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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41955 ***
+
+Transcriber's note:
+    Minor spelling and punctuation inconsistencies have been
+    harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHIP IN THE DESERT.
+
+
+
+
+    THE
+
+    SHIP IN THE DESERT.
+
+    BY
+
+    JOAQUIN MILLER,
+
+    AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF THE SIERRAS" AND "SONGS OF
+    THE SUN-LANDS."
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BOSTON:
+    ROBERTS BROTHERS.
+    1875.
+
+
+
+
+    Copyright, 1875,
+    BY C. H. MILLER.
+
+    _Cambridge:
+    Press of John Wilson & Son._
+
+
+
+
+    DEDICATED
+
+    TO
+
+    MY DEAR PARENTS,
+
+    ON THE FOOTHILLS OF
+
+    THE OREGON SIERRAS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+With deep reverence I inscribe these lines, my dear parents, to you. I
+see you now, away beyond the seas, beyond the lands where the sun goes
+down in the Pacific like some great ship of fire, resting still on the
+green hills, watching your herds, waiting
+
+                    "Where rolls the Oregon,
+    And hears no sound save its own dashing."
+
+Nearly a quarter of a century ago you took me the long and lonesome
+half-year's journey across the mighty continent, wild, and rent, and
+broken up, and sown with sand and ashes, and crossed by tumbling,
+wooded rivers that ran as if glad to get away, fresh and strange and
+new as if but half-fashioned from the hand of God.
+
+All the time as I tread this strange land I re-live those scenes, and
+you are with me. How dark and deep, how sullen, strong, and lion-like
+the mighty Missouri rolled between his walls of untracked wood and
+cleft the unknown domain of the middle world before us!
+
+Then the frail and buffeted rafts on the river, the women and children
+huddled together, the shouts of the brawny men as they swam with the
+bellowing cattle; the cows in the stormy stream, eddying, whirling,
+spinning about, calling to their young, their bright horns shining in
+the sun.... The wild men waiting on the other side, painted savages
+leaning silent on their bows, despising our weakness, opening a way,
+letting us pass on to the unknown distances, where they said the sun
+and moon lay down together and brought forth the stars.... The long
+and winding lines of wagons, the graves by the wayside, the women
+weeping together as they passed on. Then hills, then plains, parched
+lands like Syria, dust, and ashes, and alkali, cool streams with
+woods, camps by night, great wood fires in circles, tents in the
+centre like Cæsar's battle-camps, painted men that passed like
+shadows, showers of arrows, the wild beasts howling from the hill....
+
+You, my dear parents, will pardon the thread of fiction on which I
+have strung these scenes and descriptions of a mighty land of mystery,
+and wild and savage grandeur, for the world will have its way, and,
+like a spoiled child, demands a tale.
+
+                 "Yea,
+    We who toil and earn our bread
+    Still have our masters...."
+
+A ragged and broken story it is, with long deserts, with alkali and
+ashes, yet it may, like the land it deals of, have some green places,
+and woods, and running waters, where you can rest....
+
+Three times now I have ranged the great West in fancy, as I did in
+fact for twenty years, and gathered unknown and unnamed blossoms from
+mountain-top, from desert level, where man never ranged before, and
+asked the world to receive my weeds, my grasses, and blue-eyed
+blossoms. But here it ends. Good or bad, I have done enough of this
+work on the border. The Orient promises a more grateful harvest.
+
+I have been true to my West. She has been my only love. I have
+remembered her greatness. I have done my work to show to the world her
+vastness, her riches, her resources, her valor and her dignity, her
+poetry and her grandeur. Yet while I was going on, working so in
+silence, what were the things she said of me? But let that pass, my
+dear parents. Others will come after us. Possibly I have blazed out
+the trail for great minds over this field, as you did across the
+deserts and plains for great men a quarter of a century ago.
+
+
+    JOAQUIN MILLER.
+
+    LAKE COMO, Italy.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration ]
+
+
+
+
+THE SHIP IN THE DESERT.
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+
+      A Man in middle Aridzone
+    Stood by the desert's edge alone,
+    And long he look'd, and lean'd. He peer'd,
+    Above his twirl'd and twisted beard,
+    Beneath his black and slouchy hat ...
+    Nay, nay, the tale is not of that.
+
+      A skin-clad trapper, toe-a-tip,
+    Stood on a mountain top, and he
+    Look'd long and still and eagerly.
+    "It looks so like some lonesome ship
+    That sails this ghostly lonely sea,--
+    This dried-up desert sea," said he,
+    "These tawny sands of Arazit" ...
+    Avaunt! the tale is not of it.
+
+      A chief from out the desert's rim
+    Rode swift as twilight swallows swim,
+    Or eagle blown from eyrie nest.
+    His trim-limb'd steed was black as night,
+    His long black hair had blossom'd white,
+    With feathers from the koko's crest;
+    His iron face was flush'd and red,
+    His eyes flash'd fire as he fled,
+    For he had seen unsightly things;
+    Had felt the flapping of their wings.
+
+      A wild and wiry man was he,
+    This tawny chief of Shoshonee;
+    And O his supple steed was fleet!
+    About his breast flapp'd panther skins,
+    About his eager flying feet
+    Flapp'd beaded, braided moccasins:
+    He rode as rides the hurricane;
+    He seem'd to swallow up the plain;
+    He rode as never man did ride,
+    He rode, for ghosts rode at his side,
+    And on his right a grizzled grim--
+    No, no, this tale is not of him.
+
+      An Indian warrior lost his way
+    While prowling on this desert's edge
+    In fragrant sage and prickly hedge,
+    When suddenly he saw a sight,
+    And turn'd his steed in eager flight.
+    He rode right through the edge of day,
+    He rode into the rolling night.
+
+      He lean'd, he reach'd an eager face,
+    His black wolf skin flapp'd out and in,
+    And tiger claws on tiger skin
+    Held seat and saddle to its place;
+    But that gray ghost that clutch'd thereat ...
+    Arrête! the tale is not of that.
+
+      A chieftain touch'd the desert's rim
+    One autumn eve: he rode alone
+    And still as moon-made shadows swim.
+    He stopp'd, he stood as still as stone,
+    He lean'd, he look'd, there glisten'd bright
+    From out the yellow yielding sand
+    A golden cup with jewell'd rim.
+    He lean'd him low, he reach'd a hand,
+    He caught it up, he gallop'd on,
+    He turn'd his head, he saw a sight ...
+    His panther skins flew to the wind,
+    The dark, the desert lay behind;
+    The tawny Ishmaelite was gone;
+    But something sombre as death is ...
+    Tut, tut! the tale is not of this.
+
+      A mountaineer, storm-stained and brown,
+    From farthest desert touched the town,
+    And, striding through the crowd, held up
+    Above his head a jewell'd cup.
+    He put two fingers to his lip,
+    He whisper'd wild, he stood a-tip,
+    And lean'd the while with lifted hand,
+    And said, "A ship lies yonder dead,"
+    And said, "Doubloons lie sown in sand
+    In yon far desert dead and brown,
+    Beyond where wave-wash'd walls look down,
+    As thick as stars set overhead.
+    That three shipmasts uplift like trees" ...
+    Away! the tale is not of these.
+
+      An Indian hunter held a plate
+    Of gold above his lifted head,
+    Around which kings had sat in state ...
+    "'Tis from that desert ship," they said,
+    "That sails with neither sail nor breeze,
+    Or galleon, that sank below
+    Of old, in olden dried-up seas,
+    Ere yet the red men drew the bow."
+
+      But wrinkled women wagg'd the head,
+    And walls of warriors sat that night
+    In black, nor streak of battle red,
+    Around against the red camp light,
+    And told such wondrous tales as these
+    Of wealth within their dried-up seas.
+
+      And one, girt well in tiger's skin,
+    Who stood, like Saul, above the rest,
+    With dangling claws about his breast,
+    A belt without, a blade within,
+    A warrior with a painted face,
+    And lines that shadow'd stern and grim,
+    Stood pointing east from his high place,
+    And hurling thought like cannon shot,
+    Stood high with visage flush'd and hot ...
+    But, stay! this tale is not of him.
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+
+      By Arizona's sea of sand
+    Some bearded miners, gray and old,
+    And resolute in search of gold,
+    Sat down to tap the savage land.
+
+      They tented in a canñon's mouth
+    That gaped against the warm wide south,
+    And underneath a wave-wash'd wall,
+    Where now nor rains nor winds may fall,
+    They delved the level salt-white sands
+    For gold, with bold and hornéd hands.
+
+      A miner stood beside his mine,
+    He pull'd his beard, then look'd away
+    Across the level sea of sand,
+    Beneath his broad and hairy hand,
+    A hand as hard as knots of pine.
+    "It looks so like a sea," said he.
+    He pull'd his beard, and he did say,
+    "It looks just like a dried-up sea."
+    Again he pull'd that beard of his,
+    But said no other thing than this.
+
+      A stalwart miner dealt a stroke,
+    And struck a buried beam of oak.
+    An old ship's beam the shaft appear'd,
+    With storm-worn faded figure-head.
+    The miner twisted, twirled his beard,
+    Lean'd on his pick-axe as he spoke:
+    "'Tis from some long-lost ship," he said,
+    "Some laden ship of Solomon
+    That sail'd these lonesome seas upon
+    In search of Ophir's mine, ah me!
+    That sail'd this dried-up desert sea." ...
+    Nay, nay, 'tis not a tale of gold,
+    But ghostly land storm-slain and old.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+
+      But this the tale. Along a wide
+    And sounding stream some silent braves,
+    That stole along the farther side
+    Through sweeping wood that swept the waves
+    Like long arms reach'd across the tide,
+    Kept watch and ward and still defied....
+
+      A low black boat that hugg'd the shores,
+    An ugly boat, an ugly crew,
+    Thick-lipp'd and woolly-headed slaves,
+    That bow'd, that bent the white-ash oars,
+    That cleft the murky waters through,
+    That climb'd the swift Missouri's waves,--
+    The surly, woolly-headed slaves.
+
+      A grand old Neptune in the prow,
+    Gray-hair'd, and white with touch of time,
+    Yet strong as in his middle prime;
+    A grizzled king, I see him now,
+    With beard as blown by wind of seas,
+    And wild and white as white sea-storm,
+    Stand up, turn suddenly, look back
+    Along the low boat's wrinkled track,
+    Then fold his mantle round a form
+    Broad-built as any Hercules,
+    And so sit silently.
+
+                          Beside
+    The grim old sea-king sits his bride,
+    A sun-land blossom, rudely torn
+    From tropic forests to be worn
+    Above as stern a breast as e'er
+    Stood king at sea or anywhere....
+
+      Another boat with other crew
+    Came swift and silent in her track,
+    And now shot shoreward, now shot back,
+    And now sat rocking fro and to,
+    But never once lost sight of her.
+    Tall, sunburnt, southern men were these
+    From isles of blue Caribbean seas,
+    And one, that woman's worshipper,
+    Who looked on her, and loved but her.
+
+      And one, that one, was wild as seas
+    That wash the far dark Oregon,
+    And ever leaning, urging on,
+    And standing up in restless ease,
+    He seem'd as lithe and free and tall
+    And restless as the boughs that stir
+    Perpetual topt poplar trees.
+    And one, that one, had eyes to teach
+    The art of love, and tongue to preach
+    Life's hard and sober homilies;
+    And yet his eager hands, his speech,
+    All spoke the bold adventurer;
+    While zoned about the belt of each
+    There swung a girt of steel, till all
+    Did seem a walking arsenal.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+
+      Pursuer and pursued. And who
+    Are these that make the sable crew;
+    These mighty Titans, black and nude,
+    And hairy-breasted, bronzed and broad
+    Of chest as any demi-god,
+    That dare this peopled solitude?
+
+      And who is he that leads them here,
+    And breaks the hush of wave and wood?
+    Comes he for evil or for good?
+    Brave Jesuit or bold buccaneer?
+
+      Nay, these be idle themes. Let pass.
+    These be but men. We may forget
+    The wild sea-king, the tawny brave,
+    The frowning wold, the woody shore,
+    The tall-built, sunburnt men of Mars....
+    But what and who was she, the fair?
+    The fairest face that ever yet
+    Look'd in a wave as in a glass;
+    That look'd as look the still, far stars,
+    So woman-like, into the wave
+    To contemplate their beauty there,
+    Yet look as looking anywhere?
+
+      And who of all the world was she?
+    A bride, or not a bride? A thing
+    To love? A prison'd bird to sing?
+    You shall not know. That shall not be
+    Brought from the future's great profound
+    This side the happy hunting-ground.
+
+      I only saw her, heard the sound
+    Of murky waters gurgling round
+    In counter-currents from the shore,
+    But heard the long, strong stroke of oar
+    Against the waters gray and vast.
+    I only saw her as she pass'd--
+    A great, sad beauty, in whose eyes
+    Lay all the loves of Paradise....
+
+      You shall not know her--she who sat
+    Unconscious in my heart all time
+    I dreamed and wove this wayward rhyme,
+    And loved and did not blush thereat.
+
+      The sunlight of a sunlit land,
+    A land of fruit, of flowers, and
+    A land of love and calm delight;
+    A land where night is not like night,
+    And noon is but a name for rest,
+    And love for love is reckoned best.
+
+      Where conversations of the eyes
+    Are all enough; where beauty thrills
+    The heart like hues of harvest-home;
+    Where rage lies down, where passion dies,
+    Where peace hath her abiding place....
+    A face that lifted up; sweet face
+    That was so like a life begun,
+    That rose for me a rising sun
+    Above the bended seven hills
+    Of dead and risen old new Rome.
+
+      Not that I deem'd she loved me. Nay,
+    I dared not even dream of that.
+    I only say I knew her; say
+    She ever sat before me, sat
+    All still and voiceless as love is,
+    And ever look'd so fair, divine,
+    Her hush'd, vehement soul fill'd mine,
+    And overflowed with Runic bliss,
+    And made itself a part of this.
+
+      O you had loved her sitting there,
+    Half hidden in her loosen'd hair:
+    Why, you had loved her for her eyes,
+    Their large and melancholy look
+    Of tenderness, and well mistook
+    Their love for light of Paradise.
+
+      Yea, loved her for her large dark eyes;
+    Yea, loved her for her brow's soft brown;
+    Her hand as light as heaven's bars;
+    Yea, loved her for her mouth. Her mouth
+    Was roses gather'd from the south,
+    The warm south side of Paradise,
+    And breathed upon and handed down,
+    By angels on a stair of stars.
+
+      Her mouth! 'twas Egypt's mouth of old,
+    Push'd out and pouting full and bold
+    With simple beauty where she sat.
