross + Above the nameless, lowly tomb. + + What can she pray for? What her sin? + What folly of a maid so fair? + What shadows bind the wondrous hair + Of one who prays so long within? + + The palm-trees guard in regiment, + Stand right and left without the gate; + The myrtle-moss trees wait and wait; + The tall magnolia leans intent. + + The cypress trees, on gnarled old knees, + Far out the dank and marshy deep + Where slimy monsters groan and creep, + Kneel with her in their marshy seas. + + What can her sin be? Who shall know? + The night flies by,--a bird on wing; + The men no longer to and fro + Stride up and down, or anything. + + For one so weary and so old + Has hardly strength to stride or stir; + He can but hold his bags of gold,-- + But hug his gold and wait for her. + + The two stand still,--stand face to face. + The moon slides on; the midnight air + Is perfumed as a house of prayer-- + The maiden keeps her holy place. + + Two men! And one is gray, but one + Scarce lifts a full-grown face as yet: + With light foot on life's threshold set,-- + Is he the other's sun-born son? + + And one is of the land of snow, + And one is of the land of sun; + A black-eyed burning youth is one, + But one has pulses cold and slow: + + Ay, cold and slow from clime of snow + Where Nature's bosom, icy bound, + Holds all her forces, hard, profound,-- + Holds close where all the South lets go. + + Blame not the sun, blame not the snows; + God's great schoolhouse for all is clime, + The great school-teacher, Father Time; + And each has borne as best he knows. + + At last the elder speaks,--he cries,-- + He speaks as if his heart would break; + He speaks out as a man that dies,-- + As dying for some lost love's sake: + + "Come, take this bag of gold, and go! + Come, take one bag! See, I have two! + Oh, why stand silent, staring so, + When I would share my gold with you? + + "Come, take this gold! See how I pray! + See how I bribe, and beg, and buy,-- + Ay, buy! buy love, as you, too, may + Some day before you come to die. + + "God! take this gold, I beg, I pray! + I beg as one who thirsting cries + For but one drop of drink, and dies + In some lone, loveless desert way. + + "You hesitate? Still hesitate? + Stand silent still and mock my pain? + Still mock to see me wait and wait, + And wait her love, as earth waits rain?" + + +V. + + O broken ship! O starless shore! + O black and everlasting night, + Where love comes never any more + To light man's way with heaven's light. + + A godless man with bags of gold + I think a most unholy sight; + Ah, who so desolate at night + Amid death's sleepers still and cold? + + A godless man on holy ground + I think a most unholy sight. + I hear death trailing like a hound + Hard after him, and swift to bite. + + +VI. + + The vast moon settles to the west: + Two men beside a nameless tomb, + And one would sit thereon to rest,-- + Ay, rest below, if there were room. + + What is this rest of death, sweet friend? + What is the rising up,--and where? + I say, death is a lengthened prayer, + A longer night, a larger end. + + Hear you the lesson I once learned: + I died; I sailed a million miles + Through dreamful, flowery, restful isles,-- + She was not there, and I returned. + + I say the shores of death and sleep + Are one; that when we, wearied, come + To Lethe's waters, and lie dumb, + 'Tis death, not sleep, holds us to keep. + + Yea, we lie dead for need of rest + And so the soul drifts out and o'er + The vast still waters to the shore + Beyond, in pleasant, tranquil quest: + + It sails straight on, forgetting pain, + Past isles of peace, to perfect rest,-- + Now were it best abide, or best + Return and take up life again? + + And that is all of death there is, + Believe me. If you find your love + In that far land, then like the dove + Abide, and turn not back to this. + + But if you find your love not there; + Or if your feet feel sure, and you + Have still allotted work to do,-- + Why, then return to toil and care. + + Death is no mystery. 'Tis plain + If death be mystery, then sleep + Is mystery thrice strangely deep,-- + For oh this coming back again! + + Austerest ferryman of souls! + I see the gleam of solid shores, + I hear thy steady stroke of oars + Above the wildest wave that rolls. + + O Charon, keep thy sombre ships! + We come, with neither myrrh nor balm, + Nor silver piece in open palm, + But lone white silence on our lips. + + +VII. + + She prays so long! she prays so late! + What sin in all this flower-land + Against her supplicating hand + Could have in heaven any weight? + + Prays she for her sweet self alone? + Prays she for some one far away, + Or some one near and dear to-day, + Or some poor, lorn, lost soul unknown? + + It seems to me a selfish thing + To pray forever for one's self; + It seems to me like heaping pelf + In heaven by hard reckoning. + + Why, I would rather stoop, and bear + My load of sin, and bear it well + And bravely down to burning hell, + Than ever pray one selfish prayer! + + +VIII. + + The swift chameleon in the gloom-- + This silence it is so profound!