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diff --git a/41955-0.txt b/41955-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39c431a --- /dev/null +++ b/41955-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3779 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41955 *** + +Transcriber's note: + Minor spelling and punctuation inconsistencies have been + harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. + + + + +THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. + + + + + THE + + SHIP IN THE DESERT. + + BY + + JOAQUIN MILLER, + + AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF THE SIERRAS" AND "SONGS OF + THE SUN-LANDS." + + [Illustration] + + BOSTON: + ROBERTS BROTHERS. + 1875. + + + + + Copyright, 1875, + BY C. H. MILLER. + + _Cambridge: + Press of John Wilson & Son._ + + + + + DEDICATED + + TO + + MY DEAR PARENTS, + + ON THE FOOTHILLS OF + + THE OREGON SIERRAS. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +PREFACE. + + +With deep reverence I inscribe these lines, my dear parents, to you. I +see you now, away beyond the seas, beyond the lands where the sun goes +down in the Pacific like some great ship of fire, resting still on the +green hills, watching your herds, waiting + + "Where rolls the Oregon, + And hears no sound save its own dashing." + +Nearly a quarter of a century ago you took me the long and lonesome +half-year's journey across the mighty continent, wild, and rent, and +broken up, and sown with sand and ashes, and crossed by tumbling, +wooded rivers that ran as if glad to get away, fresh and strange and +new as if but half-fashioned from the hand of God. + +All the time as I tread this strange land I re-live those scenes, and +you are with me. How dark and deep, how sullen, strong, and lion-like +the mighty Missouri rolled between his walls of untracked wood and +cleft the unknown domain of the middle world before us! + +Then the frail and buffeted rafts on the river, the women and children +huddled together, the shouts of the brawny men as they swam with the +bellowing cattle; the cows in the stormy stream, eddying, whirling, +spinning about, calling to their young, their bright horns shining in +the sun.... The wild men waiting on the other side, painted savages +leaning silent on their bows, despising our weakness, opening a way, +letting us pass on to the unknown distances, where they said the sun +and moon lay down together and brought forth the stars.... The long +and winding lines of wagons, the graves by the wayside, the women +weeping together as they passed on. Then hills, then plains, parched +lands like Syria, dust, and ashes, and alkali, cool streams with +woods, camps by night, great wood fires in circles, tents in the +centre like Cæsar's battle-camps, painted men that passed like +shadows, showers of arrows, the wild beasts howling from the hill.... + +You, my dear parents, will pardon the thread of fiction on which I +have strung these scenes and descriptions of a mighty land of mystery, +and wild and savage grandeur, for the world will have its way, and, +like a spoiled child, demands a tale. + + "Yea, + We who toil and earn our bread + Still have our masters...." + +A ragged and broken story it is, with long deserts, with alkali and +ashes, yet it may, like the land it deals of, have some green places, +and woods, and running waters, where you can rest.... + +Three times now I have ranged the great West in fancy, as I did in +fact for twenty years, and gathered unknown and unnamed blossoms from +mountain-top, from desert level, where man never ranged before, and +asked the world to receive my weeds, my grasses, and blue-eyed +blossoms. But here it ends. Good or bad, I have done enough of this +work on the border. The Orient promises a more grateful harvest. + +I have been true to my West. She has been my only love. I have +remembered her greatness. I have done my work to show to the world her +vastness, her riches, her resources, her valor and her dignity, her +poetry and her grandeur. Yet while I was going on, working so in +silence, what were the things she said of me? But let that pass, my +dear parents. Others will come after us. Possibly I have blazed out +the trail for great minds over this field, as you did across the +deserts and plains for great men a quarter of a century ago. + + + JOAQUIN MILLER. + + LAKE COMO, Italy. + + + + +[Illustration ] + + + + +THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. + + + + +I. + + + A Man in middle Aridzone + Stood by the desert's edge alone, + And long he look'd, and lean'd. He peer'd, + Above his twirl'd and twisted beard, + Beneath his black and slouchy hat ... + Nay, nay, the tale is not of that. + + A skin-clad trapper, toe-a-tip, + Stood on a mountain top, and he + Look'd long and still and eagerly. + "It looks so like some lonesome ship + That sails this ghostly lonely sea,-- + This dried-up desert sea," said he, + "These tawny sands of Arazit" ... + Avaunt! the tale is not of it. + + A chief from out the desert's rim + Rode swift as twilight swallows swim, + Or eagle blown from eyrie nest. + His trim-limb'd steed was black as night, + His long black hair had blossom'd white, + With feathers from the koko's crest; + His iron face was flush'd and red, + His eyes flash'd fire as he fled, + For he had seen unsightly things; + Had felt the flapping of their wings. + + A wild and wiry man was he, + This tawny chief of Shoshonee; + And O his supple steed was fleet! + About his breast flapp'd panther skins, + About his eager flying feet + Flapp'd beaded, braided moccasins: + He rode as rides the hurricane; + He seem'd to swallow up the plain; + He rode as never man did ride, + He rode, for ghosts rode at his side, + And on his right a grizzled grim-- + No, no, this tale is not of him. + + An Indian warrior lost his way + While prowling on this desert's edge + In fragrant sage and prickly hedge, + When suddenly he saw a sight, + And turn'd his steed in eager flight. + He rode right through the edge of day, + He rode into the rolling night. + + He lean'd, he reach'd an eager face, + His black wolf skin flapp'd out and in, + And tiger claws on tiger skin + Held seat and saddle to its place; + But that gray ghost that clutch'd thereat ... + Arrête! the tale is not of that. + + A chieftain touch'd the desert's rim + One autumn eve: he rode alone + And still as moon-made shadows swim. + He stopp'd, he stood as still as stone, + He lean'd, he look'd, there glisten'd bright + From out the yellow yielding sand + A golden cup with jewell'd rim. + He lean'd him low, he reach'd a hand, + He caught it up, he gallop'd on, + He turn'd his head, he saw a sight ... + His panther skins flew to the wind, + The dark, the desert lay behind; + The tawny Ishmaelite was gone; + But something sombre as death is ... + Tut, tut! the tale is not of this. + + A mountaineer, storm-stained and brown, + From farthest desert touched the town, + And, striding through the crowd, held up + Above his head a jewell'd cup. + He put two fingers to his lip, + He whisper'd wild, he stood a-tip, + And lean'd the while with lifted hand, + And said, "A ship lies yonder dead," + And said, "Doubloons lie sown in sand + In yon far desert dead and brown, + Beyond where wave-wash'd walls look down, + As thick as stars set overhead. + That three shipmasts uplift like trees" ... + Away! the tale is not of these. + + An Indian hunter held a plate + Of gold above his lifted head, + Around which kings had sat in state ... + "'Tis from that desert ship," they said, + "That sails with neither sail nor breeze, + Or galleon, that sank below + Of old, in olden dried-up seas, + Ere yet the red men drew the bow." + + But wrinkled women wagg'd the head, + And walls of warriors sat that night + In black, nor streak of battle red, + Around against the red camp light, + And told such wondrous tales as these + Of wealth within their dried-up seas. + + And one, girt well in tiger's skin, + Who stood, like Saul, above the rest, + With dangling claws about his breast, + A belt without, a blade within, + A warrior with a painted face, + And lines that shadow'd stern and grim, + Stood pointing east from his high place, + And hurling thought like cannon shot, + Stood high with visage flush'd and hot ... + But, stay! this tale is not of him. + + + + +II. + + + By Arizona's sea of sand + Some bearded miners, gray and old, + And resolute in search of gold, + Sat down to tap the savage land. + + They tented in a canñon's mouth + That gaped against the warm wide south, + And underneath a wave-wash'd wall, + Where now nor rains nor winds may fall, + They delved the level salt-white sands + For gold, with bold and hornéd hands. + + A miner stood beside his mine, + He pull'd his beard, then look'd away + Across the level sea of sand, + Beneath his broad and hairy hand, + A hand as hard as knots of pine. + "It looks so like a sea," said he. + He pull'd his beard, and he did say, + "It looks just like a dried-up sea." + Again he pull'd that beard of his, + But said no other thing than this. + + A stalwart miner dealt a stroke, + And struck a buried beam of oak. + An old ship's beam the shaft appear'd, + With storm-worn faded figure-head. + The miner twisted, twirled his beard, + Lean'd on his pick-axe as he spoke: + "'Tis from some long-lost ship," he said, + "Some laden ship of Solomon + That sail'd these lonesome seas upon + In search of Ophir's mine, ah me! + That sail'd this dried-up desert sea." ... + Nay, nay, 'tis not a tale of gold, + But ghostly land storm-slain and old. + + + + +III. + + + But this the tale. Along a wide + And sounding stream some silent braves, + That stole along the farther side + Through sweeping wood that swept the waves + Like long arms reach'd across the tide, + Kept watch and ward and still defied.... + + A low black boat that hugg'd the shores, + An ugly boat, an ugly crew, + Thick-lipp'd and woolly-headed slaves, + That bow'd, that bent the white-ash oars, + That cleft the murky waters through, + That climb'd the swift Missouri's waves,-- + The surly, woolly-headed slaves. + + A grand old Neptune in the prow, + Gray-hair'd, and white with touch of time, + Yet strong as in his middle prime; + A grizzled king, I see him now, + With beard as blown by wind of seas, + And wild and white as white sea-storm, + Stand up, turn suddenly, look back + Along the low boat's wrinkled track, + Then fold his mantle round a form + Broad-built as any Hercules, + And so sit silently. + + Beside + The grim old sea-king sits his bride, + A sun-land blossom, rudely torn + From tropic forests to be worn + Above as stern a breast as e'er + Stood king at sea or anywhere.... + + Another boat with other crew + Came swift and silent in her track, + And now shot shoreward, now shot back, + And now sat rocking fro and to, + But never once lost