+    Why, you had said, on seeing her,
+    This creature comes from out the dim
+    Far centuries, beyond the rim
+    Of time's remotest reach or stir.
+    And he who wrought Semiramis
+    And shaped the Sibyls, seeing this,
+    Had bow'd and made a shrine thereat,
+    And all his life had worshipp'd her,
+    Devout as north-Nile worshipper.
+
+      I dared not dream she loved me. Nay,
+    Her love was proud; and pride is loth
+    To look with favor, own it fond
+    Of one the world loves not to-day....
+    No matter if she loved or no,
+    God knows I loved enough for both,
+    And knew her as you shall not know
+    Till you have known sweet death, and you
+    Have cross'd the dark; gone over to
+    The great majority beyond.
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+
+      The black men bow'd, the long oars bent,
+    They struck as if for sweet life's sake,
+    And one look'd back, but no man spake,
+    And all wills bent to one intent.
+
+      On through the golden fringe of day
+    Into the deep, dark night, away
+    And up the wave 'mid walls of wood
+    They cleft, they climb'd, they bowed, they bent,
+    But one stood tall, and restless stood,
+    And one sat still all night, all day,
+    And gazed in helpless wonderment.
+
+      Her hair pour'd down like darkling wine,
+    The black men lean'd, a sullen line,
+    The bent oars kept a steady song,
+    And all the beams of bright sunshine
+    That touch'd the waters wild and strong,
+    Fell drifting down and out of sight
+    Like fallen leaves, and it was night.
+
+      And night and day, and many days
+    They climb'd the sudden, dark gray tide,
+    And she sat silent at his side,
+    And he sat turning many ways:
+
+      Sat watching for his wily foe;
+    At last he baffled him. And yet
+    His brow gloom'd dark, his lips were set;
+    He lean'd, he peer'd through boughs, as though
+    From heart of forests deep and dim
+    Grim shapes could come confronting him.
+
+      A grand, uncommon man was he,
+    Broad-shoulder'd, and of Gothic form,
+    Strong-built, and hoary like a sea;
+    A high sea broken up by storm.
+
+      His face was brown and overwrought
+    By seams and shadows born of thought,
+    Not over gentle. And his eyes,
+    Bold, restless, resolute, and deep,
+    Too deep to flow like shallow fount
+    Of common men where waters mount
+    And men bend down their heads and weep--
+    Fierce, lumin'd eyes, where flames might rise
+    Instead of flood, and flash and sweep--
+    Strange eyes, that look'd unsatisfied
+    With all things fair or otherwise;
+    As if his inmost soul had cried
+    All time for something yet unseen,
+    Some long-desired thing denied.
+
+      A man whose soul was mightier far
+    Than his great self, and surged and fell
+    About himself as heaving seas
+    Lift up and lash, and boom, and swell
+    Above some solitary bar
+    That bursts through blown Samoa's sea,
+    And wreck and toss eternally.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+
+      Below the overhanging boughs
+    The oars laid idle at the last.
+    Yet long he look'd for hostile prows
+    From out the wood and down the stream.
+    They came not, and he came to dream
+    Pursuit abandon'd, danger past.
+
+      He fell'd the oak, he built a home
+    Of new-hewn wood with busy hand,
+    And said, "My wanderings are told."
+    And said, "No more by sea, by land,
+    Shall I break rest, or drift, or roam,
+    For I am worn, and I grow old."
+
+      And there, beside that surging tide,
+    Where gray waves meet, and wheel, and strike,
+    The man sat down as satisfied
+    To sit and rest unto the end;
+    As if the strong man here had found
+    A sort of brother in this sea,--
+    This surging, sounding majesty
+    Of troubled water, so profound,
+    So sullen, strong, and lion-like,
+    So sinuous and foamy bound.
+
+      Hast seen Missouri cleave the wood
+    In sounding whirlpools to the sea?
+    What soul hath known such majesty?
+    What man stood by and understood?
+
+      By pleasant Omaha I stood,
+    Beneath a fringe of mailéd wood,
+    And watch'd the mighty waters heave,
+    And surge, and strike, and wind, and weave
+    And make strange sounds and mutterings,
+    As if of dark unutter'd things.
+
+      By pleasant high-built Omaha
+    I stand. The waves beneath me run
+    All stain'd and yellow, dark and dun,
+    And deep as death's sweet mystery,--
+    A thousand Tibers roll'd in one.
+    I count on other years. I draw
+    The curtain from the scenes to be.
+    I see another Rome. I see
+    A Cæsar tower in the land,
+    And take her in his iron hand.
+    I see a throne, a king, a crown,
+    A high-built capital thrown down.
+
+      I see my river rise ...
+                             Away!
+    The world's cold commerce of to-day
+    Demands some idle flippant theme;
+    And I, your minstrel, must sit by,
+    And harp along the edge of morn,
+    And sing and celebrate to please
+    The multitude, the mob, and these
+    They know not pearls from yellow corn.
+    Yea, idly sing or silent dreàm;
+    My harp, my hand is yours, but I--
+    My soul moves down that sounding stream.
+
+      Adieu, dun, mighty stream, adieu!
+    Adown thine wooded walls, inwrought
+    With rose of Cherokee and vine,
+    Was never heard a minstrel's note,
+    And none would heed a song of mine.
+    I find expression for my thought
+    In other themes.... List! I have seen
+    A grizzly sporting on the green
+    Of west sierras with a goat,
+    And finding pastime all day through....
+
+      O sounding, swift Missouri, born
+    Of Rocky Mountains, and begot
+    On bed of snow at birth of morn,
+    Of thunder-storms and elements
+    That reign where puny man comes not,
+    With fountain-head in fields of gold,
+    And wide arms twining wood and wold,
+    And everlasting snowy tents,--
+    I hail you from the Orients.
+
+      Shall I return to you once more?
+    Shall take occasion by the throat
+    And thrill with wild Æolian note?
+    Shall sit and sing by your deep shore?
+    Shall shape a reed and pipe of yore
+    And wake old melodies made new,
+    And thrill thine leaf-land through and through?
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+
+      Then long the long oars idle lay.
+    The cabin's smoke came forth and curl'd
+    Right lazily from river brake,
+    And Time went by the other way.
+    And who was she, the strong man's pride?
+    This one fair woman of the world.
+    A captive? Bride, or not a bride?
+    Her eyes, men say, grew sad and dim
+    With watching from the river's rim,
+    As waiting for some face denied.
+    And yet she never wept or spake,
+    Or breath'd his name for her love's sake.
+
+      Yea, who was she?--none ever knew.
+    The great strong river swept around,
+    The cabins nestled in its bend,
+    But kept its secrets. Wild birds flew
+    In bevies by. The black men found
+    Diversion in the chase: and wide
+    Old Morgan ranged the wood, nor friend,
+    Nor foeman ever at his side
+    Or shared his forests deep and dim,
+    Or cross'd his path or question'd him.
+
+      He stood as one who found and named
+    The middle world. What visions flamed
+    Athwart the west! What prophecies
+    Were his, the gray old man, that day
+    Who stood alone and look'd away,--
+    Awest from out the waving trees,
+    Against the utter sundown seas.
+
+      Alone oft-time beside the stream
+    He stood and gazed as in a dream,
+    As if he knew a life unknown
+    To those who knew him thus alone.
+
+      His eyes were gray and overborne
+    By shaggy brows, his strength was shorn,
+    Yet still he ever gazed awest,
+    As one who would not, could not rest.
+
+      And whence came he? and when, and why?
+    Men question'd men, but nought was known
+    Save that he roam'd the woods alone,
+    And lived alone beneath the stir
+    Of leaves, and letting life go by,
+    Did look on her and only her.
+
+      And had he fled with bloody hand?
+    Or had he loved some Helen fair,
+    And battling lost both land and town?
+    Say, did he see his walls go down,
+    Then choose from all his treasures there
+    This love, and seek some other land?
+
+      And yet the current of his life
+    Mostlike had flow'd like oil; had been
+    A monk's, for aught that all men knew.
+    Mostlike the sad man's only sin,
+    A cruel one, for thought is strife,
+    Had been the curse of thought all through.
+
+      Mayhap his splendid soul had spurn'd
+    Insipid, sweet society,
+    That stinks in nostrils of all men
+    High-born and fearless-souled and free;--
+    That tasting to satiety
+    Her hollow sweets he proudly turn'd,
+    And did rebel and curse her then;
+    And then did stoop and from the sod
+    Pluck this one flower for his breast,
+    Then turn to solitude for rest,
+    And turn from man in search of God.
+
+      And as to that, I reckon it
+    But right, but Christian-like and just,
+    And closer after Christ's own plan,
+    To take men as you find your man,
+    To take a soul from God on trust,
+    A fit man, or yourself unfit:
+
+      To take man free from the control
+    Of man's opinion: take a soul
+    In its own troubled world, all fair
+    As you behold it then and there,
+    Set naked in your sight, alone,
+    Unnamed, unheralded, unknown:
+
+      Yea, take him bravely from the hand
+    That reach'd him forth from nothingness,
+    That took his tired soul to keep
+    All night, then reach'd him out from sleep
+    And sat him equal in the land;
+    Sent out from where the angels are,
+    A soul new-born, without one whit
+    Of bought or borrow'd character.
+
+      Ah, bless us! if we only could
+    As ready spin and willing weave
+    Sweet tales of charity and good;
+    Could we as willing clip the wings
+    Of cruel tales as pleasant things,
+    How sweet 'twould then be to believe,
+    How good 'twould then be to be good.
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+
+      The squirrels chatter'd in the leaves,
+    The turkeys call'd from pawpaw wood,
+    The deer with lifted nostrils stood,
+    And humming-birds did wind and weave,
+    Swim round about, dart in and out,
+    Through fragrant forest edge made red,
+    Made many-colour'd overhead
+    By climbing blossoms sweet with bee
+    And yellow rose of Cherokee.
+
+      Then frosts came by and touch'd the leaves,
+    Then time hung ices on the eaves,
+    Then cushion snows possess'd the ground,
+    And so the seasons kept their round;
+    Yet still old Morgan went and came
+    From cabin door to forest dim,
+    Through wold of snows, through wood of flame,
+    Through golden Indian-summer days,
+    Hung round in soft September haze,
+    And no man cross'd or question'd him.
+
+      Nay, there was that in his stern air
+    That held e'en these rude men aloof:
+    None came to share the broad-built roof
+    That rose so fortress-like beside
+    The angry, rushing, sullen tide,
+    And only black men gather'd there,
+    The old man's slaves, in dull content,
+    Black, silent, and obedient.
+
+      Then men push'd westward through his wood,
+    His wild beasts fled, and now he stood
+    Confronting men. He had endear'd
+    No man, but still he went and came
+    Apart, and shook his beard and strode
+    His ways alone, and bore his load,
+    If load it were, apart, alone.
+    Then men grew busy with a name
+    That no man loved, that many fear'd,
+    And cowards stoop'd, and cast a stone,
+    As at some statue overthrown.
+
+      Some said a pirate blown by night
+    From isles of calm Caribbean land,
+    Who left his comrades; that he fled
+    With many prices on his head,
+    And that he bore in his hot flight
+    The gather'd treasure of his band,
+    In bloody and unholy hand.
+
+      Then some did say a privateer,
+    Then others, that he fled from fear,
+    And climb'd the mad Missouri far,
+    To where the friendly forests are;
+    And that his illy-gotten gold
+    Lay sunken in his black boat's hold.
+    Then others, watching his fair bride,
+    Said, "There is something more beside."
+
+      Some said, a stolen bride was she,
+    And that his strong arm in the strife
+    Was red with her own brother's life,
+    And that her lover from the sea
+    Lay waiting for his chosen wife,
+    And that a day of reckoning
+    Lay waiting for this grizzled king.
+
+      O sweet child-face, that ever gazed
+    From out the wood and down the wave!
+    O eyes, that never once were raised!
+    O mouth, that never murmur gave!
+
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+
+      O dark-eyed Ina! All the years
+    Brought her but solitude and tears.
+    Lo! ever looking out she stood
+    Adown the wave, adown the wood,
+    Adown the strong stream to the south,
+    Sad-faced, and sorrowful. Her mouth
+    Push'd out so pitiful. Her eyes
+    Fill'd full of sorrow and surprise.
+
+      Men say that looking from her place
+    A love would sometimes light her face,
+    As if sweet recollections stirr'd
+    Her heart and broke its loneliness,
+    Like far sweet songs that come to us,
+    So soft, so sweet, they are not heard,
+    So far, so faint, they fill the air,
+    A fragrance filling anywhere.
+
+      And wasting all her summer years
+    That utter'd only through her tears,
+    The seasons went, and still she stood
+    For ever watching down the wood.
+
+      Yet in her heart there held a strife
+    With all this wasting of sweet life
+    That none who have not lived and died,
+    Held up the two hands crucified
+    Between the ways on either hand,
+    Can look upon or understand.
+
+      The blackest rain-clouds muffle fire:
+    Between a duty and desire
+    There lies no middle way or land:
+    Take thou the right or the left hand,
+    And so pursue, nor hesitate
+    To boldly give your hand to fate.
+
+      In helpless indecisions lie
+    The rocks on which we strike and die.
+    'Twere better far to choose the worst
+    Of all life's ways than to be cursed
+    With indecision. Turn and choose
+    Your way, then all the world refuse.
+
+      And men who saw her still do say
+    That never once her lips were heard,
+    By gloaming dusk or shining day,
+    To utter or pronounce one word.
+    Men went and came, and still she stood
+    In silence watching down the wood.
+
+      Yea, still she stood and look'd away,
+    By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day,
+    Adown the wood beyond the land,
+    Her hollow face upon her hand,
+    Her black, abundant hair all down
+    About her loose, ungather'd gown.
+
+      And what her thought? her life unsaid?
+    Was it of love? of hate? of him,
+    The tall, dark Southerner?
+                              Her head
+    Bow'd down. The day fell dim
+    Upon her eyes. She bow'd, she slept.
+    She waken'd then, and waking wept.
+
+      She dream'd, perchance, of island home,
+    A land of palms ring'd round with foam,
+    Where summer on her shelly shore
+    Sits down and rests for evermore.
+
+      And one who watch'd her wasted youth
+    Did guess, mayhap with much of truth,
+    Her heart was with that band that came
+    Against her isle with sword and flame:
+    And this the tale he told of her
+    And her fierce, silent follower:
+
+      A Spaniard and adventurer,
+    A man who saw her, loved, and fell
+    Upon his knees and worshipp'd her;
+    And with that fervor and mad zeal
+    That only sunborn bosoms feel,
+    Did vow to love, to follow her
+    Unto the altar ... or to hell:
+
+      That then her gray-hair'd father bore
+    The beauteous maiden hurriedly
+    From out her fair isle of the sea
+    To sombre wold and woody shore
+    And far away, and kept her well,
+    As from a habitant of hell,
+    And vow'd she should not meet him more:
+    That fearing still the buccaneer,
+    He silent kept his forests here.