-- + Forsakes its bough, glides to the ground, + Then up, and lies across the tomb. + + It erst was green as olive-leaf, + It then grew gray as myrtle moss + The time it slid the moss across; + But now 'tis marble-white with grief. + + The little creature's hues are gone; + Here in the pale and ghostly light + It lies so pale, so panting white,-- + White as the tomb it lies upon. + + The two men by that nameless tomb, + And both so still! You might have said + These two men, they are also dead, + And only waiting here for room. + + How still beneath the orange-bough! + How tall was one, how bowed was one! + The one was as a journey done, + The other as beginning now. + + And one was young,--young with that youth + Eternal that belongs to truth; + And one was old,--old with the years + That follow fast on doubts and fears. + + And yet the habit of command + Was his, in every stubborn part; + No common knave was he at heart, + Nor his the common coward's hand. + + He looked the young man in the face, + So full of hate, so frank of hate; + The other, standing in his place, + Stared back as straight and hard as fate. + + And now he sudden turned away, + And now he paced the path, and now + Came back, beneath the orange-bough + Pale-browed, with lips as cold as clay. + + As mute as shadows on a wall, + As silent still, as dark as they, + Before that stranger, bent and gray, + The youth stood scornful, proud, and tall. + + He stood, a tall palmetto-tree + With Spanish daggers guarding it; + Nor deed, nor word, to him seemed fit + While she prayed on so silently. + + He slew his rival with his eyes; + His eyes were daggers piercing deep,-- + So deep that blood began to creep + From their deep wounds and drop wordwise: + + His eyes so black, so bright that they + Might raise the dead, the living slay, + If but the dead, the living, bore + Such hearts as heroes had of yore: + + Two deadly arrows barbed in black, + And feathered, too, with raven's wing; + Two arrows that could silent sting, + And with a death-wound answer back. + + How fierce he was! how deadly still + In that mesmeric, hateful stare + Turned on the pleading stranger there + That drew to him, despite his will: + + So like a bird down-fluttering, + Down, down, beneath a snake's bright eyes, + He stood, a fascinated thing, + That hopeless, unresisting, dies. + + He raised a hard hand as before, + Reached out the gold, and offered it + With hand that shook as ague-fit,-- + The while the youth but scorned the more. + + "You will not touch it? In God's name + Who are you, and what are you, then? + Come, take this gold, and be of men,-- + A human form with human aim. + + "Yea, take this gold,--she must be mine + She shall be mine! I do not fear + Your scowl, your scorn, your soul austere, + The living, dead, or your dark sign. + + "I saw her as she entered there; + I saw her, and uncovered stood: + The perfume of her womanhood + Was holy incense on the air. + + "She left behind sweet sanctity, + Religion lay the way she went; + I cried I would repent, repent! + She passed on, all unheeding me. + + "Her soul is young, her eyes are bright + And gladsome, as mine own are dim; + But, oh, I felt my senses swim + The time she passed me by to-night!-- + + "The time she passed, nor raised her eyes + To hear me cry I would repent, + Nor turned her head to hear my cries, + But swifter went the way she went,-- + + "Went swift as youth, for all these years! + And this the strangest thing appears, + That lady there seems just the same,-- + Sweet Gladys-- Ah! you know her name? + + "You hear her name and start that I + Should name her dear name trembling so? + Why, boy, when I shall come to die + That name shall be the last I know. + + "That name shall be the last sweet name + My lips shall utter in this life! + That name is brighter than bright flame,-- + That lady is my wedded wife! + + "Ah, start and catch your burning breath! + Ah, start and clutch your deadly knife! + If this be death, then be it death,-- + But that loved lady is my wife! + + "Yea, you are stunned! your face is white, + That I should come confronting you, + As comes a lorn ghost of the night + From out the past, and to pursue. + + "You thought me dead? You shake your head, + You start back horrified to know + That she is loved, that she is wed, + That you have sinned in loving so. + + "Yet what seems strange, that lady there, + Housed in the holy house of prayer, + Seems just the same for all her tears,-- + For all my absent twenty years. + + "Yea, twenty years to-night, to-night, + Just twenty years this day, this hour, + Since first I plucked that perfect flower, + And not one witness of the rite. + + "Nay, do not doubt,--I tell you true! + Her prayers, her tears, her constancy + Are all for me, are all for me,-- + And not one single thought for you! + + "I knew, I knew she would be here + This night of nights to pray for me! + And how could I for twenty year + Know this same night so certainly? + + "Ah me! some thoughts that we would drown + Stick closer than a brother to + The conscience, and pursue, pursue + Like baying hound to hunt us down. + + "And then, that date is history; + For on that night this shore was shelled, + And many a noble mansion felled, + With many a noble family. + + "I wore the blue; I watched the flight + Of shells like stars tossed through the air + To blow your hearth-stones--anywhere, + That wild, illuminated night. + + "Nay, rage befits you not so well: + Why, you were but a babe at best, + Your cradle some sharp bursted shell + That tore, maybe, your mother's breast! + + "Hear me! We came in honored war. + The risen world was on your track! + The whole North-land was at our back, + From Hudson's bank to the North star! + + "And from the North to palm-set sea + The splendid fiery cyclone swept. + Your fathers fell, your mothers wept, + Their nude babes clinging to the knee. + + "A wide and desolated track: + Behind, a path of ruin lay; + Before, some women by the way + Stood mutely gazing, clad in black. + + "From silent women waiting there + Some tears came down like still small rain; + Their own sons on the battle plain + Were now but viewless ghosts of air. + + "Their own dear daring boys in gray,-- + They