sight of her. + Tall, sunburnt, southern men were these + From isles of blue Caribbean seas, + And one, that woman's worshipper, + Who looked on her, and loved but her. + + And one, that one, was wild as seas + That wash the far dark Oregon, + And ever leaning, urging on, + And standing up in restless ease, + He seem'd as lithe and free and tall + And restless as the boughs that stir + Perpetual topt poplar trees. + And one, that one, had eyes to teach + The art of love, and tongue to preach + Life's hard and sober homilies; + And yet his eager hands, his speech, + All spoke the bold adventurer; + While zoned about the belt of each + There swung a girt of steel, till all + Did seem a walking arsenal. + + + + +IV. + + + Pursuer and pursued. And who + Are these that make the sable crew; + These mighty Titans, black and nude, + And hairy-breasted, bronzed and broad + Of chest as any demi-god, + That dare this peopled solitude? + + And who is he that leads them here, + And breaks the hush of wave and wood? + Comes he for evil or for good? + Brave Jesuit or bold buccaneer? + + Nay, these be idle themes. Let pass. + These be but men. We may forget + The wild sea-king, the tawny brave, + The frowning wold, the woody shore, + The tall-built, sunburnt men of Mars.... + But what and who was she, the fair? + The fairest face that ever yet + Look'd in a wave as in a glass; + That look'd as look the still, far stars, + So woman-like, into the wave + To contemplate their beauty there, + Yet look as looking anywhere? + + And who of all the world was she? + A bride, or not a bride? A thing + To love? A prison'd bird to sing? + You shall not know. That shall not be + Brought from the future's great profound + This side the happy hunting-ground. + + I only saw her, heard the sound + Of murky waters gurgling round + In counter-currents from the shore, + But heard the long, strong stroke of oar + Against the waters gray and vast. + I only saw her as she pass'd-- + A great, sad beauty, in whose eyes + Lay all the loves of Paradise.... + + You shall not know her--she who sat + Unconscious in my heart all time + I dreamed and wove this wayward rhyme, + And loved and did not blush thereat. + + The sunlight of a sunlit land, + A land of fruit, of flowers, and + A land of love and calm delight; + A land where night is not like night, + And noon is but a name for rest, + And love for love is reckoned best. + + Where conversations of the eyes + Are all enough; where beauty thrills + The heart like hues of harvest-home; + Where rage lies down, where passion dies, + Where peace hath her abiding place.... + A face that lifted up; sweet face + That was so like a life begun, + That rose for me a rising sun + Above the bended seven hills + Of dead and risen old new Rome. + + Not that I deem'd she loved me. Nay, + I dared not even dream of that. + I only say I knew her; say + She ever sat before me, sat + All still and voiceless as love is, + And ever look'd so fair, divine, + Her hush'd, vehement soul fill'd mine, + And overflowed with Runic bliss, + And made itself a part of this. + + O you had loved her sitting there, + Half hidden in her loosen'd hair: + Why, you had loved her for her eyes, + Their large and melancholy look + Of tenderness, and well mistook + Their love for light of Paradise. + + Yea, loved her for her large dark eyes; + Yea, loved her for her brow's soft brown; + Her hand as light as heaven's bars; + Yea, loved her for her mouth. Her mouth + Was roses gather'd from the south, + The warm south side of Paradise, + And breathed upon and handed down, + By angels on a stair of stars. + + Her mouth! 'twas Egypt's mouth of old, + Push'd out and pouting full and bold + With simple beauty where she sat. + Why, you had said, on seeing her, + This creature comes from out the dim + Far centuries, beyond the rim + Of time's remotest reach or stir. + And he who wrought Semiramis + And shaped the Sibyls, seeing this, + Had bow'd and made a shrine thereat, + And all his life had worshipp'd her, + Devout as north-Nile worshipper. + + I dared not dream she loved me. Nay, + Her love was proud; and pride is loth + To look with favor, own it fond + Of one the world loves not to-day.... + No matter if she loved or no, + God knows I loved enough for both, + And knew her as you shall not know + Till you have known sweet death, and you + Have cross'd the dark; gone over to + The great majority beyond. + + + + +V. + + + The black men bow'd, the long oars bent, + They struck as if for sweet life's sake, + And one look'd back, but no man spake, + And all wills bent to one intent. + + On through the golden fringe of day + Into the deep, dark night, away + And up the wave 'mid walls of wood + They cleft, they climb'd, they bowed, they bent, + But one stood tall, and restless stood, + And one sat still all night, all day, + And gazed in helpless wonderment. + + Her hair pour'd down like darkling wine, + The black men lean'd, a sullen line, + The bent oars kept a steady song, + And all the beams of bright sunshine + That touch'd the waters wild and strong, + Fell drifting down and out of sight + Like fallen leaves, and it was night. + + And night and day, and many days + They climb'd the sudden, dark gray tide, + And she sat silent at his side, + And he sat turning many ways: + + Sat watching for his wily foe; + At last he baffled him. And yet + His brow gloom'd dark, his lips were set; + He lean'd, he peer'd through boughs, as though + From heart of forests deep and dim + Grim shapes could come confronting him. + + A grand, uncommon man was he, + Broad-shoulder'd, and of Gothic form, + Strong-built, and hoary like a sea; + A high sea broken up by storm. + + His face was brown and overwrought + By seams and shadows born of thought, + Not over gentle. And his eyes, + Bold, restless, resolute, and deep, + Too deep to flow like shallow fount + Of common men where waters mount + And men bend down their heads and weep-- + Fierce, lumin'd eyes, where flames might rise + Instead of flood, and flash and sweep-- + Strange eyes, that look'd unsatisfied + With all things fair or otherwise; + As if his inmost soul had cried + All time for something yet unseen, + Some long-desired thing denied. + + A man whose soul was mightier far + Than his great self, and surged and fell + About himself as heaving seas + Lift up and lash, and boom, and swell + Above some solitary bar + That bursts through blown Samoa's sea, + And wreck and toss eternally. + + + + +VI. + + + Below the overhanging boughs + The oars laid idle at the last. + Yet long he look'd for hostile prows + From out the wood and down the stream. + They came not, and he came to dream + Pursuit abandon'd, danger past. + + He fell'd the oak, he built a home + Of new-hewn wood with busy hand, + And said, "My wanderings are told." + And said, "No more by sea, by land, + Shall I break rest, or drift, or roam, + For I am worn, and I grow old." + + And there, beside that surging tide, + Where gray waves meet, and wheel, and strike, + The man sat down as satisfied + To sit and rest unto the end; + As if the strong man here had found + A sort of brother in this sea,-- + This surging, sounding majesty + Of troubled water, so profound, + So sullen, strong, and lion-like, + So sinuous and foamy bound. + + Hast seen Missouri cleave the wood + In sounding whirlpools to the sea? + What soul hath known such majesty? + What man stood by and understood? + + By pleasant Omaha I stood, + Beneath a fringe of mailéd wood, + And watch'd the mighty waters heave, + And surge, and strike, and wind, and weave + And make strange sounds and mutterings, + As if of dark unutter'd things. + + By pleasant high-built Omaha + I stand. The waves beneath me run + All stain'd and yellow, dark and dun, + And deep as death's sweet mystery,-- + A thousand Tibers roll'd in one. + I count on other years. I draw + The curtain from the scenes to be. + I see another Rome. I see + A Cæsar tower in the land, + And take her in his iron hand. + I see a throne, a king, a crown, + A high-built capital thrown down. + + I see my river rise ... + Away! + The world's cold commerce of to-day + Demands some idle flippant theme; + And I, your minstrel, must sit by, + And harp along the edge of morn, + And sing and celebrate to please + The multitude, the mob, and these + They know not pearls from yellow corn. + Yea, idly sing or silent dreàm; + My harp, my hand is yours, but I-- + My soul moves down that sounding stream. + + Adieu, dun, mighty stream, adieu! + Adown thine wooded walls, inwrought + With rose of Cherokee and vine, + Was never heard a minstrel's note, + And none would heed a song of mine. + I find expression for my thought + In other themes.... List! I have seen + A grizzly sporting on the green + Of west sierras with a goat, + And finding pastime all day through.... + + O sounding, swift Missouri, born + Of Rocky Mountains, and begot + On bed of snow at birth of morn, + Of thunder-storms and elements + That reign where puny man comes not, + With fountain-head in fields of gold, + And wide arms twining wood and wold, + And everlasting snowy tents,-- + I hail you from the Orients. + + Shall I return to you once more? + Shall take occasion by the throat + And thrill with wild Æolian note? + Shall sit and sing by your deep shore? + Shall shape a reed and pipe of yore + And wake old melodies made new, + And thrill thine leaf-land through and through? + + + + +VII. + + + Then long the long oars idle lay. + The cabin's smoke came forth and curl'd + Right lazily from river brake, + And Time went by the other way. + And who was she, the strong man's pride? + This one fair woman of the world. + A captive? Bride, or not a bride? + Her eyes, men say, grew sad and dim + With watching from the river's rim, + As waiting for some face denied. + And yet she never wept or spake, + Or breath'd his name for her love's sake. + + Yea, who was she?