+    The while men came, and still she stood
+    For ever watching from the wood.
+
+
+
+
+X.
+
+
+      The black-eyed bushy squirrels ran
+    Like shadows shatter'd through the boughs;
+    The gallant robin chirp'd his vows,
+    The far-off pheasant thrumm'd his fan,
+    A thousand blackbirds were a-wing
+    In walnut-top, and it was spring.
+
+      Old Morgan left his cabin door,
+    And one sat watching as of yore;
+    But why turned Morgan's face as white
+    As his white beard?
+                           A bird aflight,
+    A squirrel peering through the trees,
+    Saw some one silent steal away
+    Like darkness from the face of day,
+    Saw two black eyes look back, and these
+    Saw her hand beckon through the trees.
+
+      He knew him, though he had not seen
+    That form or face for a decade,
+    Though time had shorn his locks, had made
+    His form another's, flow'd between
+    Their lives like some uncompass'd sea,
+    Yet still he knew him as before.
+    He pursed his lips, and silently
+    He turn'd and sought his cabin's door.
+
+      Ay! they have come, the sun-brown'd men,
+    To beard old Morgan in his den.
+    It matters little who they are,
+    These silent men from isles afar,
+    And truly no one cares or knows
+    What be their merit or demand;
+    It is enough for this rude land--
+    At least, it is enough for those,
+    The loud of tongue and rude of hand--
+    To know that they are Morgan's foes.
+
+      Proud Morgan! More than tongue can tell
+    He loved that woman watching there,
+    That stood in her dark stream of hair,
+    That stood and dream'd as in a spell,
+    And look'd so fix'd and far away.
+    And who, that loveth woman well,
+    Is wholly bad? be who he may.
+
+      Ay! we have seen these Southern men,
+    These sun-brown'd men from island shore,
+    In this same land, and long before.
+    They do not seem so lithe as then,
+    They do not look so tall, and they
+    Seem not so many as of old.
+    But that same resolute and bold
+    Expression of unbridled will,
+    That even Time must half obey,
+    Is with them and is of them still.
+
+    They do not counsel the decree
+    Of court or council, where they drew
+    Their breath, nor law nor order knew,
+    Save but the strong hand of the strong;
+    Where each stood up, avenged his wrong,
+    Or sought his death all silently.
+
+      They watch along the wave and wood,
+    They heed, but haste not. Their estate,
+    Whate'er it be, can bide and wait,
+    Be it open ill or hidden good.
+
+      No law for them! For they have stood
+    With steel, and writ their rights in blood;
+    And now, whatever 'tis they seek,
+    Whatever be their dark demand,
+    Why, they will make it, hand to hand,
+    Take time and patience: Greek to Greek.
+
+
+
+
+XI.
+
+
+      Like blown and snowy wintry pine,
+    Old Morgan stoop'd his head and pass'd
+    Within his cabin door. He cast
+    A great arm out to men, made sign,
+    Then turned to Ina; stood beside
+    A time, then turn'd and strode the floor,
+    Stopp'd short, breathed sharp, threw wide the door,
+    Then gazed beyond the murky tide,
+    Toward where the forky peaks divide.
+
+      He took his beard in his hard hand,
+    Then slowly shook his grizzled head
+    And trembled, but no word he said.
+    His thought was something more than pain;
+    Upon the seas, upon the land
+    He knew he should not rest again.
+
+      He turn'd to her; but then once more
+    Quick turn'd, and through the oaken door
+    He sudden pointed to the west.
+    His eye resumed its old command,
+    The conversation of his hand,
+    It was enough: she knew the rest.
+
+      He turn'd, he stoop'd, and smoothed her hair,
+    As if to smooth away the care
+    From his great heart, with his left hand.
+    His right hand hitch'd the pistol round
+    That dangled at his belt ...
+                                  The sound
+    Of steel to him was melody
+    More sweet than any song of sea.
+
+      He touch'd his pistol, press'd his lips,
+    Then tapp'd it with his finger-tips,
+    And toy'd with it as harper's hand
+    Seeks out the chords when he is sad
+    And purposeless.
+                     At last he had
+    Resolved. In haste he touch'd her hair,
+    Made sign she should arise--prepare
+    For some long journey, then again
+    He look'd awest toward the plain:
+
+      Toward the land of dreams and space,
+    The land of Silences, the land
+    Of shoreless deserts sown with sand,
+    Where desolation's dwelling is:
+    The land where, wondering, you say,
+    What dried-up shoreless sea is this?
+    Where, wandering, from day to day
+    You say, To-morrow sure we come
+    To rest in some cool resting-place,
+    And yet you journey on through space
+    While seasons pass, and are struck dumb
+    With marvel at the distances.
+
+      Yea, he would go. Go utterly
+    Away, and from all living kind,
+    Pierce through the distances, and find
+    New lands. He had outlived his race.
+    He stood like some eternal tree
+    That tops remote Yosemite,
+    And cannot fall. He turn'd his face
+    Again and contemplated space.
+
+      And then he raised his hand to vex
+    His beard, stood still, and there fell down
+    Great drops from some unfrequent spring,
+    And streak'd his channell'd cheeks sun-brown,
+    And ran uncheck'd, as one who recks
+    Nor joy, nor tears, nor any thing.
+
+      And then, his broad breast heaving deep,
+    Like some dark sea in troubled sleep,
+    Blown round with groaning ships and wrecks,
+    He sudden roused himself, and stood
+    With all the strength of his stern mood,
+    Then call'd his men, and bade them go
+    And bring black steeds with banner'd necks,
+    And strong like burly buffalo.
+
+
+
+
+XII.
+
+
+      The sassafras took leaf, and men
+    Push'd west in hosts. The black men drew
+    Their black-maned horses silent through
+    The solemn woods.
+                         One midnight when
+    The curl'd moon tipp'd her horn, and threw
+    A black oak's shadow slant across
+    A low mound hid in leaves and moss,
+    Old Morgan cautious came and drew
+    From out the ground, as from a grave,
+    A great box, iron-bound and old,
+    And fill'd, men say, with pirates' gold,
+    And then they, silent as a dream,
+    In long black shadows cross'd the stream.
+
+      Lo! here the smoke of cabins curl'd,
+    The borders of the middle world;
+    And mighty, hairy, half-wild men
+    Sat down in silence, held at bay
+    By mailèd forests. Far away
+    The red men's boundless borders lay,
+    And lodges stood in legions then,
+    Strip'd pyramids of painted men.
+
+      What strong uncommon men were these,
+    These settlers hewing to the seas!
+    Great horny-handed men and tan;
+    Men blown from any border land;
+    Men desperate and red of hand,
+    And men in love and men in debt,
+    And men who lived but to forget,
+    And men whose very hearts had died,
+    Who only sought these woods to hide
+    Their wretchedness, held in the van;
+    Yet every man among them stood
+    Alone, along that sounding wood,
+    And every man somehow a man.
+
+      A race of unnamed giants these,
+    That moved like gods among the trees,
+    So stern, so stubborn-brow'd and slow,
+    With strength of black-maned buffalo,
+    And each man notable and tall,
+    A kingly and unconscious Saul,
+    A sort of sullen Hercules.
+
+      A star stood large and white awest,
+    Then Time uprose and testified;
+    They push'd the mailèd wood aside,
+    They toss'd the forest like a toy,
+    That great forgotten race of men,
+    The boldest band that yet has been
+    Together since the siege of Troy,
+    And followed it ... and found their rest.
+
+      What strength! what strife! what rude unrest!
+    What shocks! what half-shaped armies met!
+    A mighty nation moving west,
+    With all its steely sinews set
+    Against the living forests. Hear
+    The shouts, the shots of pioneer!
+    The rended forests, rolling wheels,
+    As if some half-check'd army reels,
+    Recoils, redoubles, comes again,
+    Loud sounding like a hurricane.
+
+      O bearded, stalwart, westmost men,
+    So tower-like, so Gothic-built!
+    A kingdom won without the guilt
+    Of studied battle; that hath been
+    Your blood's inheritance....
+                              Your heirs
+    Know not your tombs. The great ploughshares
+    Cleave softly through the mellow loam
+    Where you have made eternal home
+    And set no sign.
+                    Your epitaphs
+    Are writ in furrows. Beauty laughs
+    While through the green ways wandering
+    Beside her love, slow gathering
+    White starry-hearted May-time blooms
+    Above your lowly levell'd tombs;
+    And then below the spotted sky
+    She stops, she leans, she wonders why
+    The ground is heaved and broken so,
+    And why the grasses darker grow
+    And droop and trail like wounded wing.
+
+      Yea, Time, the grand old harvester,
+    Has gather'd you from wood and plain.
+    We call to you again, again;
+    The rush and rumble of the car
+    Comes back in answer. Deep and wide
+    The wheels of progress have pass'd on;
+    The silent pioneer is gone.
+    His ghost is moving down the trees,
+    And now we push the memories
+    Of bluff, bold men who dared and died
+    In foremost battle, quite aside.
+
+      O perfect Eden of the earth,
+    In poppies sown, in harvest set!
+    O sires, mothers of my West!
+    How shall we count your proud bequest?
+    But yesterday ye gave us birth;
+    We eat your hard-earn'd bread to-day,
+    Nor toil nor spin nor make regret,
+    But praise our petty selves and say
+    How great we are, and all forget
+    The still endurance of the rude
+    Unpolish'd sons of solitude.
+
+
+
+
+XIII.
+
+
+      And one was glad at morn, but one,
+    The tall old sea-king, grim and gray,
+    Look'd back to where his cabins lay
+    And seem'd to hesitate.
+                              He rose
+    At last, as from his dream's repose,
+    From rest that counterfeited rest,
+    And set his blown beard to the west,
+    And drove against the setting sun,
+    Along the levels vast and dun.
+
+      His steeds were steady, strong, and fleet,
+    The best in all the wide west land,
+    Their manes were in the air, their feet
+    Seem'd scarce to touch the flying sand;
+    The reins were in the reaching hand.
+
+      They rode like men gone mad, they fled,
+    All day and many days they ran,
+    And in the rear a gray old man
+    Kept watch, and ever turn'd his head,
+    Half eager and half angry, back
+    Along their dusty desert track.
+
+      And one look'd back, but no man spoke,
+    They rode, they swallow'd up the plain;
+    The sun sank low, he look'd again,
+    With lifted hand and shaded eyes.
+    Then far arear he saw uprise,
+    As if from giant's stride or stroke,
+    Dun dust-like puffs of battle-smoke.
+
+      He turn'd, his left hand clutch'd the rein,
+    He struck awest his high right hand,
+    His arms were like the limbs of oak,
+    They knew too well the man's command,
+    They mounted, plunged ahead again,
+    And one look'd back, but no man spoke,
+    Of all that sullen iron band,
+    That reached along that barren land.
+
+      O weary days of weary blue,
+    Without one changing breath, without
+    One single cloud-ship sailing through
+    The blue seas bending round about
+    In one unbroken blotless hue.
+    Yet on they fled, and one look'd back
+    For ever down their distant track.
+
+      The tent is pitch'd, the blanket spread,
+    The earth receives the weary head,
+    The night rolls west, the east is gray,
+    The tent is struck, they mount, away;
+    They ride for life the livelong day,
+    They sweep the long grass in their track,
+    And one leads on, and one looks back.
+
+      What scenes they pass'd, what camps at morn,
+    What weary columns kept the road;
+    What herds of troubled cattle low'd,
+    And trumpeted like lifted horn;
+    And everywhere, or road or rest,
+    All things were pointing to the west;
+    A weary, long, and lonesome track,
+    And all led on, but one look'd back.
+
+      They climb'd the rock-built breasts of earth,
+    The Titan-fronted, blowy steeps
+    That cradled Time.... Where Freedom keeps
+    Her flag of white blown stars unfurl'd,
+    They turn'd about, they saw the birth
+    Of sudden dawn upon the world;
+    Again they gazed; they saw the face
+    Of God, and named it boundless space.
+
+      And they descended and did roam
+    Through levell'd distances set round
+    By room. They saw the Silences
+    Move by and beckon: saw the forms,
+    The very beards, of burly storms,
+    And heard them talk like sounding seas.
+    On unnamed heights bleak-blown and brown,
+    And torn like battlements of Mars,
+    They saw the darknesses come down,
+    Like curtains loosen'd from the dome
+    Of God's cathedral, built of stars.
+
+      They pitch'd the tent, where rivers run
+    As if to drown the falling sun.
+    They saw the snowy mountains roll'd,
+    And heaved along the nameless lands
+    Like mighty billows; saw the gold
+    Of awful sunsets; saw the blush
+    Of sudden dawn, and felt the hush
+    Of heaven when the day sat down,
+    And hid his face in dusky hands.
+
+      The long and lonesome nights! the tent
+    That nestled soft in sweep of grass,
+    The hills against the firmament
+    Where scarce the moving moon could pass;
+    The cautious camp, the smother'd light,
+    The silent sentinel at night!
+
+      The wild beasts howling from the hill;
+    The troubled cattle bellowing;
+    The savage prowling by the spring,
+    Then sudden passing swift and still,
+    And bended as a bow is bent.
+    The arrow sent; the arrow spent
+    And buried in its bloody place,
+    The dead man lying on his face!
+
+      The clouds of dust, their cloud by day;
+    Their pillar of unfailing fire
+    The far North star. And high, and higher....
+    They climb'd so high it seem'd eftsoon
+    That they must face the falling moon,
+    That like some flame-lit ruin lay
+    Thrown down before their weary way.
+
+      They learn'd to read the sign of storms,
+    The moon's wide circles, sunset bars,
+    And storm-provoking blood and flame;
+    And, like the Chaldean shepherds, came
+    At night to name the moving stars.
+    In heaven's face they pictured forms
+    Of beasts, of fishes of the sea.
+    They mark'd the Great Bear wearily
+    Rise up and drag his clinking chain
+    Of stars around the starry main.
+
+      What lines of yoked and patient steers!
+    What weary thousands pushing west!
+    What restless pilgrims seeking rest,
+    As if from out the edge of years!
+
+      What great yoked brutes with briskets low,
+    With wrinkled necks like buffalo,
+    With round, brown, liquid, pleading eyes,
+    That turn'd so slow and sad to you,
+    That shone like love's eyes soft with tears,
+    That seem'd to plead, and make replies
+    The while they bow'd their necks and drew
+    The creaking load; and look'd at you.
+    Their sable briskets swept the ground,
+    Their cloven feet kept solemn sound.