should not see them any more; + Our cruel drums kept telling o'er + The time their own sons went away. + + "Through burning town, by bursting shell-- + Yea, I remember well that night; + I led through orange-lanes of light, + As through some hot outpost of hell! + + "That night of rainbow-shot and shell + Sent from your surging river's breast + To waken me, no more to rest,-- + That night I should remember well! + + "That night amid the maimed and dead,-- + A night in history set down + By light of many a burning town, + And written all across in red,-- + + "Her father dead, her brothers dead, + Her home in flames,--what else could she + But fly all helpless here to me, + A fluttered dove, that night of dread? + + "Short time, hot time had I to woo + Amid the red shells' battle-chime; + But women rarely reckon time, + And perils speed their love when true. + + "And then I wore a captain's sword; + And, too, had oftentime before + Doffed cap at her dead father's door, + And passed a soldier's pleasant word. + + "And then--ah, I was comely then! + I bore no load upon my back, + I heard no hounds upon my track, + But stood the tallest of tall men. + + "Her father's and her mother's shrine, + This church amid the orange wood, + So near and so secure it stood, + It seemed to beckon as a sign. + + "Its white cross seemed to beckon me: + My heart was strong, and it was mine + To throw myself upon my knee, + To beg to lead her to this shrine. + + "She did consent. Through lanes of light + I led through that church-door that night-- + Let fall your hand! Take back your face + And stand,--stand patient in your place! + + "She loved me; and she loves me still. + Yea, she clung close to me that hour + As honey-bee to honey-flower,-- + And still is mine, through good or ill. + + "The priest stood there. He spake the prayer; + He made the holy, mystic sign. + And she was mine, was wholly mine,-- + Is mine this moment I will swear! + + "Then days, then nights, of vast delight,-- + Then came a doubtful, later day; + The faithful priest, now far away, + Watched with the dying in the fight: + + "The priest amid the dying, dead, + Kept duty on the battle-field,-- + That midnight marriage unrevealed + Kept strange thoughts running through my head. + + "At last a stray ball struck the priest: + This vestibule his chancel was. + And now none lived to speak her cause, + Record, or champion her the least. + + "Hear me! I had been bred to hate + All priests, their mummeries and all. + Ah, it was fate,--ah, it was fate + That all things tempted me to fall! + + "And then the rattling songs we sang + Those nights when rudely revelling,-- + The songs that only soldiers sing,-- + Until the very tent-poles rang! + + "What is the rhyme that rhymers say + Of maidens born to be betrayed + By epaulettes and shining blade, + While soldiers love and ride away? + + "And then my comrades spake her name + Half taunting, with a touch of shame; + Taught me to hold that lily-flower + As some light pastime of the hour. + + "And then the ruin in the land, + The death, dismay, the lawlessness! + Men gathered gold on every hand,-- + Heaped gold: and why should I do less? + + "The cry for gold was in the air, + For Creole gold, for precious things; + The sword kept prodding here and there + Through bolts and sacred fastenings. + + "'Get gold! get gold!' This was the cry. + And I loved gold. What else could I + Or you, or any earnest one + Born in this getting age have done? + + "With this one lesson taught from youth, + And ever taught us, to get gold,-- + To get and hold, and ever hold,-- + What else could I have done, forsooth? + + "She, seeing how I sought for gold,-- + This girl, my wife, one late night told + Of treasures hidden close at hand, + In her dead father's mellow land: + + "Of gold she helped her brothers hide + Beneath a broad banana tree, + The day the two in battle died,-- + The night she dying fled to me. + + "It seemed too good; I laughed to scorn + Her trustful tale. She answered not; + But meekly on the morrow morn + Two massive bags of bright gold brought. + + "And when she brought this gold to me, + Red Creole gold, rich, rare, and old,-- + When I at last had gold, sweet gold, + I cried in very ecstasy! + + "Red gold! rich gold! two bags of gold! + The two stout bags of gold she brought + And gave with scarce a second thought,-- + Why, her two hands could hardly hold! + + "Now I had gold! two bags of gold! + Two wings of gold to fly, and fly + The wide world's girth; red gold to hold + Against my heart for aye and aye! + + "My country's lesson: 'Gold! get gold!' + I learned it well in land of snow; + And what can glow, so brightly glow, + Long winter nights of Northern cold? + + "Ay, now at last, at last I had + The one thing, all fair things above + My land had taught me most to love! + A miser now! and I grew mad. + + "With those two bags of gold my own, + I then began to plan that night + For flight, for far and sudden flight,-- + For flight; and, too, for flight alone. + + "I feared! I feared! My heart grew cold,-- + Some one might claim this gold of me! + I feared her,--feared her purity, + Feared all things but my bags of gold. + + "I grew to hate her face, her creed,-- + That face the fairest ever yet + That bowed o'er holy cross or bead, + Or yet was in God's image set. + + "I fled,--nay, not so knavish low + As you have fancied, did I fly; + I sought her at that shrine, and I + Told her full frankly I should go. + + "I stood a giant in my power,-- + And did she question or dispute? + I stood a savage, selfish brute,-- + She bowed her head, a lily-flower. + + "And when I sudden turned to go, + And told