--none ever knew. + The great strong river swept around, + The cabins nestled in its bend, + But kept its secrets. Wild birds flew + In bevies by. The black men found + Diversion in the chase: and wide + Old Morgan ranged the wood, nor friend, + Nor foeman ever at his side + Or shared his forests deep and dim, + Or cross'd his path or question'd him. + + He stood as one who found and named + The middle world. What visions flamed + Athwart the west! What prophecies + Were his, the gray old man, that day + Who stood alone and look'd away,-- + Awest from out the waving trees, + Against the utter sundown seas. + + Alone oft-time beside the stream + He stood and gazed as in a dream, + As if he knew a life unknown + To those who knew him thus alone. + + His eyes were gray and overborne + By shaggy brows, his strength was shorn, + Yet still he ever gazed awest, + As one who would not, could not rest. + + And whence came he? and when, and why? + Men question'd men, but nought was known + Save that he roam'd the woods alone, + And lived alone beneath the stir + Of leaves, and letting life go by, + Did look on her and only her. + + And had he fled with bloody hand? + Or had he loved some Helen fair, + And battling lost both land and town? + Say, did he see his walls go down, + Then choose from all his treasures there + This love, and seek some other land? + + And yet the current of his life + Mostlike had flow'd like oil; had been + A monk's, for aught that all men knew. + Mostlike the sad man's only sin, + A cruel one, for thought is strife, + Had been the curse of thought all through. + + Mayhap his splendid soul had spurn'd + Insipid, sweet society, + That stinks in nostrils of all men + High-born and fearless-souled and free;-- + That tasting to satiety + Her hollow sweets he proudly turn'd, + And did rebel and curse her then; + And then did stoop and from the sod + Pluck this one flower for his breast, + Then turn to solitude for rest, + And turn from man in search of God. + + And as to that, I reckon it + But right, but Christian-like and just, + And closer after Christ's own plan, + To take men as you find your man, + To take a soul from God on trust, + A fit man, or yourself unfit: + + To take man free from the control + Of man's opinion: take a soul + In its own troubled world, all fair + As you behold it then and there, + Set naked in your sight, alone, + Unnamed, unheralded, unknown: + + Yea, take him bravely from the hand + That reach'd him forth from nothingness, + That took his tired soul to keep + All night, then reach'd him out from sleep + And sat him equal in the land; + Sent out from where the angels are, + A soul new-born, without one whit + Of bought or borrow'd character. + + Ah, bless us! if we only could + As ready spin and willing weave + Sweet tales of charity and good; + Could we as willing clip the wings + Of cruel tales as pleasant things, + How sweet 'twould then be to believe, + How good 'twould then be to be good. + + + + +VIII. + + + The squirrels chatter'd in the leaves, + The turkeys call'd from pawpaw wood, + The deer with lifted nostrils stood, + And humming-birds did wind and weave, + Swim round about, dart in and out, + Through fragrant forest edge made red, + Made many-colour'd overhead + By climbing blossoms sweet with bee + And yellow rose of Cherokee. + + Then frosts came by and touch'd the leaves, + Then time hung ices on the eaves, + Then cushion snows possess'd the ground, + And so the seasons kept their round; + Yet still old Morgan went and came + From cabin door to forest dim, + Through wold of snows, through wood of flame, + Through golden Indian-summer days, + Hung round in soft September haze, + And no man cross'd or question'd him. + + Nay, there was that in his stern air + That held e'en these rude men aloof: + None came to share the broad-built roof + That rose so fortress-like beside + The angry, rushing, sullen tide, + And only black men gather'd there, + The old man's slaves, in dull content, + Black, silent, and obedient. + + Then men push'd westward through his wood, + His wild beasts fled, and now he stood + Confronting men. He had endear'd + No man, but still he went and came + Apart, and shook his beard and strode + His ways alone, and bore his load, + If load it were, apart, alone. + Then men grew busy with a name + That no man loved, that many fear'd, + And cowards stoop'd, and cast a stone, + As at some statue overthrown. + + Some said a pirate blown by night + From isles of calm Caribbean land, + Who left his comrades; that he fled + With many prices on his head, + And that he bore in his hot flight + The gather'd treasure of his band, + In bloody and unholy hand. + + Then some did say a privateer, + Then others, that he fled from fear, + And climb'd the mad Missouri far, + To where the friendly forests are; + And that his illy-gotten gold + Lay sunken in his black boat's hold. + Then others, watching his fair bride, + Said, "There is something more beside." + + Some said, a stolen bride was she, + And that his strong arm in the strife + Was red with her own brother's life, + And that her lover from the sea + Lay waiting for his chosen wife, + And that a day of reckoning + Lay waiting for this grizzled king. + + O sweet child-face, that ever gazed + From out the wood and down the wave! + O eyes, that never once were raised! + O mouth, that never murmur gave! + + + + +IX. + + + O dark-eyed Ina! All the years + Brought her but solitude and tears. + Lo! ever looking out she stood + Adown the wave, adown the wood, + Adown the strong stream to the south, + Sad-faced, and sorrowful. Her mouth + Push'd out so pitiful. Her eyes + Fill'd full of sorrow and surprise. + + Men say that looking from her place + A love would sometimes light her face, + As if sweet recollections stirr'd + Her heart and broke its loneliness, + Like far sweet songs that come to us, + So soft, so sweet, they are not heard, + So far, so faint, they fill the air, + A fragrance filling anywhere. + + And wasting all her summer years + That utter'd only through her tears, + The seasons went, and still she stood + For ever watching down the wood. + + Yet in her heart there held a strife + With all this wasting of sweet life + That none who have not lived and died, + Held up the two hands crucified + Between the ways on either hand, + Can look upon or understand. + + The blackest rain-clouds muffle fire: + Between a duty and desire + There lies no middle way or land: + Take thou the right or the left hand, + And so pursue, nor hesitate + To boldly give your hand to fate. + + In helpless indecisions lie + The rocks on which we strike and die. + 'Twere better far to choose the worst + Of all life's ways than to be cursed + With indecision. Turn and choose + Your way, then all the world refuse. + + And men who saw her still do say + That never once her lips were heard, + By gloaming dusk or shining day, + To utter or pronounce one word. + Men went and came, and still she stood + In silence watching down the wood. + + Yea, still she stood and look'd away, + By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day, + Adown the wood beyond the land, + Her hollow face upon her hand, + Her black, abundant hair all down + About her loose, ungather'd gown. + + And what her thought? her life unsaid? + Was it of love? of hate? of him, + The tall, dark Southerner? + Her head + Bow'd down. The day fell dim + Upon her eyes. She bow'd, she slept. + She waken'd then, and waking wept. + + She dream'd, perchance, of island home, + A land of palms ring'd round with foam, + Where summer on her shelly shore + Sits down and rests for evermore. + + And one who watch'd her wasted youth + Did guess, mayhap with much of truth, + Her heart was with that band that came + Against her isle with sword and flame: + And this the tale he told of her + And her fierce, silent follower: + + A Spaniard and adventurer, + A man who saw her, loved, and fell + Upon his knees and worshipp'd her; + And with that fervor and mad zeal + That only sunborn bosoms feel, + Did vow to love, to follow her + Unto the altar ... or to hell: + + That then her gray-hair'd father bore + The beauteous maiden hurriedly + From out her fair isle of the sea + To sombre wold and woody shore + And far away, and kept her well, + As from a habitant of hell, + And vow'd she should not meet him more: + That fearing still the buccaneer, + He silent kept his forests here. + The while men came, and still she stood + For ever watching from the wood. + + + + +X. + + + The black-eyed bushy squirrels ran + Like shadows shatter'd through the boughs; + The gallant robin chirp'd his vows, + The far-off pheasant thrumm'd his fan, + A thousand blackbirds were a-wing + In walnut-top, and it was spring. + + Old Morgan left his cabin door, + And one sat watching as of yore; + But why turned Morgan's face as white + As his white beard? + A bird aflight, + A squirrel peering through the trees, + Saw some one silent steal away + Like darkness from the face of day, + Saw two black eyes look back, and these + Saw her hand beckon through the trees. + + He knew him, though he had not seen + That form or face for a decade, + Though time had shorn his locks, had made + His form another's, flow'd between + Their lives like some uncompass'd sea, + Yet still he knew him as before. + He pursed his lips, and silently + He turn'd and sought his cabin's door. + + Ay! they have come, the sun-brown'd men, + To beard old Morgan in his den. + It matters little who they are, + These silent men from isles afar, + And truly no one cares or knows + What be their merit or demand; + It is enough for this rude land-- + At least, it is enough for those, + The loud of tongue and rude of hand-- + To know that they are Morgan's foes. + + Proud Morgan! More than tongue can tell + He loved that woman watching there, + That stood in her dark stream of hair, + That stood and dream'd as in a spell, + And look'd so fix'd and far away. + And who, that loveth woman well, + Is wholly bad? be who he may. + + Ay! we have seen these Southern men, + These sun-brown'd men from island shore, + In this same land, and long before. + They do not seem so lithe as then, + They do not look so tall, and they + Seem not so many as of old. + But that same resolute and bold + Expression of unbridled will, + That even Time must half obey, + Is with them and is of them still. + + They do not counsel the decree + Of court or council, where they drew + Their breath, nor law nor order knew, + Save but the strong hand of the strong; + Where each stood up, avenged his wrong, + Or sought his death all silently. + + They watch along the wave and wood, + They heed, but haste not. Their estate, + Whate'er it be, can bide and wait, + Be it open ill or hidden good. + + No law for them! For they have stood + With steel, and writ their rights in blood; + And now, whatever 'tis they seek, + Whatever be their dark demand, + Why, they will make it, hand to hand, + Take time and patience: Greek to Greek. + + + + +XI. + + + Like blown and snowy wintry pine, + Old Morgan stoop'd his head and pass'd + Within his cabin door. He cast + A great arm out to men, made sign, + Then turned to Ina; stood beside + A time, then turn'd and strode the floor, + Stopp'd short, breathed sharp, threw wide the door, + Then gazed beyond the murky tide, + Toward where the forky peaks divide. + + He took his beard in his hard hand, + Then slowly shook his grizzled head + And trembled, but no word he said. + His thought was something more than pain; + Upon the seas, upon the land + He knew he should not rest again. + + He turn'd to her; but then once more + Quick turn'd, and through the oaken door + He sudden pointed to the west. + His eye resumed its old command, + The conversation of his