+
+      Two sullen bullocks led the line,
+    Their great eyes shining bright like wine;
+    Two sullen captive kings were they,
+    That had in time held herds at bay,
+    And even now they crush'd the sod
+    With stolid sense of majesty,
+    And stately stepp'd and stately trod,
+    As if 'twas something still to be
+    Kings even in captivity.
+
+
+
+
+XIV.
+
+
+      And why did these same sunburnt men
+    Let Morgan gain the plain, and then
+    Pursue him to the utter sea?
+    You ask me here impatiently.
+    And I as pertly must reply,
+    My task is but to tell a tale,
+    To give a wide sail to the gale,
+    To paint the boundless plain, the sky;
+    To rhyme, nor give a reason why.
+
+      Mostlike they sought his gold alone,
+    And fear'd to make their quarrel known
+    Lest it should keep its secret bed;
+    Mostlike they thought to best prevail
+    And conquer with united hands
+    Alone upon the lonesome sands;
+    Mostlike they had as much to dread;
+    Mostlike--but I must tell my tale.
+
+      And Morgan, ever looking back,
+    Push'd on, push'd up his mountain track,
+    Past camp, past train, past caravan,
+    Past flying beast, past failing man,
+    Past brave men battling with a foe
+    That circled them with lance and bow
+    And feather'd arrows all a-wing;
+    Till months unmeasured came and ran
+    The calendar with him, as though
+    Old Time had lost all reckoning;
+    Then passed for aye the creaking trains,
+    And pioneers that named the plains.
+
+      Those brave old bricks of Forty-nine!
+    What lives they lived! what deaths they died!
+    A thousand cañons, darkling wide
+    Below Sierra's slopes of pine,
+    Receive them now.
+                         And they who died
+    Along the far, dim, desert route.
+    Their ghosts are many.
+                             Let them keep
+    Their vast possessions.
+                             The Piute,
+    The tawny warrior, will dispute
+    No boundary with these. And I,
+    Who saw them live, who felt them die,
+    Say, let their unploughed ashes sleep,
+    Untouched by man, by plain or steep.
+
+      The bearded, sunbrown'd men who bore
+    The burthen of that frightful year,
+    Who toil'd, but did not gather store,
+    They shall not be forgotten.
+                                 Drear
+    And white, the plains of Shoshonee
+    Shall point us to that farther shore,
+    And long white shining lines of bones,
+    Make needless sign or white mile-stones.
+
+      The wild man's yell, the groaning wheel;
+    The train that moved like drifting barge;
+    The dust that rose up like a cloud,
+    Like smoke of distant battle! Loud
+    The great whips rang like shot, and steel
+    Of antique fashion, crude and large,
+    Flash'd back as in some battle charge.
+
+      They sought, yea, they did find their rest
+    Along that long and lonesome way,
+    These brave men buffeting the West
+    With lifted faces.
+                     Full were they
+    Of great endeavor. Brave and true
+    As stern Crusader clad in steel,
+    They died a-field as it was fit.
+    Made strong with hope, they dared to do
+    Achievement that a host to-day
+    Would stagger at, stand back and reel,
+    Defeated at the thought of it.
+
+      What brave endeavor to endure!
+    What patient hope, when hope was past!
+    What still surrender at the last,
+    A thousand leagues from hope! how pure
+    They lived, how proud they died!
+    How generous with life!
+                              The wide
+    And gloried age of chivalry
+    Hath not one page like this to me.
+
+      Let all these golden days go by,
+    In sunny summer weather. I
+    But think upon my buried brave,
+    And breathe beneath another sky.
+    Let beauty glide in gilded car,
+    And find my sundown seas afar,
+    Forgetful that 'tis but one grave
+    From eastmost to the westmost wave.
+
+      Yea, I remember! The still tears
+    That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell!
+    The final, silent, sad farewell!
+    God! these are with me all the years!
+    They shall be with me ever. I
+    Shall not forget. I hold a trust.
+    They are a part of my existence.
+                                       When
+    Adown the shining iron track
+    You sweep, and fields of corn flash back,
+    And herds of lowing steers move by,
+    And men laugh loud, in mute distrust,
+    I turn to other days, to men
+    Who made a pathway with their dust.
+
+
+
+
+XV.
+
+
+      At last he pass'd all men or sign
+    Of man. Yet still his long black line
+    Was push'd and pointed for the west;
+    The sea, the utmost sea, and rest.
+
+      He climbed, descended, climbed again,
+    Until he stood at last as lone,
+    As solitary and unknown,
+    As some lost ship upon the main.
+
+      O there was grandeur in his air,
+    An old-time splendor in his eye,
+    When he had climb'd the bleak, the high,
+    The rock-built bastions of the plain,
+    And thrown a-back his blown white hair,
+    And halting turn'd to look again.
+
+      And long, from out his lofty place,
+    He look'd far down the fading plain
+    For his pursuers, but in vain.
+    Yea, he was glad. Across his face
+    A careless smile was seen to play,
+    The first for many a stormy day.
+
+      He turn'd to Ina, dark and fair
+    As some sad twilight; touch'd her hair,
+    Stoop'd low, and kiss'd her silently,
+    Then silent held her to his breast.
+    Then waved command to his black men,
+    Look'd east, then mounted slow, and then
+    Led leisurely against the west.
+
+      And why should he, who dared to die,
+    Who more than once with hissing breath
+    Had set his teeth and pray'd for death,
+    Have fled these men, or wherefore fly
+    Before them now? why not defy?
+
+      His midnight men were strong and true,
+    And not unused to strife, and knew
+    The masonry of steel right well,
+    And all its signs that lead to hell.
+
+      It might have been his youth had wrought
+    Some wrong his years would now repair
+    That made him fly and still forbear;
+    It might have been he only sought
+    To lead them to some fatal snare
+    And let them die by piece-meal there.
+
+      It might have been that his own blood,
+    A brother, son, pursued with curse.
+    It might have been this woman fair
+    Was this man's child, an only thing
+    To love in all the universe,
+    And that the old man's iron will
+    Kept pirate's child from pirate still.
+    These rovers had a world their own,
+    Had laws, lived lives, went ways unknown.
+
+      I trow it was not shame or fear
+    Of any man or any thing
+    That death in any shape might bring.
+    It might have been some lofty sense
+    Of his own truth and innocence,
+    And virtues lofty and severe--
+    Nay, nay! what need of reasons here?
+
+      They touch'd a fringe of tossing trees
+    That bound a mountain's brow like bay,
+    And through the fragrant boughs a breeze
+    Blew salt-flood freshness.
+                            Far away,
+    From mountain brow to desert base
+    Lay chaos, space, unbounded space,
+    In one vast belt of purple bound.
+    The black men cried, "The sea!" They bow'd
+    Their black heads in their hard black hands.
+    They wept for joy.
+                         They laugh'd, and broke
+    The silence of an age, and spoke
+    Of rest at last; and, group'd in bands,
+    They threw their long black arms about
+    Each other's necks, and laugh'd aloud,
+    Then wept again with laugh and shout.
+
+      Yet Morgan spake no word, but led
+    His band with oft-averted head
+    Right through the cooling trees, till he
+    Stood out upon the lofty brow
+    And mighty mountain wall.
+                               And now
+    The men who shouted, "Lo, the sea!"
+    Rode in the sun; but silently:
+    Stood in the sun, then look'd below.
+    They look'd but once, then look'd away,
+    Then look'd each other in the face.
+    They could not lift their brows, nor say,
+    But held their heads, nor spake, for lo!
+    Nor sea, nor voice of sea, nor breath
+    Of sea, but only sand and death,
+    And one eternity of space
+    Confronted them with fiery face.
+
+      'Twas vastness even as a sea,
+    So still it sang in symphonies;
+    But yet without the sense of seas,
+    Save depth, and space, and distances.
+    'Twas all so shoreless, so profound,
+    It seem'd it were earth's utter bound.
+    'Twas like the dim edge of death is,
+    'Twas hades, hell, eternity!
+
+
+
+
+XVI.
+
+
+      Then Morgan hesitating stood,
+    Look'd down the deep and steep descent
+    With wilder'd brow and wonderment,
+    Then gazed against the cooling wood.
+
+      And she beside him gazed at this,
+    Then turn'd her great, sad eyes to his;
+    He shook his head and look'd away,
+    Then sadly smiled, and still did say,
+    "To-morrow, child, another day."
+
+      O thou to-morrow! Mystery!
+    O day that ever runs before!
+    What has thine hidden hand in store
+    For mine, to-morrow, and for me?
+    O thou to-morrow! what hast thou
+    In store to make me bear the now?
+
+      O day in which we shall forget
+    The tangled troubles of to-day!
+    O day that laughs at duns, at debt!
+    O day of promises to pay!
+    O shelter from all present storm!
+    O day in which we shall reform!
+
+      O day of all days for reform!
+    Convenient day of promises!
+    Hold back the shadow of the storm.
+    O bless'd to-morrow! Chiefest friend,
+    Let not thy mystery be less,
+    But lead us blindfold to the end.
+
+
+
+
+XVII.
+
+
+      Old Morgan eyed his men, look'd back
+    Against the groves of tamarack,
+    Then tapp'd his stirrup-foot, and stray'd
+    His hard left hand along the mane
+    Of his strong steed, and careless play'd
+    His fingers through the silken skein,
+    And seemed a time to touch the rein.
+
+      And then he spurr'd him to her side,
+    And reach'd his hand and, leaning wide,
+    He smiling push'd her falling hair
+    Back from her brow, and kiss'd her there.
+
+      Yea, touch'd her softly, as if she
+    Had been some priceless, tender flower,
+    Yet touch'd her as one taking leave
+    Of his one love in lofty tower
+    Before descending to the sea
+    Of battle on his battle eve.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+
+      A distant shout! quick oaths! alarms!
+    The black men start up suddenly,
+    Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms,
+    And bare bright arms all instantly.
+
+      But he, he slowly turns, and he
+    Looks all his full soul in her face.
+    He does not shout, he does not say,
+    But sits serenely in his place
+    A time, then slowly turns, looks back
+    Between the trim-bough'd tamarack,
+    And up the winding mountain way,
+    To where the long strong grasses lay.
+
+      He raised his glass in his two hands,
+    Then in his left hand let it fall,
+    Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er,
+    Then reach'd his glass, waved cold commands,
+    Then tapp'd his stirrup as before,
+    Stood in the stirrup stern and tall,
+    Then ran his hand along the mane
+    Half nervous-like, and that was all.
+
+      His head half settled on his breast,
+    His face a-beard like bird a-nest,
+    And then he roused himself, he spoke,
+    He reach'd an arm like arm of oak,
+    He struck a-west his great broad hand,
+    And seem'd to hurl his hot command.
+
+      He clutch'd his rein, struck sharp his heel,
+    Look'd at his men, and smiled half sad,
+    Half desperate, then hitch'd his steel,
+    And all his stormy presence had,
+    As if he kept once more his keel
+    On listless seas where breakers reel.
+
+      He toss'd again his iron hand
+    Above the deep, steep desert space,
+    Above the burning seas of sand,
+    And look'd his black men in the face.
+
+      They spake not, nor look'd back again,
+    They struck the heel, they clutch'd the rein,
+    And down the darkling plunging steep
+    They dropped toward the dried-up deep.
+
+      Below! It seem'd a league below,
+    The black men rode, and she rode well,
+    Against the gleaming sheening haze
+    That shone like some vast sea ablaze,
+    That seem'd to gleam, to glint, to glow
+    As if it mark'd the shores of hell.
+
+      Then Morgan stood alone, look'd back
+    From off the fierce wall where he stood,
+    And watch'd his dusk approaching foe.
+    He saw him creep along his track,
+    Saw him descending from the wood,
+    And smiled to see how worn and slow.
+
+      Then when his foemen hounding came
+    In pistol-shot of where he stood,
+    He wound his hand in his steed's mane,
+    And plunging to the desert plain,
+    Threw back his white beard like a cloud,
+    And looking back did shout aloud
+    Defiance like a stormy flood,
+    And shouted, "Vasques!" called his name,
+    And dared him to the desert flame.
+
+
+
+
+XIX.
+
+
+      A cloud of dust adown the steep,
+    Where scarce a whirling hawk would sweep,
+    The cloud his foes had follow'd fast,
+    And Morgan like a cloud had pass'd,
+    Yet passed like some proud king of old;
+    And now mad Vasques could not hold
+    Control of his one wild desire
+    To meet old Morgan, in his ire.
+
+      He cursed aloud, he shook his rein
+    Above the desert darkling deep,
+    And urged his steed toward the steep,
+    But urged his weary steed in vain.
+
+      Old Morgan heard his oath and shout,
+    And Morgan turn'd his head once more,
+    And wheel'd his stout steed short about,
+    Then seem'd to count their numbers o'er.
+
+      And then his right hand touch'd his steel,
+    And then he tapp'd his iron heel
+    And seem'd to fight with thought.
+                                      At last,
+    As if the final die was cast,
+    And cast as carelessly as one
+    Would toss a white coin in the sun,
+    He touch'd his rein once more, and then
+    His pistol laid with idle heed
+    Prone down the toss'd mane of his steed,
+    And he rode down the rugged way
+    Tow'rd where the wide, white desert lay,
+    By broken gorge and cavern'd den,
+    And join'd his band of midnight men.
+
+      Some say the gray old man had crazed
+    From mountain fruits that he had pluck'd
+    While winding through the wooded ways
+    Above the steep.
+                     But others say
+    That he had turn'd aside and suck'd
+    Sweet poison from the honey dews
+    That lie like manna all the day
+    On dewy leaves so crystal fair
+    And temptingly that none refuse;
+    That thus made mad the man did dare
+    Confront the desert and despair.
+
+      Then other mountain men explain,
+    That when one looks upon this sea
+    Of glowing sand, he looks again,
+    Again, through gossamers that run
+    In scintillations of the sun
+    Along this white eternity,
+    And looks until the brain is dazed,
+    Bewilder'd, and the man is crazed.
+
+      Then one, a grizzled mountaineer,
+    A thin and sinewy old man,
+    With face all wrinkle-wrought, and tan,
+    And presence silent and austere,
+    Does tell a tale, with reaching face
+    And bated breath, of this weird place,
+    Of many a stalwart mountaineer
+    And Piute tall who perish'd here.
+
+      He tells a tale with whisper'd breath
+    Of skin-clad men who track'd this shore,
+    Once populous with sea-set town,
+    And saw a woman wondrous fair,
+    And, wooing, follow'd her far down
+    Through burning sands to certain death;
+    And then he catches short his breath.