her I should come no more, + She bowed her head so low, so low, + Her vast black hair fell pouring o'er. + + "And that was all; her splendid face + Was mantled from me, and her night + Of hair half hid her from my sight + As she fell moaning in her place. + + "And there, 'mid her dark night of hair, + She sobbed, low moaning through her tears, + That she would wait, wait all the years,-- + Would wait and pray in her despair. + + "Nay, did not murmur, not deny,-- + She did not cross me one sweet word! + I turned and fled: I thought I heard + A night-bird's piercing low death-cry!" + + + + +THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. + +PART II. + + + How soft this moonlight of the South! + How sweet my South in soft moonlight! + I want to kiss her warm sweet mouth + As she lies sleeping here to-night. + + How still! I do not hear a mouse. + I see some bursting buds appear; + I hear God in His garden,--hear + Him trim some flowers for His house. + + I hear some singing stars; the mouth + Of my vast river sings and sings, + And pipes on reeds of pleasant things,-- + Of splendid promise for my South: + + My great South-woman, soon to rise + And tiptoe up and loose her hair; + Tiptoe, and take from all the skies + God's stars and glorious moon to wear! + + +I. + + The poet shall create or kill, + Bid heroes live, bid braggarts die. + I look against a lurid sky,-- + My silent South lies proudly still. + + The lurid light of burning lands + Still climbs to God's house overhead; + Mute women wring white withered hands; + Their eyes are red, their skies are red. + + Poor man! still boast your bitter wars! + Still burn and burn, and burning die. + But God's white finger spins the stars + In calm dominion of the sky. + + And not one ray of light the less + Comes down to bid the grasses spring; + No drop of dew nor anything + Shall fail for all your bitterness. + + The land that nursed a nation's youth, + Ye burned it, sacked it, sapped it dry. + Ye gave it falsehoods for its truth, + And fame was fashioned from a lie. + + If man grows large, is God the less? + The moon shall rise and set the same, + The great sun spill his splendid flame + And clothe the world in queenliness. + + And from that very soil ye trod + Some large-souled seeing youth shall come + Some day, and he shall not be dumb + Before the awful court of God. + + +II. + + The weary moon had turned away, + The far North-Star was turning pale + To hear the stranger's boastful tale + Of blood and flame that battle day. + + And yet again the two men glared, + Close face to face above that tomb; + Each seemed as jealous of the room + The other eager waiting shared. + + Again the man began to say,-- + As taking up some broken thread, + As talking to the patient dead,-- + The Creole was as still as they: + + "That night we burned yon grass-grown town,-- + The grasses, vines are reaching up; + The ruins they are reaching down, + As sun-browned soldiers when they sup. + + "I knew her,--knew her constancy. + She said, this night of every year + She here would come, and kneeling here, + Would pray the live-long night for me. + + "This praying seems a splendid thing! + It drives old Time the other way; + It makes him lose all reckoning + Of years that pagans have to pay. + + "This praying seems a splendid thing! + It makes me stronger as she prays-- + But oh the bitter, bitter days + When I became a banished thing! + + "I fled, took ship,--I fled as far + As far ships drive tow'rd the North-Star; + For I did hate the South, the sun + That made me think what I had done. + + "I could not see a fair palm-tree + In foreign land, in pleasant place, + But it would whisper of her face + And shake its keen sharp blades at me. + + "Each black-eyed woman would recall + A lone church-door, a face, a name, + A coward's flight, a soldier's shame: + I fled from woman's face, from all. + + "I hugged my gold, my precious gold, + Within my strong, stout, buckskin vest. + I wore my bags against my breast + So close I felt my heart grow cold. + + "I did not like to see it now; + I did not spend one single piece. + I travelled, travelled without cease + As far as Russian ship could plow. + + "And when my own scant hoard was gone, + And I had reached the far North-land, + I took my two stout bags in hand + As one pursued, and journeyed on. + + "Ah, I was weary! I grew gray; + I felt the fast years slip and reel + As slip black beads when maidens kneel + At altars when out-door is gay. + + "At last I fell prone in the road,-- + Fell fainting with my cursed load. + A skin-clad cossack helped me bear + My bags, nor would one shilling share. + + "He looked at me with proud disdain,-- + He looked at me as if he knew; + His black eyes burned me thro' and thro'; + His scorn pierced like a deadly pain. + + "He frightened me with honesty; + He made me feel so small, so base, + I fled, as if the fiend kept chase,-- + The fiend that claims my company! + + "I bore my load alone; I crept + Far up the steep and icy way; + And there, before a cross there lay + A barefoot priest, who bowed and wept. + + "I threw my gold right down and sped + Straight on. And oh my heart was light! + A spring-time bird in spring-time flight + Flies not so happy as I fled. + + "I felt somehow this monk would take + My gold, my load from off my back; + Would turn the fiend from off my track, + Would take my gold for sweet Christ's sake! + + "I fled; I did not look behind; + I fled, fled with the mountain wind. + At last; far down the mountain's base + I found a pleasant resting-place. + + "I rested there so long, so well, + More grateful than all tongues can tell. + It was such pleasant