hand, + It was enough: she knew the rest. + + He turn'd, he stoop'd, and smoothed her hair, + As if to smooth away the care + From his great heart, with his left hand. + His right hand hitch'd the pistol round + That dangled at his belt ... + The sound + Of steel to him was melody + More sweet than any song of sea. + + He touch'd his pistol, press'd his lips, + Then tapp'd it with his finger-tips, + And toy'd with it as harper's hand + Seeks out the chords when he is sad + And purposeless. + At last he had + Resolved. In haste he touch'd her hair, + Made sign she should arise--prepare + For some long journey, then again + He look'd awest toward the plain: + + Toward the land of dreams and space, + The land of Silences, the land + Of shoreless deserts sown with sand, + Where desolation's dwelling is: + The land where, wondering, you say, + What dried-up shoreless sea is this? + Where, wandering, from day to day + You say, To-morrow sure we come + To rest in some cool resting-place, + And yet you journey on through space + While seasons pass, and are struck dumb + With marvel at the distances. + + Yea, he would go. Go utterly + Away, and from all living kind, + Pierce through the distances, and find + New lands. He had outlived his race. + He stood like some eternal tree + That tops remote Yosemite, + And cannot fall. He turn'd his face + Again and contemplated space. + + And then he raised his hand to vex + His beard, stood still, and there fell down + Great drops from some unfrequent spring, + And streak'd his channell'd cheeks sun-brown, + And ran uncheck'd, as one who recks + Nor joy, nor tears, nor any thing. + + And then, his broad breast heaving deep, + Like some dark sea in troubled sleep, + Blown round with groaning ships and wrecks, + He sudden roused himself, and stood + With all the strength of his stern mood, + Then call'd his men, and bade them go + And bring black steeds with banner'd necks, + And strong like burly buffalo. + + + + +XII. + + + The sassafras took leaf, and men + Push'd west in hosts. The black men drew + Their black-maned horses silent through + The solemn woods. + One midnight when + The curl'd moon tipp'd her horn, and threw + A black oak's shadow slant across + A low mound hid in leaves and moss, + Old Morgan cautious came and drew + From out the ground, as from a grave, + A great box, iron-bound and old, + And fill'd, men say, with pirates' gold, + And then they, silent as a dream, + In long black shadows cross'd the stream. + + Lo! here the smoke of cabins curl'd, + The borders of the middle world; + And mighty, hairy, half-wild men + Sat down in silence, held at bay + By mailèd forests. Far away + The red men's boundless borders lay, + And lodges stood in legions then, + Strip'd pyramids of painted men. + + What strong uncommon men were these, + These settlers hewing to the seas! + Great horny-handed men and tan; + Men blown from any border land; + Men desperate and red of hand, + And men in love and men in debt, + And men who lived but to forget, + And men whose very hearts had died, + Who only sought these woods to hide + Their wretchedness, held in the van; + Yet every man among them stood + Alone, along that sounding wood, + And every man somehow a man. + + A race of unnamed giants these, + That moved like gods among the trees, + So stern, so stubborn-brow'd and slow, + With strength of black-maned buffalo, + And each man notable and tall, + A kingly and unconscious Saul, + A sort of sullen Hercules. + + A star stood large and white awest, + Then Time uprose and testified; + They push'd the mailèd wood aside, + They toss'd the forest like a toy, + That great forgotten race of men, + The boldest band that yet has been + Together since the siege of Troy, + And followed it ... and found their rest. + + What strength! what strife! what rude unrest! + What shocks! what half-shaped armies met! + A mighty nation moving west, + With all its steely sinews set + Against the living forests. Hear + The shouts, the shots of pioneer! + The rended forests, rolling wheels, + As if some half-check'd army reels, + Recoils, redoubles, comes again, + Loud sounding like a hurricane. + + O bearded, stalwart, westmost men, + So tower-like, so Gothic-built! + A kingdom won without the guilt + Of studied battle; that hath been + Your blood's inheritance.... + Your heirs + Know not your tombs. The great ploughshares + Cleave softly through the mellow loam + Where you have made eternal home + And set no sign. + Your epitaphs + Are writ in furrows. Beauty laughs + While through the green ways wandering + Beside her love, slow gathering + White starry-hearted May-time blooms + Above your lowly levell'd tombs; + And then below the spotted sky + She stops, she leans, she wonders why + The ground is heaved and broken so, + And why the grasses darker grow + And droop and trail like wounded wing. + + Yea, Time, the grand old harvester, + Has gather'd you from wood and plain. + We call to you again, again; + The rush and rumble of the car + Comes back in answer. Deep and wide + The wheels of progress have pass'd on; + The silent pioneer is gone. + His ghost is moving down the trees, + And now we push the memories + Of bluff, bold men who dared and died + In foremost battle, quite aside. + + O perfect Eden of the earth, + In poppies sown, in harvest set! + O sires, mothers of my West! + How shall we count your proud bequest? + But yesterday ye gave us birth; + We eat your hard-earn'd bread to-day, + Nor toil nor spin nor make regret, + But praise our petty selves and say + How great we are, and all forget + The still endurance of the rude + Unpolish'd sons of solitude. + + + + +XIII. + + + And one was glad at morn, but one, + The tall old sea-king, grim and gray, + Look'd back to where his cabins lay + And seem'd to hesitate. + He rose + At last, as from his dream's repose, + From rest that counterfeited rest, + And set his blown beard to the west, + And drove against the setting sun, + Along the levels vast and dun. + + His steeds were steady, strong, and fleet, + The best in all the wide west land, + Their manes were in the air, their feet + Seem'd scarce to touch the flying sand; + The reins were in the reaching hand. + + They rode like men gone mad, they fled, + All day and many days they ran, + And in the rear a gray old man + Kept watch, and ever turn'd his head, + Half eager and half angry, back + Along their dusty desert track. + + And one look'd back, but no man spoke, + They rode, they swallow'd up the plain; + The sun sank low, he look'd again, + With lifted hand and shaded eyes. + Then far arear he saw uprise, + As if from giant's stride or stroke, + Dun dust-like puffs of battle-smoke. + + He turn'd, his left hand clutch'd the rein, + He struck awest his high right hand, + His arms were like the limbs of oak, + They knew too well the man's command, + They mounted, plunged ahead again, + And one look'd back, but no man spoke, + Of all that sullen iron band, + That reached along that barren land. + + O weary days of weary blue, + Without one changing breath, without + One single cloud-ship sailing through + The blue seas bending round about + In one unbroken blotless hue. + Yet on they fled, and one look'd back + For ever down their distant track. + + The tent is pitch'd, the blanket spread, + The earth receives the weary head, + The night rolls west, the east is gray, + The tent is struck, they mount, away; + They ride for life the livelong day, + They sweep the long grass in their track, + And one leads on, and one looks back. + + What scenes they pass'd, what camps at morn, + What weary columns kept the road; + What herds of troubled cattle low'd, + And trumpeted like lifted horn; + And everywhere, or road or rest, + All things were pointing to the west; + A weary, long, and lonesome track, + And all led on, but one look'd back. + + They climb'd the rock-built breasts of earth, + The Titan-fronted, blowy steeps + That cradled Time.... Where Freedom keeps + Her flag of white blown stars unfurl'd, + They turn'd about, they saw the birth + Of sudden dawn upon the world; + Again they gazed; they saw the face + Of God, and named it boundless space. + + And they descended and did roam + Through levell'd distances set round + By room. They saw the Silences + Move by and beckon: saw the forms, + The very beards, of burly storms, + And heard them talk like sounding seas. + On unnamed heights bleak-blown and brown, + And torn like battlements of Mars, + They saw the darknesses come down, + Like curtains loosen'd from the dome + Of God's cathedral, built of stars. + + They pitch'd the tent, where rivers run + As if to drown the falling sun. + They saw the snowy mountains roll'd, + And heaved along the nameless lands + Like mighty billows; saw the gold + Of awful sunsets; saw the blush + Of sudden dawn, and felt the hush + Of heaven when the day sat down, + And hid his face in dusky hands. + + The long and lonesome nights! the tent + That nestled soft in sweep of grass, + The hills against the firmament + Where scarce the moving moon could pass; + The cautious camp, the smother'd light, + The silent sentinel at night! + + The wild beasts howling from the hill; + The troubled cattle bellowing; + The savage prowling by the spring, + Then sudden passing swift and still, + And bended as a bow is bent. + The arrow sent; the arrow spent + And buried in its bloody place, + The dead man lying on his face! + + The clouds of dust, their cloud by day; + Their pillar of unfailing fire + The far North star. And high, and higher.... + They climb'd so high it seem'd eftsoon + That they must face the falling moon, + That like some flame-lit ruin lay + Thrown down before their weary way. + + They learn'd to read the sign of storms, + The moon's wide circles, sunset bars, + And storm-provoking blood and flame; + And, like the Chaldean shepherds, came + At night to name the moving stars. + In heaven's face they pictured forms + Of beasts, of fishes of the sea. + They mark'd the Great Bear wearily + Rise up and drag his clinking chain + Of stars around the starry main. + + What lines of yoked and patient steers! + What weary thousands pushing west! + What restless pilgrims seeking rest, + As if from out the edge of years! + + What great yoked brutes with briskets low, + With wrinkled necks like buffalo, + With round, brown, liquid, pleading eyes, + That turn'd so slow and sad to you, + That shone like love's eyes soft with tears, + That seem'd to plead, and make replies + The while they bow'd their necks and drew + The creaking load; and look'd at you. + Their sable briskets swept the ground, + Their cloven feet kept solemn sound. + + Two sullen bullocks led the line, + Their great eyes shining bright like wine; + Two sullen captive kings were they, + That had in time held herds at bay, + And even now they crush'd the sod + With stolid sense of majesty, + And stately stepp'd and stately trod, + As if 'twas something still to be + Kings even in captivity. + + + + +XIV. + + + And why did these same sunburnt men + Let Morgan gain the plain, and then + Pursue him to the utter sea? + You ask me here impatiently. + And I as pertly must reply, + My task is but to tell a tale, + To give a wide sail to the gale, + To paint the boundless plain, the sky; + To rhyme, nor give a reason why. + + Mostlike they sought his gold alone, + And fear'd to make their quarrel known + Lest it should keep its secret bed; + Mostlike they thought to best prevail + And conquer with united hands + Alone upon the lonesome sands; + Mostlike they had as much to dread; + Mostlike--but I must tell my tale. + + And Morgan, ever looking back, + Push'd on, push'd up his mountain track, + Past camp, past train, past caravan, + Past flying beast, past failing man, + Past brave men battling with a foe + That circled them with lance and bow + And feather'd arrows all a-wing; + Till months unmeasured came and ran + The calendar with him, as though + Old Time had lost all reckoning; + Then passed for aye the creaking trains, + And pioneers that named the plains. + + Those brave old bricks of Forty-nine! + What lives they lived! what deaths they died! + A thousand cañons, darkling wide + Below Sierra's slopes of pine, + Receive them now. + And they who died + Along the far, dim, desert route. + Their ghosts are many. + Let them keep + Their vast possessions. + The Piute, + The tawny warrior, will dispute + No boundary with these. And I, + Who saw them live, who felt them die, + Say, let their unploughed ashes sleep, + Untouched by man, by plain or steep. + + The bearded, sunbrown'd men who bore + The burthen of that frightful year, + Who toil'd, but did not gather store, + They shall not be forgotten. + Drear + And white, the plains of Shoshonee + Shall point us to that farther shore, + And long white shining lines of bones, + Make needless sign or white mile-stones. + + The wild man's yell, the groaning wheel; + The train that moved like drifting barge; + The dust that rose up like a cloud, + Like smoke of distant battle! Loud + The great whips rang like shot, and steel + Of antique fashion, crude and large, + Flash'd back as in some battle charge. + + They sought, yea, they did find their rest + Along that long and lonesome way, + These brave men buffeting the West + With lifted faces. + Full were they + Of great endeavor. Brave and true + As stern Crusader clad in steel, + They died a-field as it was fit. + Made strong with hope, they dared to do + Achievement that a host to-day + Would stagger at, stand back and reel, + Defeated at the thought of it. + + What brave endeavor to endure! + What patient hope, when hope was past! + What still surrender at the last, + A thousand leagues from hope! how pure + They lived, how proud they died! + How generous with life! + The wide + And gloried age of chivalry + Hath not one page like this to me. + + Let all these golden days go by, + In sunny summer weather. I + But think upon my buried brave, + And breathe beneath another sky. + Let beauty glide in gilded car, + And find my sundown seas afar, + Forgetful that 'tis but one grave + From eastmost to the westmost wave. + + Yea, I remember! The still tears + That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell! + The final, silent, sad farewell! + God! these are with me all the years! + They shall be with me ever. I + Shall not forget. I hold a trust. + They are a part of my existence. + When + Adown the shining iron track + You sweep, and fields of corn flash back, + And herds of lowing steers move by, + And men laugh loud, in mute distrust, + I turn to other days, to men + Who made a pathway with their dust. + + + + +XV. + + + At last he pass'd all men or sign + Of man. Yet still his long black line + Was push'd and pointed for the west; + The sea, the utmost sea, and rest. + + He climbed, descended, climbed again, + Until he stood at last as lone, + As solitary and unknown, + As some lost ship upon the main. + + O there was grandeur in his air, + An old-time splendor in his eye, + When he had climb'd the bleak, the high, + The rock-built bastions of the plain, + And thrown a-back his blown white hair, + And halting turn'd to look again. + + And long, from out his lofty place, + He look'd far down the fading plain + For his pursuers, but in vain. + Yea, he was glad. Across his face + A careless smile was seen to play, + The first for many a stormy day. + + He turn'd to Ina, dark and fair + As some sad twilight; touch'd her hair, + Stoop'd low, and kiss'd her silently, + Then silent held her to his breast. + Then waved command to his black men, + Look'd east, then mounted slow, and then + Led leisurely against the west. + + And why should he, who dared to die, + Who more than once with hissing breath + Had set his teeth and pray'd for death, + Have fled these men, or wherefore fly + Before them now? why not defy? + + His midnight men were strong and true, + And not unused to strife, and knew + The masonry of steel right well, + And all its signs that lead to hell. + + It might have been his youth had wrought + Some wrong his years would now repair + That made him fly and still forbear; + It might have been he only sought + To lead them to some fatal snare + And let them die by piece-meal there. + + It might have been that his own blood, + A brother, son, pursued with curse. + It might have been this woman fair + Was this man's child, an only thing + To love in all the universe, + And that the old man's iron will + Kept pirate's child from pirate still. + These rovers had a world their own, + Had laws, lived lives, went ways unknown. + + I trow it was not shame or fear + Of any man or any thing + That death in any shape might bring. + It might have been some lofty sense + Of his own truth and innocence, + And virtues lofty and severe-- + Nay, nay! what need of reasons here? + + They touch'd a fringe of tossing trees + That bound a mountain's brow like bay, + And through the fragrant boughs a breeze + Blew salt-flood freshness. + Far away, + From mountain brow to desert base + Lay chaos, space, unbounded space, + In one vast belt of purple bound. + The black men cried, "The sea!" They bow'd + Their black heads in their hard black hands. + They wept for joy. + They laugh'd, and broke + The silence of an age, and spoke + Of rest at last; and, group'd in bands, + They threw their long black arms about + Each other's necks, and laugh'd aloud, + Then wept again with laugh and shout. + + Yet Morgan spake no word, but led + His band with oft-averted head + Right through the cooling trees, till he + Stood out upon the lofty brow + And mighty mountain wall. + And now + The men who shouted, "Lo, the sea!" + Rode in the sun; but silently: + Stood in the sun, then look'd below. + They look'd but once, then look'd away, + Then look'd each other in the face. + They could not lift their brows, nor say, + But held their heads, nor spake, for lo! + Nor sea, nor voice of sea, nor breath + Of sea, but only sand and death, + And one eternity of space + Confronted them with fiery face. + + 'Twas vastness even as a sea, + So still it sang in symphonies; + But yet without the sense of seas, + Save depth, and space, and distances. + 'Twas all so shoreless, so profound, + It seem'd it were earth's utter bound. + 'Twas like the dim edge of death is, + 'Twas hades, hell, eternity! + + + + +XVI. + + + Then Morgan hesitating stood, + Look'd down the deep and steep descent + With wilder'd brow and wonderment, + Then gazed against the cooling wood. + + And she beside him gazed at this, + Then turn'd her great, sad eyes to his; + He shook his head and look'd away, + Then sadly smiled, and still did say, + "To-morrow, child, another day." + + O thou to-morrow! Mystery! + O day that ever runs before! + What has thine hidden hand in store + For mine, to-morrow, and for me? + O thou to-morrow! what hast thou + In store to make me bear the now? + + O day in which we shall forget + The tangled troubles of to-day! + O day that laughs at duns, at debt! + O day of promises to pay! + O shelter from all present storm! + O day in which we shall reform! + + O day of all days for reform! + Convenient day of promises! + Hold back the shadow of the storm. + O bless'd to-morrow! Chiefest friend, + Let not thy mystery be less, + But lead us blindfold to the end. + + + + +XVII. + + + Old Morgan eyed his men, look'd back + Against the groves of tamarack, + Then tapp'd his stirrup-foot, and stray'd + His hard left hand along the mane + Of his strong steed, and careless play'd + His fingers through the silken skein, + And seemed a time to touch the rein. + + And then he spurr'd him to her side, + And reach'd his hand and, leaning wide, + He smiling push'd her falling hair + Back from her brow, and kiss'd her there. + + Yea, touch'd her softly, as if she + Had been some priceless, tender flower, + Yet touch'd her as one taking leave + Of his one love in lofty tower + Before descending to the sea + Of battle on his battle eve. + + + + +XVIII. + + + A distant shout! quick oaths! alarms! + The black men start up suddenly, + Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms, + And bare bright arms all instantly. + + But he, he slowly turns, and he + Looks all his full soul in her face. + He does not shout, he does not say, + But sits serenely in his place + A time, then slowly turns, looks back + Between the trim-bough'd tamarack, + And up the winding mountain way, + To where the long strong grasses lay. + + He raised his glass in his two hands, + Then in his left hand let it fall, + Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er, + Then reach'd his glass, waved cold commands, + Then tapp'd his stirrup as before, + Stood in the stirrup stern and tall, + Then ran his hand along the mane + Half nervous-like, and that was all. + + His head half settled on his breast, + His face a-beard like bird a-nest, + And then he roused himself, he spoke, + He reach'd an arm like arm of oak, + He struck a-west his great broad hand, + And seem'd to hurl his hot command. + + He clutch'd his rein, struck sharp his heel, + Look'd at his men, and smiled half sad, + Half desperate, then hitch'd his steel, + And all his stormy presence had, + As if he kept once more his keel + On listless seas where breakers reel. + + He toss'd again his iron hand + Above the deep, steep desert space, + Above the burning seas of sand, + And look'd his black men in the face. + + They spake not, nor look'd back again, + They struck the heel, they clutch'd the rein, + And down the darkling plunging steep + They dropped toward the dried-up deep. + + Below! It seem'd a league below, + The black men rode, and she rode well, + Against the gleaming sheening