+
+      He tells: Nay, this is all too long;
+    Enough. The old man shakes his hair
+    When he is done, and shuts his eyes,
+    So satisfied and so self-wise,
+    As if to say, "'Tis nothing rare,
+    This following the luring fair
+    To death, and bound in thorny thong;
+    'Twas ever thus; the old, old song."
+
+
+
+
+XX.
+
+
+      Go ye and look upon that land,
+    That far vast land that few behold,
+    And none beholding understand,--
+    That old, old land which men call new,
+    That land as old as time is old;--
+    Go journey with the seasons through
+    Its wastes, and learn how limitless,
+    How shoreless lie the distances,
+    Before you come to question this
+    Or dare to dream what grandeur is.
+
+      The solemn silence of that plain,
+    Where unmanned tempests ride and reign,
+    It awes and it possesses you.
+    'Tis, oh! so eloquent.
+                            The blue
+    And bended skies seem built for it,
+    With rounded roof all fashioned fit,
+    And frescoed clouds, quaint-wrought and true;
+    While all else seems so far, so vain,
+    An idle tale but illy told,
+    Before this land so lone and old.
+
+      Its story is of God alone,
+    For man has lived and gone away,
+    And left but little heaps of stone,
+    And all seems some long yesterday.
+
+      Lo! here you learn how more than fit
+    And dignified is silence, when
+    You hear the petty jeers of men
+    Who point, and show their pointless wit.
+
+      The vastness of that voiceless plain,
+    Its awful solitudes remain
+    Thenceforth for aye a part of you,
+    And you are of the favored few,
+    For you have learn'd your littleness,
+    And heed not names that name you less.
+
+      Some silent red men cross your track;
+    Some sun-tann'd trappers come and go;
+    Some rolling seas of buffalo
+    Break thunder-like and far away
+    Against the foot-hills, breaking back
+    Like breakers of some troubled bay;
+    But not a voice the long, lone day.
+
+      Some white-tail'd antelope blow by
+    So airy-like; some foxes shy
+    And shadow-like shoot to and fro
+    Like weavers' shuttles, as you pass;
+    And now and then from out the grass
+    You hear some lone bird cluck, and call
+    A sharp keen call for her lost brood,
+    That only makes the solitude,
+    That mantles like some sombre pall,
+    Seem deeper still, and that is all.
+
+      A wide domain of mysteries
+    And signs that men misunderstand!
+    A land of space and dreams; a land
+    Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas!
+
+      A land of caves and caravans,
+    And lonely wells and pools;
+                                   A land
+    That hath its purposes and plans,
+    That seems so like dead Palestine,
+    Save that its wastes have no confine
+    Till push'd against the levell'd skies;
+    A land from out whose depths shall rise
+    The new-time prophets.
+                          Yea, the land
+    From out whose awful depths shall come,
+    All clad in skins, with dusty feet,
+    A man fresh from his Maker's hand,
+    A singer singing oversweet,
+    A charmer charming very wise;
+    And then all men shall not be dumb.
+
+      Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say,
+    "Take heed, for I prepare the way
+    For weary feet."
+                     Lo! from this land
+    Of Jordan streams and sea-wash'd sand,
+    The Christ shall come when next the race
+    Of man shall look upon his face.
+
+
+
+
+XXI.
+
+
+      Pursuer and pursued! who knows
+    The why he left the breezy pine,
+    The fragrant tamarack and vine,
+    Red rose and precious yellow rose!
+
+      Nay, Vasques held the vantage ground
+    Above him by the wooded steep,
+    And right nor left no passage lay,
+    And there was left him but that way,--
+    The way through blood, or to the deep
+    And lonesome deserts far profound,
+    That know not sight of man, or sound.
+
+      Hot Vasques stood upon the rim,
+    High, bold, and fierce with crag and spire.
+    He saw a far gray eagle swim,
+    He saw a black hawk wheel, retire,
+    And shun that desert wide a-wing,
+    But saw no other living thing.
+
+      High in the full sun's gold and flame
+    He halting and half waiting came
+    And stood below the belt of wood,
+    Then moved along the broken hill
+    And looked below.
+                        And long he stood
+    With lips set firm and brow a-frown,
+    And warring with his iron will.
+    He mark'd the black line winding down
+    As if into the doors of death.
+    And as he gazed a breath arose
+    As from his far-retreating foes,
+    So hot it almost took his breath.
+
+      His black eye flashed an angry fire,
+    He stood upon the mountain brow,
+    With lifted arm like oaken bough;
+    The hot pursuer halting stood
+    Irresolute, in nettled ire;
+    Then look'd against the cooling wood,
+    Then strode he sullen to and fro,
+    Then turned and long he gazed below.
+
+      The sands flash'd back like fields of snow,
+    Like far blown seas that flood and flow.
+    The while the rounded sky rose higher,
+    And cleaving through the upper space,
+    The flush'd sun settled to his place,
+    Like some far hemisphere of fire.
+
+      And yet again he gazed. And now,
+    Far off and faint, he saw or guess'd
+    He saw, beyond the sands a-west,
+    A dim and distant lifting beach
+    That daring men might dare and reach:
+    Dim shapes of toppled peaks with pine,
+    And water'd foot-hills dark like wine,
+    And fruits on many a bended bough.
+
+      The leader turn'd and shook his head.
+    "And shall we turn aside," he said,
+    "Or dare this hell?" The men stood still
+    As leaning on his sterner will.
+
+      And then he stopp'd and turn'd again,
+    And held his broad hand to his brow,
+    And looked intent and eagerly.
+    The far white levels of the plain
+    Flash'd back like billows.
+                               Even now
+    He saw rise up remote, 'mid sea,
+    'Mid space, 'mid wastes, 'mid nothingness,
+    A ship becalm'd as in distress.
+
+      The dim sign pass'd as suddenly,
+    A gossamer of golden tress,
+    Thrown over some still middle sea,
+    And then his eager eyes grew dazed,--
+    He brought his two hands to his face.
+    Again he raised his head, and gazed
+    With flashing eyes and visage fierce
+    Far out, and resolute to pierce
+    The far, far, faint receding reach
+    Of space and touch its farther beach.
+    He saw but space, unbounded space;
+    Eternal space and nothingness.
+
+      Then all wax'd anger'd as they gazed
+    Far out upon the shoreless land,
+    And clench'd their doubled hands and raised
+    Their long bare arms, but utter'd not.
+    At last one started from the band,
+    His bosom heaved as billows heave,
+    Great heaving bosom, broad and brown:
+    He raised his arm, push'd up his sleeve,
+    Push'd bare his arm, strode up and down,
+    With hat pushed back, and flushed and hot,
+    And shot sharp oaths like cannon shot.
+
+      Again the man stood still, again
+    He strode the height like hoary storm,
+    Then shook his fists, and then his form
+    Did writhe as if it writhed with pain.
+
+      And yet again his face was raised,
+    And yet again he gazed and gazed,
+    Above his fading, failing foe,
+    With gather'd brow and visage fierce,
+    As if his soul would part or pierce
+    The awful depths that lay below.
+
+      He had as well look'd on that sea
+    That keeps Samoa's coral isles
+    Amid ten thousand watery miles,
+    Bound round by one eternity;
+    Bound round by realms of nothingness,
+    In love with their own loneliness.
+    He saw but space, unbounded space,
+    And brought his brown hands to his face.
+
+      There roll'd away to left, to right,
+    Unbroken walls as black as night,
+    And back of these there distant rose
+    Steep cones of everlasting snows.
+
+      At last he was resolved, his form
+    Seem'd like a pine blown rampt with storm.
+    He mounted, clutch'd his reins, and then
+    Turn'd sharp and savage to his men;
+    And silent then led down the way
+    To night that knows not night nor day.
+
+
+
+
+XXII.
+
+
+      Like some great serpent black and still,
+    Old Morgan's men stole down the hill.
+    Far down the steep they wound and wound
+    Until the black line touched that land
+    Of gleaming white and silver sand
+    That knows not human sight or sound.
+
+      How broken plunged the steep descent;
+    How barren! Desolate, and rent
+    By earthquake's shock, the land lay dead,
+    With dust and ashes on its head.
+
+      'Twas as some old world overthrown,
+    Where Theseus fought and Sappho dreamed
+    In eons ere they touched this land,
+    And found their proud souls foot and hand
+    Bound to the flesh and stung with pain.
+    An ugly skeleton it seem'd
+    Of its own self. The fiery rain
+    Of red volcanoes here had sown
+    The death of cities of the plain.
+
+      The very devastation gleamed.
+    All burnt and black, and rent and seam'd,
+    Ay, vanquished quite and overthrown,
+    And torn with thunder-stroke, and strown
+    With cinders, lo! the dead earth lay
+    As waiting for the judgment day.
+
+      Why, tamer men had turn'd and said,
+    On seeing this, with start and dread,
+    And whisper'd each with gather'd breath,
+    "We come on the confines of death."
+
+      They wound below a savage bluff
+    That lifted, from its sea-mark'd base,
+    Great walls with characters cut rough
+    And deep by some long-perish'd race;
+    And lo! strange beasts unnamed, unknown,
+    Stood hewn and limn'd upon the stone.
+
+      The iron hoofs sank here and there,
+    Plough'd deep in ashes, broke anew
+    Old broken idols, and laid bare
+    Old bits of vessels that had grown,
+    As countless ages cycled through,
+    Imbedded with the common stone.
+
+      A mournful land as land can be
+    Beneath their feet in ashes lay,
+    Beside that dread and dried-up sea;
+    A city older than that gray
+    And grass-grown tower builded when
+    Confusion cursed the tongues of men.
+
+      Beneath, before, a city lay
+    That in her majesty had shamed
+    The wolf-nursed conqueror of old;
+    Below, before, and far away
+    There reach'd the white arm of a bay,
+    A broad bay shrunk to sand and stone,
+    Where ships had rode and breakers roll'd
+    When Babylon was yet unnamed,
+    And Nimrod's hunting-fields unknown.
+
+      Some serpents slid from out the grass
+    That grew in tufts by shatter'd stone,
+    Then hid beneath some broken mass
+    That Time had eaten as a bone
+    Is eaten by some savage beast;
+    An everlasting palace feast.
+
+      A dull-eyed rattlesnake that lay
+    All loathsome, yellow-skinn'd, and slept,
+    Coil'd tight as pine-knot, in the sun,
+    With flat head through the centre run,
+    Struck blindly back, then rattling crept
+    Flat-bellied down the dusty way ...
+    'Twas all the dead land had to say.
+
+      Two pink-eyed hawks, wide-wing'd and gray,
+    Scream'd savagely, and, circling high,
+    And screaming still in mad dismay,
+    Grew dim and died against the sky ...
+    'Twas all the heavens had to say.
+
+      The grasses fail'd, and then a mass
+    Of brown, burnt cactus ruled the land,
+    And topt the hillocks of hot sand,
+    Where scarce the hornèd toad could pass.
+    Then stunted sage on either hand,
+    All loud with odors, spread the land.
+
+      The sun rose right above, and fell
+    As falling molten as they pass'd.
+    Some low-built junipers at last,
+    The last that o'er the desert look'd,
+    Thick-bough'd, and black as shapes of hell
+    Where dumb owls sat with bent bills hook'd
+    Beneath their wings awaiting night,
+    Rose up, then faded from the sight:
+    Then not another living thing
+    Crept on the sand or kept the wing.
+
+      White Azteckee! Dead Azteckee!
+    Vast sepulchre of buried sea!
+    What dim ghosts hover on thy rim,
+    What stately-manner'd shadows swim
+    Along thy gleaming waste of sands
+    And shoreless limits of dead lands?
+
+      Dread Azteckee! Dead Azteckee!
+    White place of ghosts, give up thy dead:
+    Give back to Time thy buried hosts!
+    The new world's tawny Ishmaelite,
+    The roving tent-born Shoshonee,
+    Who shuns thy shores as death, at night,
+    Because thou art so white, so dread,
+    Because thou art so ghostly white,
+    Because thou hast thy buried hosts,
+    Has named thy shores "the place of ghosts."
+
+      Thy white uncertain sands are white
+    With bones of thy unburied dead
+    That will not perish from the sight.
+    They drown but perish not,--ah me!
+    What dread unsightly sights are spread
+    Along this lonesome dried-up sea.
+
+      White Azteckee, give up to me
+    Of all thy prison'd dead but one,
+    That now lies bleaching in the sun,
+    To tell what strange allurements lie
+    Within this dried-up oldest sea,
+    To tempt men to its heart and die.
+
+      Old, hoar, and dried-up sea! so old!
+    So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold!
+    Yea, thou art old and hoary white
+    With time, and ruin of all things;
+    And on thy lonesome borders night
+    Sits brooding as with wounded wings.
+
+      The winds that toss'd thy waves and blew
+    Across thy breast the blowing sail,
+    And cheer'd the hearts of cheering crew
+    From farther seas, no more prevail.
+
+      Thy white-wall'd cities all lie prone,
+    With but a pyramid, a stone,
+    Set head and foot in sands to tell
+    The tired stranger where they fell.
+
+      The patient ox that bended low
+    His neck, and drew slow up and down
+    Thy thousand freights through rock-built town
+    Is now the free-born buffalo.
+
+      No longer of the timid fold,
+    The mountain sheep leaps free and bold
+    His high-built summit and looks down
+    From battlements of buried town.
+
+      Thine ancient steeds know not the rein;
+    They lord the land; they come, they go
+    At will; they laugh at man; they blow
+    A cloud of black steeds o'er the plain.
+
+      Thy monuments lie buried now,
+    The ashes whiten on thy brow,
+    The winds, the waves, have drawn away,
+    The very wild man dreads to stay.
+
+      O! thou art very old. I lay,
+    Made dumb with awe and wonderment,
+    Beneath a palm before my tent,
+    With idle and discouraged hands,
+    Not many days agone, on sands
+    Of awful, silent Africa.
+
+      Long gazing on her mighty shades,
+    I did recall a semblance there
+    Of thee. I mused where story fades
+    From her dark brow and found her fair.
+
+      A slave, and old, within her veins
+    There runs that warm, forbidden blood
+    That no man dares to dignify
+    In elevated song.
+
+                       The chains
+    That held her race but yesterday
+    Hold still the hands of men. Forbid
+    Is Ethiop.
+
+                 The turbid flood
+    Of prejudice lies stagnant still,
+    And all the world is tainted. Will
+    And wit lie broken as a lance
+    Against the brazen mailed face
+    Of old opinion.
+
+                     None advance
+    Steel-clad and glad to the attack,
+    With trumpet and with song. Look back!
+    Beneath yon pyramids lie hid
+    The histories of her great race.
+    Old Nilus rolls right sullen by,
+    With all his secrets.
+
+                          Who shall say:
+    My father rear'd a pyramid;
+    My brother clipp'd the dragon's wings;
+    My mother was Semiramis?