thing to hear + That valley's voices calm and clear: + + "That valley veiled in mountain air, + With white goats on the hills at morn; + That valley green with seas of corn, + With cottage islands here and there. + + "I watched the mountain girls. The hay + They mowed was not more sweet than they; + They laid brown hands in my white hair; + They marvelled at my face of care. + + "I tried to laugh; I could but weep. + I made these peasants one request,-- + That I with them might toil or rest, + And with them sleep the long, last sleep. + + "I begged that I might battle there, + For that fair valley-land, for those + Who gave me cheer when girt with foes, + And have a country, loved and fair. + + "Where is that spot that poets name + Our country? name the hallowed land? + Where is that spot where man must stand + Or fall when girt with sword and flame? + + "Where is that one permitted spot? + Where is the one place man must fight? + Where rests the one God-given right + To fight, as ever patriots fought? + + "I say 'tis in that holy house + Where God first set us down on earth: + Where mother welcomed us at birth, + And bared her breasts, a happy spouse. + + "But when some wrong, some deed of shame, + Shall make that land no more our own-- + Ah! hunger for that holy name + My country, I have truly known! + + "The simple plough-boy from his field + Looks forth. He sees God's purple wall + Encircling him. High over all + The vast sun wheels his shining shield. + + "This King, who makes earth what it is,-- + King David bending to his toil! + O lord and master of the soil, + How envied in thy loyal bliss! + + "Long live the land we loved in youth,-- + That world with blue skies bent about, + Where never entered ugly doubt! + Long live the simple, homely truth! + + "Can true hearts love some far snow-land, + Some bleak Alaska bought with gold? + God's laws are old as love is old; + And Home is something near at hand. + + "Yea, change yon river's course; estrange + The seven sweet stars; make hate divide + The full moon from the flowing tide,-- + But this old truth ye cannot change. + + "I begged a land as begging bread; + I begged of these brave mountaineers + To share their sorrows, share their tears; + To weep as they wept, with their dead. + + "They did consent. The mountain town + Was mine to love, and valley lands. + That night the barefoot monk came down + And laid my two bags in my hands! + + "On! On! And oh the load I bore! + Why, once I dreamed my soul was lead; + Dreamed once it was a body dead! + It made my cold, hard bosom sore. + + "I dragged that body forth and back-- + O conscience, what a baying hound! + Nor frozen seas nor frosted ground + Can throw this bloodhound from his track. + + "In farthest Russia I lay down + A dying man, at last to rest; + I felt such load upon my breast + As seamen feel, who sinking drown. + + "That night, all chill and desperate, + I sprang up, for I could not rest; + I tore the two bags from my breast, + And dashed them in the burning grate. + + "I then crept back into my bed; + I tried, I begged, I prayed to sleep; + But those red, restless coins would keep + Slow dropping, dropping, and blood red. + + "I heard them clink and clink and clink,-- + They turned, they talked within that grate. + They talked of her; they made me think + Of one who still must pray and wait. + + "And when the bags burned crisp and black, + Two coins did start, roll to the floor,-- + Roll out, roll on, and then roll back, + As if they needs must journey more. + + "Ah, then I knew nor change nor space, + Nor all the drowning years that rolled + Could hide from me her haunting face, + Nor still that red-tongued talking gold. + + "Again I sprang forth from my bed! + I shook as in an ague fit; + I clutched that red gold, burning red, + I clutched, as if to strangle it. + + "I clutched it up--you hear me, boy?-- + I clutched it up with joyful tears! + I clutched it close, with such wild joy + I had not felt for years and years! + + "Such joy! for I should now retrace + My steps, should see my land, her face; + Bring back her gold this battle day, + And see her, see her, hear her pray! + + "I brought it back--you hear me, boy?-- + I clutch it, hold it, hold it now: + Red gold, bright gold that giveth joy + To all, and anywhere or how; + + "That giveth joy to all but me,-- + To all but me, yet soon to all. + It burns my hands, it burns! but she + Shall ope my hands and let it fall. + + "For oh I have a willing hand + To give these bags of gold; to see + Her smile as once she smiled on me + Here in this pleasant, warm palm-land!" + + He ceased, he thrust each hard-clenched fist, + He threw his gold hard forth again, + As one impelled by some mad pain + He would not or could not resist. + + The creole, scorning, turned away, + As if he turned from that lost thief,-- + The one that died without belief + That awful crucifixion day. + + +III. + + Believe in man, nor turn away. + Lo! man advances year by year; + Time bears him upward, and his sphere + Of life must broaden day by day. + + Believe in man with large belief; + The garnered grain each harvest-time + Hath promise, roundness, and full prime + For all the empty chaff and sheaf. + + Believe in man with proud belief: + Truth keeps the bottom of her well, + And when the thief peeps down, the thief + Peeps back at him, perpetual. + + Faint not that this or that man fell; + For one that falls a thousand rise + To lift white Progress to the skies: + Truth keeps the bottom of her well. + + Fear not for man, nor cease to delve + For cool sweet truth, with large belief. + Lo! Christ himself chose only twelve, + Yet one of these turned