haze + That shone like some vast sea ablaze, + That seem'd to gleam, to glint, to glow + As if it mark'd the shores of hell. + + Then Morgan stood alone, look'd back + From off the fierce wall where he stood, + And watch'd his dusk approaching foe. + He saw him creep along his track, + Saw him descending from the wood, + And smiled to see how worn and slow. + + Then when his foemen hounding came + In pistol-shot of where he stood, + He wound his hand in his steed's mane, + And plunging to the desert plain, + Threw back his white beard like a cloud, + And looking back did shout aloud + Defiance like a stormy flood, + And shouted, "Vasques!" called his name, + And dared him to the desert flame. + + + + +XIX. + + + A cloud of dust adown the steep, + Where scarce a whirling hawk would sweep, + The cloud his foes had follow'd fast, + And Morgan like a cloud had pass'd, + Yet passed like some proud king of old; + And now mad Vasques could not hold + Control of his one wild desire + To meet old Morgan, in his ire. + + He cursed aloud, he shook his rein + Above the desert darkling deep, + And urged his steed toward the steep, + But urged his weary steed in vain. + + Old Morgan heard his oath and shout, + And Morgan turn'd his head once more, + And wheel'd his stout steed short about, + Then seem'd to count their numbers o'er. + + And then his right hand touch'd his steel, + And then he tapp'd his iron heel + And seem'd to fight with thought. + At last, + As if the final die was cast, + And cast as carelessly as one + Would toss a white coin in the sun, + He touch'd his rein once more, and then + His pistol laid with idle heed + Prone down the toss'd mane of his steed, + And he rode down the rugged way + Tow'rd where the wide, white desert lay, + By broken gorge and cavern'd den, + And join'd his band of midnight men. + + Some say the gray old man had crazed + From mountain fruits that he had pluck'd + While winding through the wooded ways + Above the steep. + But others say + That he had turn'd aside and suck'd + Sweet poison from the honey dews + That lie like manna all the day + On dewy leaves so crystal fair + And temptingly that none refuse; + That thus made mad the man did dare + Confront the desert and despair. + + Then other mountain men explain, + That when one looks upon this sea + Of glowing sand, he looks again, + Again, through gossamers that run + In scintillations of the sun + Along this white eternity, + And looks until the brain is dazed, + Bewilder'd, and the man is crazed. + + Then one, a grizzled mountaineer, + A thin and sinewy old man, + With face all wrinkle-wrought, and tan, + And presence silent and austere, + Does tell a tale, with reaching face + And bated breath, of this weird place, + Of many a stalwart mountaineer + And Piute tall who perish'd here. + + He tells a tale with whisper'd breath + Of skin-clad men who track'd this shore, + Once populous with sea-set town, + And saw a woman wondrous fair, + And, wooing, follow'd her far down + Through burning sands to certain death; + And then he catches short his breath. + + He tells: Nay, this is all too long; + Enough. The old man shakes his hair + When he is done, and shuts his eyes, + So satisfied and so self-wise, + As if to say, "'Tis nothing rare, + This following the luring fair + To death, and bound in thorny thong; + 'Twas ever thus; the old, old song." + + + + +XX. + + + Go ye and look upon that land, + That far vast land that few behold, + And none beholding understand,-- + That old, old land which men call new, + That land as old as time is old;-- + Go journey with the seasons through + Its wastes, and learn how limitless, + How shoreless lie the distances, + Before you come to question this + Or dare to dream what grandeur is. + + The solemn silence of that plain, + Where unmanned tempests ride and reign, + It awes and it possesses you. + 'Tis, oh! so eloquent. + The blue + And bended skies seem built for it, + With rounded roof all fashioned fit, + And frescoed clouds, quaint-wrought and true; + While all else seems so far, so vain, + An idle tale but illy told, + Before this land so lone and old. + + Its story is of God alone, + For man has lived and gone away, + And left but little heaps of stone, + And all seems some long yesterday. + + Lo! here you learn how more than fit + And dignified is silence, when + You hear the petty jeers of men + Who point, and show their pointless wit. + + The vastness of that voiceless plain, + Its awful solitudes remain + Thenceforth for aye a part of you, + And you are of the favored few, + For you have learn'd your littleness, + And heed not names that name you less. + + Some silent red men cross your track; + Some sun-tann'd trappers come and go; + Some rolling seas of buffalo + Break thunder-like and far away + Against the foot-hills, breaking back + Like breakers of some troubled bay; + But not a voice the long, lone day. + + Some white-tail'd antelope blow by + So airy-like; some foxes shy + And shadow-like shoot to and fro + Like weavers' shuttles, as you pass; + And now and then from out the grass + You hear some lone bird cluck, and call + A sharp keen call for her lost brood, + That only makes the solitude, + That mantles like some sombre pall, + Seem deeper still, and that is all. + + A wide domain of mysteries + And signs that men misunderstand! + A land of space and dreams; a land + Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas! + + A land of caves and caravans, + And lonely wells and pools; + A land + That hath its purposes and plans, + That seems so like dead Palestine, + Save that its wastes have no confine + Till push'd against the levell'd skies; + A land from out whose depths shall rise + The new-time prophets. + Yea, the land + From out whose awful depths shall come, + All clad in skins, with dusty feet, + A man fresh from his Maker's hand, + A singer singing oversweet, + A charmer charming very wise; + And then all men shall not be dumb. + + Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say, + "Take heed, for I prepare the way + For weary feet." + Lo! from this land + Of Jordan streams and sea-wash'd sand, + The Christ shall come when next the race + Of man shall look upon his face. + + + + +XXI. + + + Pursuer and pursued! who knows + The why he left the breezy pine, + The fragrant tamarack and vine, + Red rose and precious yellow rose! + + Nay, Vasques held the vantage ground + Above him by the wooded steep, + And right nor left no passage lay, + And there was left him but that way,-- + The way through blood, or to the deep + And lonesome deserts far profound, + That know not sight of man, or sound. + + Hot Vasques stood upon the rim, + High, bold, and fierce with crag and spire. + He saw a far gray eagle swim, + He saw a black hawk wheel, retire, + And shun that desert wide a-wing, + But saw no other living thing. + + High in the full sun's gold and flame + He halting and half waiting came + And stood below the belt of wood, + Then moved along the broken hill + And looked below. + And long he stood + With lips set firm and brow a-frown, + And warring with his iron will. + He mark'd the black line winding down + As if into the doors of death. + And as he gazed a breath arose + As from his far-retreating foes, + So hot it almost took his breath. + + His black eye flashed an angry fire, + He stood upon the mountain brow, + With lifted arm like oaken bough; + The hot pursuer halting stood + Irresolute, in nettled ire; + Then look'd against the cooling wood, + Then strode he sullen to and fro, + Then turned and long he gazed below. + + The sands flash'd back like fields of snow, + Like far blown seas that flood and flow. + The while the rounded sky rose higher, + And cleaving through the upper space, + The flush'd sun settled to his place, + Like some far hemisphere of fire. + + And yet again he gazed. And now, + Far off and faint, he saw or guess'd + He saw, beyond the sands a-west, + A dim and distant lifting beach + That daring men might dare and reach: + Dim shapes of toppled peaks with pine, + And water'd foot-hills dark like wine, + And fruits on many a bended bough. + + The leader turn'd and shook his head. + "And shall we turn aside," he said, + "Or dare this hell?" The men stood still + As leaning on his sterner will. + + And then he stopp'd and turn'd again, + And held his broad hand to his brow, + And looked intent and eagerly. + The far white levels of the plain + Flash'd back like billows. + Even now + He saw rise up remote, 'mid sea, + 'Mid space, 'mid wastes, 'mid nothingness, + A ship becalm'd as in distress. + + The dim sign pass'd as suddenly, + A gossamer of golden tress, + Thrown over some still middle sea, + And then his eager eyes grew dazed,-- + He brought his two hands to his face. + Again he raised his head, and gazed + With flashing eyes and visage fierce + Far out, and resolute to pierce + The far, far, faint receding reach + Of space and touch its farther beach. + He saw but space, unbounded space; + Eternal space and nothingness. + + Then all wax'd anger'd as they gazed + Far out upon the shoreless land, + And clench'd their doubled hands and raised + Their long bare arms, but utter'd not. + At last one started from the band, + His bosom heaved as billows heave, + Great heaving bosom, broad and brown: + He raised his arm, push'd up his sleeve, + Push'd bare his arm, strode up and down, + With hat pushed back, and flushed and hot, + And shot sharp oaths like cannon shot. + + Again the man stood still, again + He strode the height like hoary storm, + Then shook his fists, and then his form + Did writhe as if it writhed with pain. + + And yet again his face was raised, + And yet again he gazed and gazed, + Above his fading, failing foe, + With gather'd brow and visage fierce, + As if his soul would part or pierce + The awful depths that lay below. + + He had as well look'd on that sea + That keeps Samoa's coral isles + Amid ten thousand watery miles, + Bound round by one eternity; + Bound round by realms of nothingness, + In love with their own loneliness. + He saw but space, unbounded space, + And brought his brown hands to his face. + + There roll'd away to left, to right, + Unbroken walls as black as night, + And back of these there distant rose + Steep cones of everlasting snows. + + At last he was resolved, his form + Seem'd like a pine blown rampt with storm. + He mounted, clutch'd his reins, and then + Turn'd sharp and savage to his men; + And silent then led down the way + To night that knows not night nor day. + + + + +XXII. + + + Like some great serpent black and still, + Old Morgan's men stole down the hill. + Far down the steep they wound and wound + Until the black line touched that land + Of gleaming white and silver sand + That knows not human sight or sound. + + How broken plunged the steep descent; + How barren! Desolate, and