+    Yea, harps strike idly out of place;
+    Men sing of savage Saxon kings
+    New-born and known but yesterday,
+    And Norman blood presumes to say....
+
+      Nay, ye who boast ancestral name
+    And vaunt deeds dignified by time
+    Must not despise her.
+                            Who hath worn
+    Since time began a face that is
+    So all-enduring, old like this--
+    A face like Africa's?
+                          Behold!
+    The Sphinx is Africa. The bond
+    Of silence is upon her.
+                          Old
+    And white with tombs, and rent and shorn;
+    With raiment wet with tears, and torn,
+    And trampled on, yet all untamed;
+    All naked now, yet not ashamed,--
+    The mistress of the young world's prime,
+    Whose obelisks still laugh at Time,
+    And lift to heaven her fair name,
+    Sleeps satisfied upon her fame.
+
+      Beyond the Sphinx, and still beyond,
+    Beyond the tawny desert-tomb
+    Of Time; beyond tradition, loom
+    And lift ghostlike from out the gloom
+    Her thousand cities, battle-torn
+    And gray with story and with time.
+    Her very ruins are sublime,
+    Her thrones with mosses overborne
+    Make velvets for the feet of Time.
+
+      She points a hand and cries: "Go read
+    The letter'd obelisks that lord
+    Old Rome, and know my name and deed.
+    My archives these, and plunder'd when
+    I had grown weary of all men."
+    We turn to these; we cry: "Abhorr'd
+    Old Sphinx, behold, we cannot read!"
+
+      And yet my dried-up desert sea
+    Was populous with blowing sail,
+    And set with city, white-wall'd town,
+    All mann'd with armies bright with mail,
+    Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat down
+    To gaze into eternity,
+    Or Egypt knew her natal hour,
+    Or Africa had name or power.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+
+      Away upon the sandy seas,
+    The gleaming, burning, boundless plain.
+    How solemn-like, how still, as when
+    The mighty-minded Genoese
+    Drew three tall ships and led his men
+    From land they might not meet again.
+
+      The black men rode in front by two,
+    The fair one follow'd close, and kept
+    Her face held down as if she wept;
+    But Morgan kept the rear, and threw
+    His flowing, swaying beard aback
+    Anon along their lonesome track.
+
+      They rode against the level sun,
+    And spake not he or any one.
+
+      The weary day fell down to rest,
+    A star upon his mantled breast,
+    Ere scarce the sun fell out of space,
+    And Venus glimmer'd in his place.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Yea, all the stars shone just as fair,
+    And constellations kept their round,
+    And look'd from out the great profound,
+    And marched, and countermarch'd, and shone
+    Upon that desolation there,
+    Why just the same as if proud man
+    Strode up and down array'd in gold
+    And purple as in days of old,
+    And reckon'd all of his own plan,
+    Or made at least for man alone
+    And man's dominion from a throne.
+
+      Yet on push'd Morgan silently,
+    And straight as strong ship on a sea;
+    And ever as he rode there lay
+    To right, to left, and in his way,
+    Strange objects looming in the dark,
+    Some like a mast, or ark, or bark.
+
+      And things half hidden in the sand
+    Lay down before them where they pass'd,--
+    A broken beam, half-buried mast,
+    A spar or bar, such as might be
+    Blown crosswise, tumbled on the strand
+    Of some sail-crowded stormy sea.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV.
+
+
+      All night by moon, by morning star,
+    The still, black men still kept their way;
+    All night till morn, till burning day,
+    Hot Vasques follow'd fast and far.
+
+      The sun shot arrows instantly;
+    And men turn'd east against the sun,
+    And men did look and cry, "The sea!"
+    And Morgan look'd, nay, every one
+    Did look, and lift his hand, and shade
+    His brow and look, and look dismay'd.
+
+      Lo! looming up before the sun,
+    Before their eyes, yet far away,
+    A ship with many a tall mast lay,--
+    Lay resting, as if she had run
+    Some splendid race through seas, and won
+    The right to rest in salt flood bay,--
+    And lay until the level sun
+    Uprose, and then she fell away,
+    As mists melt in the full of day.
+
+      Old Morgan lifts his bony hand,
+    He does not speak or make command,--
+    Short time for wonder, doubt, delay;
+    Dark objects sudden heave in sight
+    As if blown out or born of night.
+    It is enough, they turn; away!
+
+      The sun is high, the sands are hot
+    To touch, and all the tawny plain,
+    That glistens white with salt sea sand,
+    Sinks white and open as they tread
+    And trudge, with half-averted head,
+    As if to swallow them amain.
+    They look, as men look back to land
+    When standing out to stormy sea,
+    But still keep face and murmur not;
+    Keep stern and still as destiny,
+    Or iron king of Germany.
+
+      It was a sight! A slim dog slid
+    White-mouth'd and still along the sand,
+    The pleading picture of distress.
+    He stopp'd, leap'd up to lick a hand,
+    A hard black hand that sudden chid
+    Him back and check'd his tenderness;
+    But when the black man turn'd his head
+    His poor mute friend had fallen dead.
+
+      The very air hung white with heat,
+    And white, and fair, and far away
+    A lifted, shining snow-shaft lay
+    As if to mock their mad retreat.
+
+      The white, salt sands beneath their feet
+    Did make the black men loom as grand,
+    From out the lifting, heaving heat,
+    As they rode sternly on and on,
+    As any bronze men in the land
+    That sit their statue steeds upon.
+
+      The men were silent as men dead.
+    The sun hung centred overhead,
+    Nor seem'd to move. It molten hung
+    Like some great central burner swung
+    From lofty beams with golden bars
+    In sacristy set round with stars.
+
+
+
+
+XXV.
+
+
+      Why, flame could hardly be more hot;
+    Yet on the mad pursuer came,
+    Across the gleaming yielding ground,
+    Right on, as if he fed on flame,
+    Right on until the mid-day found
+    The man within a pistol-shot.
+
+      He hail'd, but Morgan answer'd not,
+    He hail'd, then came a feeble shot,
+    And strangely, in that vastness there,
+    It seem'd to scarcely fret the air,
+    But fell down harmless anywhere.
+
+      He fiercely hail'd; and then there fell
+    A horse. And then a man fell down,
+    And in the sea-sand seem'd to drown.
+    Then Vasques cursed, but scarce could tell
+    The sound of his own voice, and all
+    In mad confusion seem'd to fall.
+
+      Yet on push'd Morgan, silent on,
+    And as he rode he lean'd and drew,
+    From his catenas, gold, and threw
+    The bright coins in the glaring sun.
+    But Vasques did not heed a whit,
+    He scarcely deign'd to scowl at it.
+
+      Again lean'd Morgan! He uprose,
+    And held a high hand to his foes,
+    And held two goblets up, and one
+    Did shine as if itself a sun.
+
+      Then leaning backward from his place,
+    He hurl'd them in his foemen's face,
+    Then drew again, and so kept on,
+    Till goblets, gold, and all were gone.
+
+      Yea, strew'd them out upon the sands
+    As men upon a frosty morn,
+    In Mississippi's fertile lands,
+    Hurl out great, yellow ears of corn
+    To hungry swine with hurried hands.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+
+      Lo! still hot Vasques urges on,
+    With flashing eye and flushing cheek.
+    What would he have? what does he seek?
+    He does not heed the gold a whit,
+    He does not deign to look at it;
+    But now his gleaming steel is drawn,
+    And now he leans, would hail again,--
+    He opes his swollen lips in vain.
+
+      But look you! See! A lifted hand,
+    And Vasques beckons his command.
+    He cannot speak, he leans, and he
+    Bends low upon his saddle-bow.
+    And now his blade drops to his knee,
+    And now he falters, now comes on,
+    And now his head is bended low;
+    And now his rein, his steel, is gone;
+    Now faint as any child is he,
+    And now his steed sinks to the knee.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+
+      The sun hung molten in mid space,
+    Like some great star fix'd in its place.
+    From out the gleaming spaces rose
+    A sheen of gossamer and danced,
+    As Morgan slow and still advanced
+    Before his far-receding foes.
+
+      Right on and on the still black line
+    Drove straight through gleaming sand and shine,
+    By spar and beam and mast and stray,
+    And waif of sea and cast-away.
+
+      The far peaks faded from their sight,
+    The mountain walls fell down like night,
+    And nothing now was to be seen
+    Save but the dim sun hung in sheen
+    Of fairy garments all blood-red,--
+    The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead.
+
+      A black man tumbled from his steed.
+    He clutch'd in death the moving sands.
+    He caught the round earth in his hands,
+    He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim....
+    The great sad mother did not heed
+    His hold, but pass'd right on from him,
+    And ere he died grew far and dim.
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII.
+
+
+      The sun seem'd broken loose at last,
+    And settled slowly to the west,
+    Half hidden as he fell a-rest,
+    Yet, like the flying Parthian, cast
+    His keenest arrows as he pass'd.
+
+      On, on, the black men slowly drew
+    Their length, like some great serpent through
+    The sands, and left a hollow'd groove:
+    They march'd, they scarcely seem'd to move.
+    How patient in their muffled tread!
+    How like the dead march of the dead!
+
+      At last the slow black line was check'd,
+    An instant only; now again
+    It moved, it falter'd now, and now
+    It settled in its sandy bed,
+    And steeds stood rooted to the plain.
+    Then all stood still, and men somehow
+    Look'd down and with averted head;
+    Look'd down, nor dared look up, nor reck'd
+    Of any thing, of ill or good,
+    But bowed and stricken still they stood.
+
+      Like some brave band that dared the fierce
+    And bristled steel of gather'd host,
+    These daring men had dared to pierce
+    This awful vastness, dead and gray.
+    And now at last brought well at bay
+    They stood,--but each stood to his post;
+    Each man an unencompassed host.
+
+      Then one dismounted, waved a hand,
+    'Twas Morgan's stern and still command.
+    There fell a clash, like loosen'd chain,
+    And men dismounting loosed the rein.
+
+      Then every steed stood loosed and free;
+    And some stepp'd slow and mute aside,
+    And some sank to the sands and died,
+    And some stood still as shadows be,
+    And men stood gazing silently.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX.
+
+
+      Old Morgan turn'd and raised his hand,
+    And laid it level with his eyes,
+    And look'd far back along the land.
+    He saw a dark dust still uprise,
+    Still surely tend to where he lay.
+    He did not curse, he did not say,
+    He did not even look surprise,
+    But silent turned to her his eyes.
+
+      Nay, he was over-gentle now,
+    He wiped a time his Titan brow,
+    Then sought dark Ina in her place,
+    Put out his arms, put down his face
+    And look'd in hers.
+
+                            She reach'd her hands,
+    She lean'd, she fell upon his breast;
+    He reach'd his arms around; she lay
+    As lies a bird in leafy nest.
+    And he look'd out across the sands,
+    And then his face fell down, he smiled,
+    And softly said, "My child, my child!"
+    Then bent his head and strode away.
+
+      And as he strode he turn'd his head,
+    He sidewise cast his brief commands;
+    He led right on across the sands.
+    They rose and follow'd where he led.
+
+
+
+
+XXX.
+
+
+      'Twas so like night, the sun was dim,
+    Some black men settled down to rest,
+    But none made murmur or request.
+    The dead were dead, and that were best;
+    The living leaning follow'd him,
+    In huddled heaps, half nude, and grim.
+
+      The day through high mid-heaven rode
+    Across the sky, the dim red day;
+    Awest the warlike day-god strode
+    With shoulder'd shield away, away.
+
+      The savage, warlike day bent low,
+    As reapers bend in gathering grain,
+    As archer bending bends yew bow,
+    And flush'd and fretted as in pain.
+
+      Then down his shoulder slid his shield,
+    So huge, so awful, so blood-red
+    And batter'd as from battle-field:
+    It settled, sunk to his left hand,
+    Sunk down and down, it touch'd the sand,
+    Then day along the land lay dead,
+    Without one candle at his head.
+
+
+
+
+XXXI.
+
+
+      And now the moon wheel'd white and vast,
+    A round, unbroken, marbled moon,
+    And touch'd the far bright buttes of snow,
+    Then climb'd their shoulders over soon;
+    And there she seem'd to sit at last,
+    To hang, to hover there, to grow,
+    Grow vaster than vast peaks of snow.
+
+      Grow whiter than the snow's own breast,
+    Grow softer than September's noon,
+    Until the snow-peaks seem'd at best
+    But one wide, shining, shatter'd moon.
+
+      She sat the battlements of time;
+    She shone in mail of frost and rime,
+    A time, and then rose up and stood
+    In heaven in sad widowhood.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+      The faded moon fell wearily,
+    And then the sun right suddenly
+    Rose up full arm'd, and rushing came
+    Across the land like flood of flame.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII.
+
+
+      The sun roll'd on. Lo! hills uprose
+    As push'd against the arching skies,--
+    As if to meet the timid sun--
+    Rose sharp from out the sultry dun,
+    Set well with wood, and brier, and rose,
+    And seem'd to hold the free repose
+    Of lands where rocky summits rise,
+    Or unfenced fields of Paradise.
+
+      The black men look'd up from the sands
+    Against the dim, uncertain skies,
+    As men that disbelieved their eyes,
+    And would have laugh'd; they wept instead,
+    With shoulders heaved, with bowing head
+    Hid down between their two black hands.
+
+      They stood and gazed. Lo! like the call
+    Of spring-time promises, the trees
+    Lean'd from their lifted mountain wall,
+    And stood clear cut against the skies
+    As if they grew in pistol-shot.
+    Yet all the mountains answer'd not,
+    And yet there came no cooling breeze,
+    Nor soothing sense of windy trees.
+
+      At last old Morgan, looking through
+    His shaded fingers, let them go,
+    And let his load fall down as dead.
+    He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snow
+    As was his wont, then bowing low,
+    Took up his life, and moaning said,
+    "Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and we
+    Stand blinded in a burning sea."
+
+      O sweet deceit when minds despair!
+    O mad deceit of man betray'd!
+    O mother Nature, thou art fair,
+    But thou art false as man or maid.
+
+      Yea, many lessons, mother Earth,
+    Have we thy children learn'd of thee
+    In sweet deceit.... The sudden birth
+    Of hope that dies mocks destiny.
+
+      O mother Earth, thy promises
+    Are fallen leaves; they lie forgot!
+    Such lessons! How could we learn less?
+    We are but children, blame us not.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII.
+
+
+      Again they move, but where or how
+    It recks them little, nothing now.
+    Yet Morgan leads them as before,
+    But totters now; he bends, and he
+    Is like a broken ship a-sea,--
+    A ship that knows not any shore,
+    And knows it shall not anchor more.
+
+      Some leaning shadows crooning crept
+    Through desolation, crown'd in dust.