out a thief. + + +IV. + + Down through the dark magnolia leaves + Where climbs the rose of Cherokee + Against the orange-blossomed tree, + A loom of moonlight weaves and weaves,-- + + A loom of moonlight, weaving clothes + From snow-white rose of Cherokee, + And bridal blooms of orange-tree, + For fairy folk in fragrant rose. + + Down through the mournful myrtle crape, + Through moving moss, through ghostly gloom, + A long white moonbeam takes a shape + Above a nameless, lowly tomb; + + A long white finger through the gloom + Of grasses gathered round about,-- + As God's white finger pointing out + A name upon that nameless tomb. + + +V. + + Her white face bowed in her black hair, + The maiden prays so still within + That you might hear a falling pin,-- + Ay, hear her white unuttered prayer. + + The moon has grown disconsolate, + Has turned her down her walk of stars: + Why, she is shutting up her bars, + As maidens shut a lover's gate. + + The moon has grown disconsolate; + She will no longer watch and wait. + But two men wait; and two men will + Wait on till morning, mute and still: + + Still wait and walk among the trees, + Quite careless if the moon may keep + Her walk along her starry steep + Above the Southern pearl-sown seas. + + They know no moon, or set or rise + Of stars, or anything to light + The earth or skies, save her dark eyes, + This praying, waking, watching night. + + They move among the tombs apart, + Their eyes turn ever to that door; + They know the worn walks there by heart-- + They turn and walk them o'er and o'er. + + They are not wide, these little walks + For dead folk by this crescent town. + They lie right close when they lie down, + As if they kept up quiet talks. + + +VI. + + The two men keep their paths apart; + But more and more begins to stoop + The man with gold, as droop and droop + Tall plants with something at their heart. + + Now once again with eager zest + He offers gold with silent speech; + The other will not walk in reach, + But walks around, as round a pest. + + His dark eyes sweep the scene around, + His young face drinks the fragrant air, + His dark eyes journey everywhere,-- + The other's cleave unto the ground. + + It is a weary walk for him, + For oh he bears a weary load! + He does not like that narrow road + Between the dead--it is so dim: + + It is so dark, that narrow place, + Where graves lie thick, like yellow leaves: + Give us the light of Christ and grace, + Give light to garner in the sheaves. + + Give light of love; for gold is cold, + And gold is cruel as a crime; + It gives no light at such sad time + As when man's feet wax weak and old. + + Ay, gold is heavy, hard, and cold! + And have I said this thing before? + Well, I will tell it o'er and o'er, + 'Twere need be told ten thousand fold. + + "Give us this day our daily bread,"-- + Get this of God, then all the rest + Is housed in thine own honest breast, + If you but lift a lordly head. + + +VII. + + Oh, I have seen men, tall and fair, + Stoop down their manhood with disgust, + Stoop down God's image to the dust, + To get a load of gold to bear; + + Have seen men selling day by day + The glance of manhood that God gave: + To sell God's image as a slave + Might sell some little pot of clay! + + Behold! here in this green graveyard + A man with gold enough to fill + A coffin, as a miller's till; + And yet his path is hard, so hard! + + His feet keep sinking in the sand, + And now so near an opened grave! + He seems to hear the solemn wave + Of dread oblivion at hand. + + The sands, they grumble so, it seems + As if he walks some shelving brink. + He tries to stop, he tries to think, + He tries to make believe he dreams: + + Why, he is free to leave the land, + The silver moon is white as dawn; + Why, he has gold in either hand, + Has silver ways to walk upon. + + And who should chide, or bid him stay? + Or taunt, or threat, or bid him fly? + The world's for sale, I hear men say, + And yet this man has gold to buy. + + Buy what? Buy rest? He could not rest! + Buy gentle sleep? He could not sleep, + Though all these graves were wide and deep + As their wide mouths with the request. + + Buy Love, buy faith, buy snow-white truth? + Buy moonlight, sunlight, present, past? + Buy but one brimful cup of youth + That calm souls drink of to the last? + + O God! 'tis pitiful to see + This miser so forlorn and old! + O God! how poor a man may be + With nothing in this world but gold! + + +VIII. + + The broad magnolia's blooms are white; + Her blooms are large, as if the moon + Had lost her way some lazy night, + And lodged here till the afternoon. + + Oh, vast white blossoms breathing love! + White bosom of my lady dead, + In your white heaven overhead + I look, and learn to look above. + + +IX. + + All night the tall magnolia kept + Kind watch above the nameless tomb: + Two shapes kept waiting in the gloom + And gray of morn, where roses wept. + + The dew-wet roses wept; their eyes + All dew, their breath as sweet as prayer. + And as they wept, the dead down there + Did feel their tears and hear their sighs. + + The grass uprose as if afraid + Some stranger foot might press too near; + Its every blade was like a spear, + Its every spear a living blade. + + The grass above that nameless tomb + Stood all arrayed, as if afraid + Some weary pilgrim seeking room + And rest, might lay where she was laid. + + +X. + + 'Twas morn, and yet it was not morn; + 'Twas morn in heaven, not on earth,-- + A star was singing of a birth, + Just saying that a day was born. + + The marsh hard by that bound the lake,-- + The great low sea-lake, Ponchartrain, + Shut off from sultry Cuban main,-- + Drew up its