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diff --git a/41955-8.txt b/41955-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2490c38..0000000 --- a/41955-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4168 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ship in the Desert, by Joaquin Miller - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Ship in the Desert - -Author: Joaquin Miller - -Release Date: January 31, 2013 [EBook #41955] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHIP IN THE DESERT *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Mary Akers and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHIP IN THE DESERT *** - -***** This file should be named 41955-8.txt or 41955-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/9/5/41955/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Mary Akers and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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