+    And had the mad pursuer kept
+    His path, and cherished his pursuit?
+    There lay no choice. Advance he must:
+    Advance, and eat his ashen fruit.
+
+      Yet on and on old Morgan led.
+    His black men totter'd to and fro,
+    A leaning, huddled heap of woe;
+    Then one fell down, then two fell dead;
+    Yet not one moaning word was said.
+
+      They made no sign, they said no word,
+    Nor lifted once black, helpless hands;
+    And all the time no sound was heard
+    Save but the dull, dead, muffled tread
+    Of shuffled feet in shining sands.
+
+      Again the still moon rose and stood
+    Above the dim, dark belt of wood,
+    Above the buttes, above the snow,
+    And bent a sad, sweet face below.
+
+      She reach'd along the level plain
+    Her long, white fingers. Then again
+    She reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands,
+    Then reach'd far out until she touch'd
+    A heap that lay with doubled hands,
+    Reach'd from its sable self, and clutch'd
+    With death.
+                  O tenderly
+    That black, that dead and hollow face
+    Was kiss'd at midnight....
+                                 What if I say
+    The long, white moonbeams reaching there,
+    Caressing idle hands of clay,
+    And resting on the wrinkled hair
+    And great lips push'd in sullen pout,
+    Were God's own fingers reaching out
+    From heaven to that lonesome place?
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV.
+
+
+      By waif and stray and cast-away,
+    Such as are seen in seas withdrawn,
+    Old Morgan led in silence on,
+    And sometime lifting up his head
+    To guide his footsteps as he led,
+    He deem'd he saw a great ship lay
+    Her keel along the sea-wash'd sand,
+    As with her captain's old command.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+      The stars were seal'd; and then a haze
+    Of gossamer fill'd all the west,
+    So like in Indian summer days,
+    And veil'd all things.
+                           And then the moon
+    Grew pale, and faint, and far. She died,
+    And now nor star nor any sign
+    Fell out of heaven.
+                        Oversoon
+    Some black men fell. Then at their side
+    Some one sat down to watch, to rest ...
+    To rest, to watch, or what you will,
+    The man sits resting, watching still.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV.
+
+
+      The day glared through the eastern rim
+    Of rocky peaks, as prison bars;
+    With light as dim as distant stars
+    The sultry sunbeams filter'd down
+    Through misty phantoms weird and dim,
+    Through shifting shapes bat-wing'd brown.
+
+      Like some vast ruin wrapp'd in flame
+    The sun fell down before them now.
+    Behind them wheel'd white peaks of snow,
+    As they proceeded.
+                        Gray and grim
+    And awful objects went and came
+    Before them then. They pierced at last
+    The desert's middle depths, and lo!
+    There loom'd from out the desert vast
+    A lonely ship, well-built and trim,
+    And perfect all in hull and mast.
+
+      No storm had stain'd it any whit,
+    No seasons set their teeth in it.
+    Her masts were white as ghosts, and tall;
+    Her decks were as of yesterday.
+    The rains, the elements, and all
+    The moving things that bring decay
+    By fair green lands or fairer seas,
+    Had touch'd not here for centuries.
+
+      Lo! date had lost all reckoning,
+    And Time had long forgotten all
+    In this lost land, and no new thing
+    Or old could anywise befall,
+    Or morrows, or a yesterday,
+    For Time went by the other way.
+
+      The ages have not any course
+    Across this untrack'd waste.
+                                 The sky
+    Wears here one blue, unbending hue,
+    The heavens one unchanging mood.
+    The far still stars they filter through
+    The heavens, falling bright and bold
+    Against the sands as beams of gold.
+    The wide, white moon forgets her force;
+    The very sun rides round and high,
+    As if to shun this solitude.
+
+      What dreams of gold or conquest drew
+    The oak-built sea-king to these seas,
+    Ere Earth, old Earth, unsatisfied,
+    Rose up and shook man in disgust
+    From off her wearied breast, and threw
+    And smote his cities down, and dried
+    These measured, town-set seas to dust?
+    Who trod these decks?
+                               What captain knew
+    The straits that led to lands like these?
+
+      Blew south-sea breeze or north-sea breeze?
+    What spiced winds whistled through this sail?
+    What banners stream'd above these seas?
+    And what strange seaman answer'd back
+    To other sea-king's beck and hail,
+    That blew across his foamy track!
+
+      Sought Jason here the golden fleece?
+    Came Trojan ship or ships of Greece?
+    Came decks dark-mann'd from sultry Ind,
+    Woo'd here by spacious wooing wind?
+    So like a grand, sweet woman, when
+    A great love moves her soul to men?
+
+      Came here strong ships of Solomon
+    In quest of Ophir by Cathay?...
+    Sit down and dream of seas withdrawn,
+    And every sea-breath drawn away....
+    Sit down, sit down!
+                            What is the good
+    That we go on still fashioning
+    Great iron ships or walls of wood,
+    High masts of oak, or any thing?
+
+      Lo! all things moving must go by.
+    The sea lies dead. Behold, this land
+    Sits desolate in dust beside
+    His snow-white, seamless shroud of sand;
+    The very clouds have wept and died,
+    And only God is in the sky.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI.
+
+
+      The sands lay heaved, as heaved by waves,
+    As fashion'd in a thousand graves:
+    And wrecks of storm blown here and there,
+    And dead men scatter'd everywhere;
+    And strangely clad they seem'd to be
+    Just as they sank in that old sea.
+
+      The mermaid with her splendid hair
+    Had clung about a wreck's beam there;
+    And sung her song of sweet despair,
+    The time she saw the seas withdrawn
+    And all her home and glory gone:
+
+      Had sung her melancholy dirge,
+    Above the last receding surge,
+    And, looking down the rippled tide,
+    Had sung, and with her song had died.
+
+      The monsters of the sea lay bound
+    In strange contortions. Coil'd around
+    A mast half heaved above the sand,
+    The great sea-serpent's folds were found,
+    As solid as ship's iron band.
+    And basking in the burning sun
+    There rose the great whale's skeleton.
+
+      A thousand sea things stretch'd across
+    Their weary and bewilder'd way:
+    Great unnamed monsters wrinkled lay
+    With sunken eyes and shrunken form.
+    The strong sea-horse that rode the storm
+    With mane as light and white as floss,
+    Lay tangled in his mane of moss.
+
+      And anchor, hull, and cast-away,
+    And all things that the miser deep
+    Doth in his darkling locker keep,
+    To right and left around them lay.
+
+      Yea, coins lay there on either hand,
+    Lay shining in the silver sand;
+    As plenty in the wide sands lay
+    As stars along the Milky Way.
+
+      And golden coin, and golden cup,
+    And golden cruse, and golden plate,
+    And all that great seas swallow up,
+    Right in their dreadful pathway lay....
+    The hungry and insatiate
+    Old sea, made hoary white with time,
+    And wrinkled cross with many a crime,
+    With all his treasured thefts was there,
+    His sins, his very soul laid bare,
+    As if it were the Judgment Day.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII.
+
+
+      And now the tawny night fell soon,
+    And there was neither star nor moon;
+    And yet it seem'd it was not night.
+    There fell a phosphorescent light,
+    There rose from white sands and dead men
+    A soft light, white and fair as when
+    The Spirit of Jehovah moved
+    Upon the water's conscious face,
+    And made it His abiding-place.
+
+      O mighty waters unreproved!
+    Thou deep! where the Jehovah moved
+    Ere soul of man was called to be!
+    O seas! that were created not
+    As man, as earth, as light, as aught
+    That is. O sea! thou art to me
+    A terror, death, eternity.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII.
+
+
+      I do recall some sad days spent,
+    By borders of the Orient,
+    Days sweet as sad to memory ...
+    'Twould make a tale. It matters not ...
+    I sought the loneliest seas; I sought
+    The solitude of ruins, and forgot
+    Mine own lone life and littleness
+    Before this fair land's mute distress,
+    That sat within this changeful sea.
+
+      Slow sailing through the reedy isles,
+    By unknown banks, through unknown bays,
+    Some sunny, summer yesterdays,
+    Where Nature's beauty still beguiles,
+    I saw the storied yellow sail
+    And lifted prow of steely mail.
+    'Tis all that's left Torcello now,--
+    A pirate's yellow sail, a prow.
+
+      Below the far, faint peaks of snow,
+    And grass-grown causeways well below,
+    I touched Torcello.
+                          Once a-land,
+    I took a sea-shell in my hand,
+    And blew like any trumpeter.
+    I felt the fig-leaves lift and stir
+    On trees that reached from ruined wall
+    Above my head, but that was all.
+    Back from the farther island shore
+    Came echoes trooping; nothing more.
+
+      Lo! here stood Adria once, and here
+    Attila came with sword and flame,
+    And set his throne of hollowed stone
+    In her high mart.
+                        And it remains
+    Still lord o'er all. Where once the tears
+    Of mute petition fell, the rains
+    Of heaven fall. Lo! all alone
+    There lifts this massive empty throne!
+    The sea has changed his meed, his mood,
+    And made this sedgy solitude.
+
+      By cattle paths grass-grown and worn,
+    Through marbled streets all stain'd and torn
+    By time and battle, there I walked.
+    A bent old beggar, white as one
+    For better fruitage blossoming,
+    Came on. And as he came he talked
+    Unto himself; for there are none
+    In all his island, old and dim,
+    To answer back or question him.
+
+      I turned, retraced my steps once more.
+    The hot miasma steamed and rose
+    In deadly vapor from the reeds
+    That grew from out the shallow shore,
+    Where peasants say the sea-horse feeds,
+    And Neptune shapes his horn and blows.
+
+      I climb'd and sat that throne of stone
+    To contemplate, to dream, to reign;
+    Ay, reign above myself; to call
+    The people of the past again
+    Before me as I sat alone
+    In all my kingdom.
+                        There were kine
+    That browsed along the reedy brine,
+    And now and then a tusky boar
+    Would shake the high reeds of the shore,
+    A bird blow by,--but that was all.
+
+      I watched the lonesome sea-gull pass.
+    I did remember and forget;
+    The past rolled by; I stood alone.
+    I sat the shapely chiselled stone
+    That stands in tall sweet grasses set;
+    Ay, girdle deep in long strong grass,
+    And green Alfalfa.
+                       Very fair
+    The heavens were, and still and blue,
+    For Nature knows no changes there.
+    The Alps of Venice, far away
+    Like some half-risen half moon lay.
+
+      How sweet the grasses at my feet!
+    The smell of clover over sweet.
+    I heard the hum of bees. The bloom
+    Of clover-tops and cherry-trees
+    Were being rifled by the bees,
+    And these were building in a tomb.
+
+      The fair Alfalfa; such as has
+    Usurped the Occident, and grows
+    With all the sweetness of the rose
+    On Sacramento's sundown hills,
+    Is there, and that mid island fills
+    With fragrance. Yet the smell of death
+    Comes riding in on every breath.
+
+      Lo! death that is not death, but rest:
+    To step aside, to watch and wait
+    Beside the wave, outside the gate,
+    With all life's pulses in your breast:
+    To absolutely rest, to pray
+    In some lone mountain while you may.
+
+      That sad sweet fragrance. It had sense,
+    And sound, and voice. It was a part
+    Of that which had possessed my heart,
+    And would not of my will go hence.
+    'Twas Autumn's breath; 'twas dear as kiss
+    Of any worshipped woman is.
+
+      Some snails have climb'd the throne and writ
+    Their silver monograms on it
+    In unknown tongues.
+                           I sat thereon,
+    I dreamed until the day was gone;
+    I blew again my pearly shell,--
+    Blew long and strong, and loud and well;
+    I puffed my cheeks, I blew, as when
+    Horn'd satyrs danced the delight of men.
+
+      Some mouse-brown cows that fed within
+    Looked up. A cowherd rose hard by,
+    My single subject, clad in skin,
+    Nor yet half clad. I caught his eye,
+    He stared at me, then turned and fled.
+    He frightened fled, and as he ran,
+    Like wild beast from the face of man,
+    Across his shoulder threw his head.
+    He gathered up his skin of goat
+    About his breast and hairy throat.
+    He stopped, and then this subject true,
+    Mine only one in lands like these
+    Made desolate by changeful seas,
+    Came back and asked me for a _sou_.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX.
+
+
+      And yet again through the watery miles
+    Of reeds I rowed till the desolate isles
+    Of the black bead-makers of Venice are not.
+    I touched where a single sharp tower is shot
+    To heaven, and torn by thunder and rent
+    As if it had been Time's battlement.
+    A city lies dead, and this great gravestone
+    Stands at its head like a ghost alone.
+
+      Some cherry-trees grow here, and here
+    An old church, simple and severe
+    In ancient aspect, stands alone
+    Amid the ruin and decay, all grown
+    In moss and grasses.
+                           Old and quaint,
+    With antique cuts of martyr'd saint,
+    The gray church stands with stooping knees,
+    Defying the decay of seas.
+
+      Her pictured Hell, with flames blown high,
+    In bright mosaics wrought and set
+    When man first knew the Nubian art,
+    Her bearded saints, as black as jet;
+    Her quaint Madonna, dim with rain
+    And touch of pious lips of pain,
+    So touched my lonesome soul, that I
+    Gazed long, then came and gazed again,
+    And loved, and took her to my heart.
+
+      Nor monk in black, nor Capuchin,
+    Nor priest of any creed was seen.
+    A sun-browned woman, old and tall,
+    And still as any shadow is,
+    Stole forth from out the mossy wall
+    With massive keys to show me this:
+    Came slowly forth, and following,
+    Three birds--and all with drooping wing.
+
+      Three mute brown babes of hers; and they--
+    O, they were beautiful as sleep,
+    Or death, below the troubled deep.
+    And on the pouting lips of these
+    Red corals of the silent seas,
+    Sweet birds, the everlasting seal
+    Of silence that the God has set
+    On this dead island, sits for aye.
+
+      I would forget, yet not forget
+    Their helpless eloquence. They creep
+    Somehow into my heart, and keep
+    One bleak, cold corner, jewel set.
+    They steal my better self away
+    To them, as little birds that day
+    Stole fruits from out the cherry-trees.
+
+      So helpless and so wholly still,
+    So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise,
+    That I did love, despite my will.
+    One little maid of ten,--such eyes,
+    So large and lonely, so divine,--
+    Such pouting lips, such peachy cheek,--
+    Did lift her perfect eyes to mine,
+    Until our souls did touch and speak;
+    Stood by me all that perfect day,
+    Yet not one sweet word could she say.
+
+      She turned her melancholy eyes
+    So constant to my own, that I
+    Forgot the going clouds, the sky,
+    Found fellowship, took bread and wine,
+    And so her little soul and mine
+    Stood very near together there.