rent + By earthquake's shock, the land lay dead, + With dust and ashes on its head. + + 'Twas as some old world overthrown, + Where Theseus fought and Sappho dreamed + In eons ere they touched this land, + And found their proud souls foot and hand + Bound to the flesh and stung with pain. + An ugly skeleton it seem'd + Of its own self. The fiery rain + Of red volcanoes here had sown + The death of cities of the plain. + + The very devastation gleamed. + All burnt and black, and rent and seam'd, + Ay, vanquished quite and overthrown, + And torn with thunder-stroke, and strown + With cinders, lo! the dead earth lay + As waiting for the judgment day. + + Why, tamer men had turn'd and said, + On seeing this, with start and dread, + And whisper'd each with gather'd breath, + "We come on the confines of death." + + They wound below a savage bluff + That lifted, from its sea-mark'd base, + Great walls with characters cut rough + And deep by some long-perish'd race; + And lo! strange beasts unnamed, unknown, + Stood hewn and limn'd upon the stone. + + The iron hoofs sank here and there, + Plough'd deep in ashes, broke anew + Old broken idols, and laid bare + Old bits of vessels that had grown, + As countless ages cycled through, + Imbedded with the common stone. + + A mournful land as land can be + Beneath their feet in ashes lay, + Beside that dread and dried-up sea; + A city older than that gray + And grass-grown tower builded when + Confusion cursed the tongues of men. + + Beneath, before, a city lay + That in her majesty had shamed + The wolf-nursed conqueror of old; + Below, before, and far away + There reach'd the white arm of a bay, + A broad bay shrunk to sand and stone, + Where ships had rode and breakers roll'd + When Babylon was yet unnamed, + And Nimrod's hunting-fields unknown. + + Some serpents slid from out the grass + That grew in tufts by shatter'd stone, + Then hid beneath some broken mass + That Time had eaten as a bone + Is eaten by some savage beast; + An everlasting palace feast. + + A dull-eyed rattlesnake that lay + All loathsome, yellow-skinn'd, and slept, + Coil'd tight as pine-knot, in the sun, + With flat head through the centre run, + Struck blindly back, then rattling crept + Flat-bellied down the dusty way ... + 'Twas all the dead land had to say. + + Two pink-eyed hawks, wide-wing'd and gray, + Scream'd savagely, and, circling high, + And screaming still in mad dismay, + Grew dim and died against the sky ... + 'Twas all the heavens had to say. + + The grasses fail'd, and then a mass + Of brown, burnt cactus ruled the land, + And topt the hillocks of hot sand, + Where scarce the hornèd toad could pass. + Then stunted sage on either hand, + All loud with odors, spread the land. + + The sun rose right above, and fell + As falling molten as they pass'd. + Some low-built junipers at last, + The last that o'er the desert look'd, + Thick-bough'd, and black as shapes of hell + Where dumb owls sat with bent bills hook'd + Beneath their wings awaiting night, + Rose up, then faded from the sight: + Then not another living thing + Crept on the sand or kept the wing. + + White Azteckee! Dead Azteckee! + Vast sepulchre of buried sea! + What dim ghosts hover on thy rim, + What stately-manner'd shadows swim + Along thy gleaming waste of sands + And shoreless limits of dead lands? + + Dread Azteckee! Dead Azteckee! + White place of ghosts, give up thy dead: + Give back to Time thy buried hosts! + The new world's tawny Ishmaelite, + The roving tent-born Shoshonee, + Who shuns thy shores as death, at night, + Because thou art so white, so dread, + Because thou art so ghostly white, + Because thou hast thy buried hosts, + Has named thy shores "the place of ghosts." + + Thy white uncertain sands are white + With bones of thy unburied dead + That will not perish from the sight. + They drown but perish not,--ah me! + What dread unsightly sights are spread + Along this lonesome dried-up sea. + + White Azteckee, give up to me + Of all thy prison'd dead but one, + That now lies bleaching in the sun, + To tell what strange allurements lie + Within this dried-up oldest sea, + To tempt men to its heart and die. + + Old, hoar, and dried-up sea! so old! + So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold! + Yea, thou art old and hoary white + With time, and ruin of all things; + And on thy lonesome borders night + Sits brooding as with wounded wings. + + The winds that toss'd thy waves and blew + Across thy breast the blowing sail, + And cheer'd the hearts of cheering crew + From farther seas, no more prevail. + + Thy white-wall'd cities all lie prone, + With but a pyramid, a stone, + Set head and foot in sands to tell + The tired stranger where they fell. + + The patient ox that bended low + His neck, and drew slow up and down + Thy thousand freights through rock-built town + Is now the free-born buffalo. + + No longer of the timid fold, + The mountain sheep leaps free and bold + His high-built summit and looks down + From battlements of buried town. + + Thine ancient steeds know not the rein; + They lord the land; they come, they go + At will; they laugh at man; they blow + A cloud of black steeds o'er the plain. + + Thy monuments lie buried now, + The ashes whiten on thy brow, + The winds, the waves, have drawn away, + The very wild man dreads to stay. + + O! thou art very old. I lay, + Made dumb with awe and wonderment, + Beneath a palm before my tent, + With idle and discouraged hands, + Not many days agone, on sands + Of awful, silent Africa. + + Long gazing on her mighty shades, + I did recall a semblance there + Of thee. I mused where story fades + From her dark brow and found her fair. + + A slave, and old, within her veins + There runs that warm, forbidden blood + That no man dares to dignify + In elevated song. + + The chains + That held her race but yesterday + Hold still the hands of men. Forbid + Is Ethiop. + + The turbid flood + Of prejudice lies stagnant still, + And all the world is tainted. Will + And wit lie broken as a lance + Against the brazen mailed face + Of old opinion. + + None advance + Steel-clad and glad to the attack, + With trumpet and with song. Look back! + Beneath yon pyramids lie hid + The histories of her great race. + Old Nilus rolls right sullen by, + With all his secrets. + + Who shall say: + My father rear'd a pyramid; + My brother clipp'd the dragon's wings; + My mother was Semiramis? + Yea, harps strike idly out of place; + Men sing of savage Saxon kings + New-born and known but yesterday, + And Norman blood presumes to say.... + + Nay, ye who boast ancestral name + And vaunt deeds dignified by time + Must not despise her. + Who hath worn + Since time began a face that is + So all-enduring, old like this-- + A face like Africa's? + Behold! + The Sphinx is Africa. The bond + Of silence is upon her. + Old + And white with tombs, and rent and shorn; + With raiment wet with tears, and torn, + And trampled on, yet all untamed; + All naked now, yet not ashamed,-- + The mistress of the young world's prime, + Whose obelisks still laugh at Time, + And lift to heaven her fair name, + Sleeps satisfied upon her fame. + + Beyond the Sphinx, and still beyond, + Beyond the tawny desert-tomb + Of Time; beyond tradition, loom + And lift ghostlike from out the gloom + Her thousand cities, battle-torn + And gray with story and with time. + Her very ruins are sublime, + Her thrones with mosses overborne + Make velvets for the feet of Time. + + She points a hand and cries: "Go read + The letter'd obelisks that lord + Old Rome, and know my name and deed. + My archives these, and plunder'd when + I had grown weary of all men." + We turn to these; we cry: "Abhorr'd + Old Sphinx, behold, we cannot read!" + + And yet my dried-up desert sea + Was populous with blowing sail, + And set with city, white-wall'd town, + All mann'd with armies bright with mail, + Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat down + To gaze into eternity, + Or Egypt knew her natal hour, + Or Africa had name or power. + + + + +XXIII. + + + Away upon the sandy seas, + The gleaming, burning, boundless plain. + How solemn-like, how still, as when + The mighty-minded Genoese + Drew three tall ships and led his men + From land they might not meet again. + + The black men rode in front by two, + The fair one follow'd close, and kept + Her face held down as if she wept; + But Morgan kept the rear, and threw + His flowing, swaying beard aback + Anon along their lonesome track. + + They rode against the level sun, + And spake not he or any one. + + The weary day fell down to rest, + A star upon his mantled breast, + Ere scarce the sun fell out of space, + And Venus glimmer'd in his place. + + * * * * * + + Yea, all the stars shone just as fair, + And constellations kept their round, + And look'd from out the great profound, + And marched, and countermarch'd, and shone + Upon that desolation there, + Why just the same as if proud man + Strode up and down array'd in gold + And purple as in days of old, + And reckon'd all of his own plan, + Or made at least for man alone + And man's dominion from a throne. + + Yet on push'd Morgan silently, + And straight as strong ship on a sea; + And ever as he rode there lay + To right, to left, and in his way, + Strange objects looming in the dark, + Some like a mast, or ark, or bark. + + And things half hidden in the sand + Lay down before them where they pass'd,-- + A broken beam, half-buried mast, + A spar or bar, such as might be + Blown crosswise, tumbled on the strand + Of some sail-crowded stormy sea. + + + + +XXIV. + + + All night by moon, by morning star, + The still, black men still kept their way; + All night till morn, till burning day, + Hot Vasques follow'd fast and far. + + The sun shot arrows instantly; + And men turn'd east against the sun, + And men did look and cry, "The sea!" + And Morgan look'd, nay, every one + Did look, and lift his hand, and shade + His brow and look, and look dismay'd. + + Lo! looming up before the sun, + Before their eyes, yet far away, + A ship with many a tall mast lay,-- + Lay resting, as if she had run + Some splendid race through seas, and won + The right to rest in salt flood bay,-- + And lay until the level sun + Uprose, and then she fell away, + As mists melt in the full of day. + + Old Morgan lifts his bony hand, + He does not speak or make command,-- + Short time for wonder, doubt, delay; + Dark objects sudden heave in sight + As if blown out or born of night. + It is enough, they turn; away! + + The sun is high, the sands are hot + To touch, and all the tawny plain, + That glistens white with salt sea sand, + Sinks white and open as they tread + And trudge, with half-averted head, + As if to swallow them amain. + They look, as men look back to land + When standing out to stormy sea, + But still keep face and murmur