legs, as half awake: + + Drew long stork legs, long legs that steep + In slime where alligators creep,-- + Drew long green legs that stir the grass, + As when the late lorn night-winds pass. + + Then from the marsh came croakings low, + Then louder croaked some sea-marsh beast; + Then, far away against the east, + God's rose of morn began to grow. + + From out the marsh, against that east, + A ghostly moss-swept cypress stood; + With ragged arms above the wood + It rose, a God-forsaken beast. + + It seemed so frightened where it rose! + The moss-hung thing it seemed to wave + The worn-out garments of the grave,-- + To wave and wave its old grave-clothes. + + Close by, a cow rose up and lowed + From out a palm-thatched milking-shed. + A black boy on the river road + Fled sudden, as the night had fled: + + A nude black boy, a bit of night + That had been broken off and lost + From flying night, the time it crossed + The surging river in its flight: + + A bit of darkness, following + The sable night on sable wing,-- + A bit of darkness stilled with fear, + Because that nameless tomb was near. + + Then holy bells came pealing out; + Then steamboats blew, then horses neighed; + Then smoke from hamlets round about + Crept out, as if no more afraid. + + Then shrill cocks here, and shrill cocks there, + Stretched glossy necks and filled the air. + How many cocks it takes to make + A country morning well awake! + + Then many boughs, with many birds,-- + Young boughs in green, old boughs in gray,-- + These birds had very much to say + In their soft, sweet, familiar words. + + And all seemed sudden glad; the gloom + Forgot the church, forgot the tomb; + And yet like monks with cross and bead + The myrtles leaned to read and read. + + And oh the fragrance of the sod! + And oh the perfume of the air! + The sweetness, sweetness everywhere, + That rose like incense up to God! + + I like a cow's breath in sweet spring, + I like the breath of babes new-born; + A maid's breath is a pleasant thing,-- + But oh the breath of sudden morn! + + Of sudden morn, when every pore + Of mother earth is pulsing fast + With life, and life seems spilling o'er + With love, with love too sweet to last: + + Of sudden morn beneath the sun, + By God's great river wrapped in gray, + That for a space forgets to run, + And hides his face as if to pray. + + +XI. + + The black-eyed Creole kept his eyes + Turned to the door, as eyes might turn + To see the holy embers burn + Some sin away at sacrifice. + + Full dawn! but yet he knew no dawn, + Nor song of bird, nor bird on wing, + Nor breath of rose, nor anything + Her fair face lifted not upon. + + And yet he taller stood with morn; + His bright eyes, brighter than before, + Burned fast against that fastened door, + His proud lips lifting up with scorn,-- + + With lofty, silent scorn for one + Who all night long had plead and plead, + With none to witness but the dead + How he for gold must be undone. + + Oh, ye who feed a greed for gold, + And barter truth, and trade sweet youth + For cold hard gold, behold, behold! + Behold this man! behold this truth! + + Why, what is there in all God's plan + Of vast creation, high or low, + By sea or land, by sun or snow, + So mean, so miserly as man? + + Lo, earth and heaven all let go + Their garnered riches, year by year! + The treasures of the trackless snow, + Ah, hast thou seen how very dear? + + The wide earth gives, gives golden grain, + Gives fruits of gold, gives all, gives all! + Hold forth your hand, and these shall fall + In your full palm as free as rain. + + Yea, earth is generous. The trees + Strip nude as birth-time without fear, + And their reward is year by year + To feel their fulness but increase. + + The law of Nature is to give, + To give, to give! and to rejoice + In giving with a generous voice, + And so trust God and truly live. + + But see this miser at the last,-- + This man who loves, grasps hold of gold, + Who grasps it with such eager hold, + To hold forever hard and fast: + + As if to hold what God lets go; + As if to hold, while all around + Lets go, and drops upon the ground + All things as generous as snow. + + Let go your greedy hold, I say! + Let go your hold! Do not refuse + 'Till death comes by and shakes you loose, + And sends you shamed upon your way. + + What if the sun should keep his gold? + The rich moon lock her silver up? + What if the gold-clad buttercup + Became a miser, mean and old? + + Ah, me! the coffins are so true + In all accounts, the shrouds so thin, + That down there you might sew and sew, + Nor ever sew one pocket in. + + And all that you can hold of lands + Down there, below the grass, down there, + Will only be that little share + You hold in your two dust-full hands. + + +XII. + + She comes! she comes! The stony floor + Speaks out! And now the rusty door + At last has just one word this day, + With mute religious lips, to say. + + She comes! she comes! And lo, her face + Is upward, radiant, fair as prayer! + So pure here in this holy place, + Where holy peace is everywhere. + + Her upraised face, her face of light + And loveliness, from duty done, + Is like a rising orient sun + That pushes back the brow of night. + + How brave, how beautiful is truth! + Good deeds untold are like to this. + But fairest of all fair things is + A pious maiden in her youth: + + A pious maiden as she stands + Just on the threshold of the years + That throb and pulse with hopes and fears, + And reaches God her helpless hands. + + How fair is she! How fond is she! + Her foot upon the threshold there. + Her breath is as a blossomed tree,-- + This maiden mantled in her hair! + + Her hair, her black, abundant