+    And O, I found her very fair.
+    Yet not one soft word could she say:
+    What did she think of all that day?
+
+      The sometime song of gondolier
+    Is heard afar. The fishermen
+    Betimes draw net by ruined shore,
+    In full spring time when east winds fall;
+    Then traders row with muffled oar,
+    Tedesca or the turban'd Turk,
+    The pirate, at some midnight work
+    By watery wall,--but that is all.
+
+
+
+
+XL.
+
+
+      Remote, around the lonesome ship,
+    Old Morgan moved, but knew it not,
+    For neither star nor moon fell down ...
+    I trow that was a lonesome spot
+    He found, where boat and ship did dip
+    In sands like some half-sunken town,
+    And all things rose bat-winged and brown.
+
+      At last before the leader lay
+    A form that in the night did seem
+    A slain Goliath.
+                      As in a dream,
+    He drew aside in his slow pace,
+    And look'd. He saw a sable face,
+    A friend that fell that very day,
+    Thrown straight across his wearied way.
+
+      He falter'd now. His iron heart,
+    That never yet refused its part,
+    Began to fail him; and his strength
+    Shook at his knees, as shakes the wind
+    A shatter'd ship.
+                    His scatter'd mind
+    Ranged up and down the land. At length
+    He turn'd, as ships turn, tempest toss'd,
+    For now he knew that he was lost,
+    And sought in vain the moon, the stars,
+    In vain the battle-star of Mars.
+
+      Again he moved. And now again
+    He paused, he peer'd along the plain,
+    Another form before him lay.
+    He stood, and statue-white he stood,
+    He trembled like a stormy wood,--
+    It was a foeman brown and gray.
+
+      He lifted up his head again,
+    Again he search'd the great profound
+    For moon, for star, but sought in vain.
+    He kept his circle round and round;
+    The great ship lifting from the sand
+    And pointing heavenward like a hand.
+
+
+
+
+XLI.
+
+
+      And still he crept along the plain,
+    Yet where his foeman dead again
+    Lay in his way he moved around,
+    And soft as if on sacred ground,
+    And did not touch him anywhere.
+    It might have been he had a dread,
+    In his half-crazed and fever'd brain,
+    His mortal foe might wake again
+    If he should dare to touch him there.
+
+      He circled round the lonesome ship
+    Like some wild beast within a wall,
+    That keeps his paces round and round.
+    The very stillness had a sound;
+    He saw strange somethings rise and dip;
+    He felt the weirdness like a pall
+    Come down and cover him.
+
+                                It seem'd
+    To take a form, take many forms,
+    To talk to him, to reach out arms;
+    Yet on he kept, and silent kept,
+    And as he led he lean'd and slept,
+    And as he slept he talk'd and dream'd.
+
+      Then shadows follow'd, stopp'd, and stood
+    Bewildered, wandered back again,
+    Came on and then fell to the sand
+    And sinking died.
+                        Then other men
+    Did wag their woolly heads and laugh,
+    Then bend their necks and seem to quaff
+    Of cooling waves that careless flow
+    Where woods and long strong grasses grow.
+
+      Yet on wound Morgan, leaning low,
+    With head upon his breast, and slow
+    As hand upon a dial plate.
+    He did not turn his course or quail,
+    He did not falter, did not fail,
+    Turn right or left or hesitate.
+
+      Some far-off sounds had lost their way,
+    And seem'd to call to him and pray
+    For help, as if they were affright.
+    It was not day, it seem'd not night,
+    But that dim land that lies between
+    The mournful, faithful face of night
+    And loud and gold-bedazzled day;
+    A night that was not felt but seen.
+
+      There seem'd not then the ghost of sound.
+    He stepp'd as soft as step the dead;
+    Yet on he led in solemn tread,
+    Bewilder'd, blinded, round and round,
+    About the great black ship that rose
+    Tall-masted as that ship that blows
+    Her ghost below lost Panama,--
+    The tallest mast man ever saw.
+
+      Two leaning shadows follow'd him,
+    Their eyes were red, their teeth shone white,
+    Their limbs did lift as shadows swim.
+    Then one went left and one went right,
+    And in the night pass'd out of night;
+    Pass'd through the portals black, unknown,
+    And Morgan totter'd on alone.
+
+
+
+
+XLII.
+
+
+      And why he still survived the rest,
+    Why still he had the strength to stir,
+    Why still he stood like gnarléd oak
+    That buffets storm and tempest stroke,
+    One cannot say, save but for her,
+    That helpless being on his breast;
+    At rest; that would not let him rest.
+
+      She did not speak, she did not stir;
+    In rippled currents over her
+    Her black, abundant hair pour'd down
+    Like mantle or some sable gown.
+
+      That sad, sweet dreamer; she who knew
+    Not any thing of earth at all,
+    Nor cared to know its bane or bliss;
+    That dove that did not touch the land,
+    That knew, yet did not understand.
+    And this may be because she drew
+    Her all of life right from the hand
+    Of God, and did not choose to learn
+    The things that make up earth's concern.
+
+      Ah! there be souls none understand;
+    Like clouds, they cannot touch the land,
+    Drive as they may by field or town.
+    Then we look wise at this and frown,
+    And we cry, "Fool," and cry, "Take hold
+    Of earth, and fashion gods of gold."
+
+      ... Unanchor'd ships, they blow and blow,
+    Sail to and fro, and then go down
+    In unknown seas that none shall know,
+    Without one ripple of renown.
+    Poor drifting dreamers sailing by,
+    They seem to only live to die.
+
+      Call these not fools; the test of worth
+    Is not the hold you have of earth.
+    Lo! there be gentlest souls sea-blown
+    That know not any harbor known.
+    Now it may be the reason is
+    They touch on fairer shores than this.
+
+
+
+
+XLIII.
+
+
+      And dark-eyed Ina? Nestled there,
+    Half-hidden in her glorious hair,
+    The while its midnight folds fell down
+    From out his great arms nude and brown,
+    She lay against his hairy breast,
+    All motionless as death, below
+    His great white beard like shroud, or snow,
+    As if in everlasting rest.
+
+      He totter'd side to side to keep
+    Erect and keep his steady tread;
+    He lean'd, he bent to her his head ...
+    "She sleeps uncommon sound," he said,
+    "As if in that eternal sleep,
+    Where cool and watered willows sweep."
+
+      At last he touch'd a fallen group,
+    Dead fellows tumbled in the sands,
+    Dead foemen, gather'd to the dead.
+    And eager now the man did stoop,
+    Lay down his load and reach his hands,
+    And stretch his form and look steadfast
+    And frightful, and as one aghast
+    And ghostly from his hollow eyes.
+    He lean'd and then he raised his head,
+    And look'd for Vasques, but in vain;
+    He laid his two great arms crosswise,
+    Took breath a time with trembling main,
+    Then peered again along the plain.
+
+      Lo! from the sands another face,
+    The last that follow'd through the deep,
+    Comes on from out the lonesome place.
+    And Vasques, too, survives!
+                                     But where?
+    His last bold follower lies there,
+    Thrown straight across old Morgan's track,
+    As if to check him, bid him back.
+    He stands, he does not dare to stir,
+    He watches by his child asleep,
+    He fears, for her: but only her.
+    The man who ever mock'd at death,
+    He hardly dares to draw his breath.
+
+      Beyond, and still as black despair,
+    A man rose up, stood dark and tall,
+    Stretch'd out his neck, reach'd forth, let fall
+    Dark oaths, and Death stood waiting there.
+
+      He drew his blade, came straight as death
+    Right up before the follower,
+    The last of Morgan's sable men,
+    While Morgan watched aside by her,
+    And saw his foeman wag his beard
+    And fiercest visage ever seen.
+    The while that dead man lay between.
+    I think no man there drew a breath,
+    I know that no man quail'd or fear'd.
+
+      The tawny dead man stretch'd between,
+    And Vasques set his foot thereon.
+    The stars were seal'd, the moon was gone,
+    The very darkness cast a shade.
+    The scene was rather heard than seen,
+    The rattle of a single blade....
+
+      A right foot rested on the dead,
+    A black hand reach'd and clutch'd a beard,
+    Then neither prayed, nor dreamed of hope ...
+    A fierce face reach'd, a fierce face peer'd ...
+    No bat went whirling overhead,
+    No star fell out of Ethiope....
+
+      The dead man lay between them there,
+    The two men glared as tigers glare,
+    The black man held him by the beard.
+    He wound his hand, he held him fast,
+    And tighter held, as if he fear'd
+    The man might 'scape him at the last.
+    Whiles Morgan did not speak or stir,
+    But stood in silent watch by her.
+
+      Not long.... A light blade lifted, thrust,
+    A blade that leapt and swept about,
+    So wizard-like, like wand in spell,
+    So like a serpent's tongue thrust out ...
+    Thrust twice, thrust thrice, thrust as he fell,
+    Thrust through until it touch'd the dust.
+
+      Yet ever as he thrust and smote,
+    The black hand like an iron band
+    Did tighten to the gasping throat.
+    He fell, but did not loose his hand;
+    The two fell dead upon the sand.
+
+      Lo! up and from the fallen forms
+    Two ghosts came forth like cloud of storms.
+    Two tall ghosts stood, and looking back,
+    With hands all bloody, and hands clutch'd,
+    Strode on together, till they touch'd,
+    Along the lonesome, chartless track,
+    Where dim Plutonian darkness fell,
+    Then touch'd the outer rim of hell,
+    And looking back their great despair
+    Sat sadly down as resting there.
+
+
+
+
+XLIV.
+
+
+      Perchance there was a strength in death;
+    The scene it seem'd to nerve the man
+    To superhuman strength. He rose,
+    Held up his head, began to scan
+    The heavens and to take his breath
+    Right strong and lustily. He now
+    Resumed his load, and with his eye
+    Fixed on a star that filtered through
+    The farther west, pushed bare his brow,
+    And kept his course with head held high,
+    As if he strode his deck and drew
+    His keel below some lifted light
+    That watched the rocky reef at night.
+
+      How lone he was, how patient she,
+    Upon that lonesome sandy sea!
+    It were a sad, unpleasant sight
+    To follow them through all the night,
+    Until the time they lifted hand,
+    And touched at last a watered land.
+
+      The turkeys walked the tangled grass,
+    And scarcely turned to let them pass.
+    There was no sign of man, or sign
+    Of savage beast. 'Twas so divine,
+    It seem'd as if the bended skies
+    Were rounded for this Paradise.
+
+      The large-eyed antelope came down
+    From off their windy hills, and blew
+    Their whistles as they wandered through
+    The open groves of watered wood;
+    Then came as light as if a-wing,
+    And reached their noses wet and brown,
+    And stamped their little feet, and stood
+    Close up before them wondering.
+
+      What if this were the Eden true,
+    They found in far heart of the new
+    And unnamed westmost world I sing,
+    Where date and history had birth,
+    And man first 'gan his wandering
+    To go the girdles of the earth!
+
+      It lies a little isle mid land,
+    An island in a sea of sand;
+    With reedy waters and the balm
+    Of an eternal summer air.
+    Some blowy pines toss tall and fair;
+    And there are grasses long and strong,
+    And tropic fruits that never fail:
+    The Manzinetta pulp, the palm,
+    The prickly pear, with all the song
+    Of summer birds.
+                      And there the quail
+    Makes nest, and you may hear her call
+    All day from out the chaparral.
+
+      A land where white man never trod,
+    And Morgan seems some demi-god,
+    That haunts the red man's spirit land.
+    A land where never red man's hand
+    Is lifted up in strife at all.
+    He holds it sacred unto those
+    Who bravely fell before their foes,
+    And rarely dares its desert wall.
+
+      Here breaks nor sound of strife or sign;
+    Rare times a red man comes this way,
+    Alone, and battle-scarred and gray,
+    And then he bends devout before
+    The maid who keeps the cabin door,
+    And deems her sacred and divine.
+
+      Within the island's heart, 'tis said,
+    Tall trees are bending down with bread,
+    And that a fountain pure as truth,
+    And deep and mossy bound and fair,
+    Is bubbling from the forest there,--
+    Perchance the fabled fount of youth!
+
+      An isle where never cares betide;
+    Where solitude comes not, and where
+    The soul is ever satisfied.
+    An isle where skies are ever fair,
+    Where men keep never date nor day,
+    Where Time has thrown his glass away.
+
+      This isle is all their own. No more
+    The flight by day, the watch by night.
+    Dark Ina twines about the door
+    The scarlet blooms, the blossoms white,
+    And winds red berries in her hair,
+    And never knows the name of care.
+
+      She has a thousand birds; they blow
+    In rainbow clouds, in clouds of snow;
+    The birds take berries from her hand;
+    They come and go at her command.
+
+      She has a thousand pretty birds,
+    That sing her summer songs all day;
+    Small black-hoofed antelope in herds,
+    And squirrels bushy-tail'd and gray,
+    With round and sparkling eyes of pink,
+    And cunning-faced as you can think.
+
+      She has a thousand busy birds;
+    And is she happy in her isle,
+    With all her feathered friends and herds?
+    For when has Morgan seen her smile?
+
+      She has a thousand cunning birds,
+    They would build nestings in her hair;
+    She has brown antelope in herds;
+    She never knows the name of care;
+    Why then is she not happy there?
+
+      All patiently she bears her part;
+    She has a thousand birdlings there,
+    These birds they would build in her hair;
+    But not one bird builds in her heart.
+
+      She has a thousand birds; yet she
+    Would give ten thousand cheerfully,
+    All bright of plume and loud of tongue,
+    And sweet as ever trilled or sung,
+    For one small fluttered bird to come
+    And sit within her heart, though dumb.
+
+      She has a thousand birds; yet one
+    Is lost, and, lo! she is undone.
+    She sighs sometimes. She looks away,
+    And yet she does not weep or say.
+
+      She has a thousand birds. The skies
+    Are fashioned for her paradise;
+    A very queen of fairy land,
+    With all earth's fruitage at command,
+    And yet she does not lift her eyes.
+    She sits upon the water's brink
+    As mournful soul'd as you can think.
+
+      She has a thousand birds; and yet
+    She will look downward, nor forget
+    The fluttered white-winged turtle dove,
+    The changeful-throated birdling, love,
+    That came, that sang through tropic trees,
+    Then flew for aye across the seas.
+
+      The waters kiss her feet; above
+    Her head the trees are blossoming,
+    And fragrant with eternal spring.
+    Her birds, her antelope are there,
+    Her birds they would build in her hair;
+    She only waits her birdling, love.
+    She turns, she looks along the plain,
+    Imploring love to come again.
+
+
+
+
+Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Ship in the Desert, by Joaquin Miller
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41955 ***