hair, + Where night, inhabited all night + And all this day, will not take flight, + But finds content and houses there. + + Her hands are clasped, her two small hands; + They hold the holy book of prayer + Just as she steps the threshold there, + Clasped downward where she silent stands. + + +XIII. + + Once more she lifts her lowly face, + And slowly lifts her large, dark eyes + Of wonder; and in still surprise + She looks full forward in her place. + + She looks full forward on the air + Above the tomb, and yet below + The fruits of gold, the blooms of snow, + As looking--looking anywhere. + + She feels--she knows not what she feels; + It is not terror, is not fear, + But there is something that reveals + A presence that is near and dear. + + She does not let her eyes fall down, + They lift against the far profound: + Against the blue above the town + Two wide-winged vultures circle round. + + Two brown birds swim above the sea,-- + Her large eyes swim as dreamily + And follow far, and follow high, + Two circling black specks in the sky. + + One forward step,--the closing door + Creaks out, as frightened or in pain; + Her eyes are on the ground again-- + Two men are standing close before. + + "My love," sighs one, "my life, my all!" + Her lifted foot across the sill + Sinks down,--and all things are so still + You hear the orange blossoms fall. + + But fear comes not where duty is, + And purity is peace and rest; + Her cross is close upon her breast, + Her two hands clasp hard hold of this. + + Her two hands clasp cross, book, and she + Is strong in tranquil purity,-- + Ay, strong as Samson when he laid + His two hands forth, and bowed and prayed. + + One at her left, one at her right, + And she between, the steps upon,-- + I can but see that Syrian night, + The women there at early dawn + + 'Tis strange, I know, and may be wrong, + But ever pictured in my song; + And rhyming on, I see the day + They came to roll the stone away. + + +XIV. + + The sky is like an opal sea, + The air is like the breath of kine, + But oh her face is white, and she + Leans faint to see a lifted sign,-- + + To see two hands lift up and wave + To see a face so white with woe, + So ghastly, hollow, white as though + It had that moment left the grave. + + Her sweet face at that ghostly sign, + Her fair face in her weight of hair, + Is like a white dove drowning there,-- + A white dove drowned in Tuscan wine. + + He tries to stand, to stand erect. + 'Tis gold, 'tis gold that holds him down! + And soul and body both must drown,-- + Two millstones tied about his neck. + + Now once again his piteous face + Is raised to her face reaching there. + He prays such piteous, silent prayer + As prays a dying man for grace. + + It is not good to see him strain + To lift his hands, to gasp, to try + To speak. His parched lips are so dry + Their sight is as a living pain. + + I think that rich man down in hell + Some like this old man with his gold,-- + To gasp and gasp perpetual + Like to this minute I have told. + + +XV. + + At last the miser cries his pain,-- + A shrill, wild cry, as if a grave + Just ope'd its stony lips and gave + One sentence forth, then closed again. + + "'Twas twenty years last night, last night!" + His lips still moved, but not to speak; + His outstretched hands so trembling weak + Were beggar's hands in sorry plight. + + His face upturned to hers, his lips + Kept talking on, but gave no sound; + His feet were cloven to the ground; + Like iron hooks his finger-tips. + + "Ay, twenty years," she sadly sighed: + "I promised mother every year + That I would pray for father here, + As she had prayed, the night she died: + + "To pray as she prayed, fervidly; + As she had promised she would pray + The sad night of her marriage day, + For him, wherever he might be." + + Then she was still; then sudden she + Let fall her eyes, and so outspake + As if her very heart would break, + Her proud lips trembling piteously: + + "And whether he come soon or late + To kneel beside this nameless grave, + May God forgive my father's hate + As I forgive, as she forgave!" + + He saw the stone; he understood + With that quick knowledge that will come + Most quick when men are made most dumb + With terror that stops still the blood. + + And then a blindness slowly fell + On soul and body; but his hands + Held tight his bags, two iron bands, + As if to bear them into hell. + + He sank upon the nameless stone + With oh such sad, such piteous moan + As never man might seek to know + From man's most unforgiving foe. + + He sighed at last, so long, so deep, + As one heart breaking in one's sleep,-- + One long, last, weary, willing sigh, + As if it were a grace to die. + + And then his hands, like loosened bands, + Hung down, hung down on either side; + His hands hung down and opened wide: + He rested in the orange lands. + + + + +University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE. + +The following emendations have been made to the text: + + "You will not touch it? In God's name + for + 'You will not touch it? In God's name + + "That night of rainbow-shot and shell + for + That night of rainbow-shot and shell + + "That night amid the maimed and dead,-- + for + That night amid the maimed and dead,-- + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of the Mexican Seas, by Joaquin Miller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS *** + +***** This file should be named 38766.txt or 38766.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/7/6/38766/ + +Produced by Daniel Emerson Griffith and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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