not; + Keep stern and still as destiny, + Or iron king of Germany. + + It was a sight! A slim dog slid + White-mouth'd and still along the sand, + The pleading picture of distress. + He stopp'd, leap'd up to lick a hand, + A hard black hand that sudden chid + Him back and check'd his tenderness; + But when the black man turn'd his head + His poor mute friend had fallen dead. + + The very air hung white with heat, + And white, and fair, and far away + A lifted, shining snow-shaft lay + As if to mock their mad retreat. + + The white, salt sands beneath their feet + Did make the black men loom as grand, + From out the lifting, heaving heat, + As they rode sternly on and on, + As any bronze men in the land + That sit their statue steeds upon. + + The men were silent as men dead. + The sun hung centred overhead, + Nor seem'd to move. It molten hung + Like some great central burner swung + From lofty beams with golden bars + In sacristy set round with stars. + + + + +XXV. + + + Why, flame could hardly be more hot; + Yet on the mad pursuer came, + Across the gleaming yielding ground, + Right on, as if he fed on flame, + Right on until the mid-day found + The man within a pistol-shot. + + He hail'd, but Morgan answer'd not, + He hail'd, then came a feeble shot, + And strangely, in that vastness there, + It seem'd to scarcely fret the air, + But fell down harmless anywhere. + + He fiercely hail'd; and then there fell + A horse. And then a man fell down, + And in the sea-sand seem'd to drown. + Then Vasques cursed, but scarce could tell + The sound of his own voice, and all + In mad confusion seem'd to fall. + + Yet on push'd Morgan, silent on, + And as he rode he lean'd and drew, + From his catenas, gold, and threw + The bright coins in the glaring sun. + But Vasques did not heed a whit, + He scarcely deign'd to scowl at it. + + Again lean'd Morgan! He uprose, + And held a high hand to his foes, + And held two goblets up, and one + Did shine as if itself a sun. + + Then leaning backward from his place, + He hurl'd them in his foemen's face, + Then drew again, and so kept on, + Till goblets, gold, and all were gone. + + Yea, strew'd them out upon the sands + As men upon a frosty morn, + In Mississippi's fertile lands, + Hurl out great, yellow ears of corn + To hungry swine with hurried hands. + + + + +XXVI. + + + Lo! still hot Vasques urges on, + With flashing eye and flushing cheek. + What would he have? what does he seek? + He does not heed the gold a whit, + He does not deign to look at it; + But now his gleaming steel is drawn, + And now he leans, would hail again,-- + He opes his swollen lips in vain. + + But look you! See! A lifted hand, + And Vasques beckons his command. + He cannot speak, he leans, and he + Bends low upon his saddle-bow. + And now his blade drops to his knee, + And now he falters, now comes on, + And now his head is bended low; + And now his rein, his steel, is gone; + Now faint as any child is he, + And now his steed sinks to the knee. + + + + +XXVII. + + + The sun hung molten in mid space, + Like some great star fix'd in its place. + From out the gleaming spaces rose + A sheen of gossamer and danced, + As Morgan slow and still advanced + Before his far-receding foes. + + Right on and on the still black line + Drove straight through gleaming sand and shine, + By spar and beam and mast and stray, + And waif of sea and cast-away. + + The far peaks faded from their sight, + The mountain walls fell down like night, + And nothing now was to be seen + Save but the dim sun hung in sheen + Of fairy garments all blood-red,-- + The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead. + + A black man tumbled from his steed. + He clutch'd in death the moving sands. + He caught the round earth in his hands, + He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim.... + The great sad mother did not heed + His hold, but pass'd right on from him, + And ere he died grew far and dim. + + + + +XXVIII. + + + The sun seem'd broken loose at last, + And settled slowly to the west, + Half hidden as he fell a-rest, + Yet, like the flying Parthian, cast + His keenest arrows as he pass'd. + + On, on, the black men slowly drew + Their length, like some great serpent through + The sands, and left a hollow'd groove: + They march'd, they scarcely seem'd to move. + How patient in their muffled tread! + How like the dead march of the dead! + + At last the slow black line was check'd, + An instant only; now again + It moved, it falter'd now, and now + It settled in its sandy bed, + And steeds stood rooted to the plain. + Then all stood still, and men somehow + Look'd down and with averted head; + Look'd down, nor dared look up, nor reck'd + Of any thing, of ill or good, + But bowed and stricken still they stood. + + Like some brave band that dared the fierce + And bristled steel of gather'd host, + These daring men had dared to pierce + This awful vastness, dead and gray. + And now at last brought well at bay + They stood,--but each stood to his post; + Each man an unencompassed host. + + Then one dismounted, waved a hand, + 'Twas Morgan's stern and still command. + There fell a clash, like loosen'd chain, + And men dismounting loosed the rein. + + Then every steed stood loosed and free; + And some stepp'd slow and mute aside, + And some sank to the sands and died, + And some stood still as shadows be, + And men stood gazing silently. + + + + +XXIX. + + + Old Morgan turn'd and raised his hand, + And laid it level with his eyes, + And look'd far back along the land. + He saw a dark dust still uprise, + Still surely tend to where he lay. + He did not curse, he did not say, + He did not even look surprise, + But silent turned to her his eyes. + + Nay, he was over-gentle now, + He wiped a time his Titan brow, + Then sought dark Ina in her place, + Put out his arms, put down his face + And look'd in hers. + + She reach'd her hands, + She lean'd, she fell upon his breast; + He reach'd his arms around; she lay + As lies a bird in leafy nest. + And he look'd out across the sands, + And then his face fell down, he smiled, + And softly said, "My child, my child!" + Then bent his head and strode away. + + And as he strode he turn'd his head, + He sidewise cast his brief commands; + He led right on across the sands. + They rose and follow'd where he led. + + + + +XXX. + + + 'Twas so like night, the sun was dim, + Some black men settled down to rest, + But none made murmur or request. + The dead were dead, and that were best; + The living leaning follow'd him, + In huddled heaps, half nude, and grim. + + The day through high mid-heaven rode + Across the sky, the dim red day; + Awest the warlike day-god strode + With shoulder'd shield away, away. + + The savage, warlike day bent low, + As reapers bend in gathering grain, + As archer bending bends yew bow, + And flush'd and fretted as in pain. + + Then down his shoulder slid his shield, + So huge, so awful, so blood-red + And batter'd as from battle-field: + It settled, sunk to his left hand, + Sunk down and down, it touch'd the sand, + Then day along the land lay dead, + Without one candle at his head. + + + + +XXXI. + + + And now the moon wheel'd white and vast, + A round, unbroken, marbled moon, + And touch'd the far bright buttes of snow, + Then climb'd their shoulders over soon; + And there she seem'd to sit at last, + To hang, to hover there, to grow, + Grow vaster than vast peaks of snow. + + Grow whiter than the snow's own breast, + Grow softer than September's noon, + Until the snow-peaks seem'd at best + But one wide, shining, shatter'd moon. + + She sat the battlements of time; + She shone in mail of frost and rime, + A time, and then rose up and stood + In heaven in sad widowhood. + + * * * * * + + The faded moon fell wearily, + And then the sun right suddenly + Rose up full arm'd, and rushing came + Across the land like flood of flame. + + + + +XXXII. + + + The sun roll'd on. Lo! hills uprose + As push'd against the arching skies,-- + As if to meet the timid sun-- + Rose sharp from out the sultry dun, + Set well with wood, and brier, and rose, + And seem'd to hold the free repose + Of lands where rocky summits rise, + Or unfenced fields of Paradise. + + The black men look'd up from the sands + Against the dim, uncertain skies, + As men that disbelieved their eyes, + And would have laugh'd; they wept instead, + With shoulders heaved, with bowing head + Hid down between their two black hands. + + They stood and gazed. Lo! like the call + Of spring-time promises, the trees + Lean'd from their lifted mountain wall, + And stood clear cut against the skies + As if they grew in pistol-shot. + Yet all the mountains answer'd not, + And yet there came no cooling breeze, + Nor soothing sense of windy trees. + + At last old Morgan, looking through + His shaded fingers, let them go, + And let his load fall down as dead. + He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snow + As was his wont, then bowing low, + Took up his life, and moaning said, + "Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and we + Stand blinded in a burning sea." + + O sweet deceit when minds despair! + O mad deceit of man betray'd! + O mother Nature, thou art fair, + But thou art false as man or maid. + + Yea, many lessons, mother Earth, + Have we thy children learn'd of thee + In sweet deceit.... The sudden birth + Of hope that dies mocks destiny. + + O mother Earth, thy promises + Are fallen leaves; they lie forgot! + Such lessons! How could we learn less? + We are but children, blame us not. + + + + +XXXIII. + + + Again they move, but where or how + It recks them little, nothing now. + Yet Morgan leads them as before, + But totters now; he bends, and he + Is like a broken ship a-sea,-- + A ship that knows not any shore, + And knows it shall not anchor more. + + Some leaning shadows crooning crept + Through desolation, crown'd in dust. + And had the mad pursuer kept + His path, and cherished his pursuit? + There lay no choice. Advance he must: + Advance, and eat his ashen fruit. + + Yet on and on old Morgan led. + His black men totter'd to and fro, + A leaning, huddled heap of woe; + Then one fell down, then two fell dead; + Yet not one moaning word was said. + + They made no sign, they said no word, + Nor lifted once black, helpless hands; + And all the time no sound was heard + Save but the dull, dead, muffled tread + Of shuffled feet in shining sands. + + Again the still moon rose and stood + Above the dim, dark belt of wood, + Above the buttes, above the snow, + And bent a sad, sweet face below. + + She reach'd along the level plain + Her long, white fingers. Then again + She reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands, + Then reach'd far out until she touch'd + A heap that lay with doubled hands, + Reach'd from its sable self, and clutch'd + With death. + O tenderly + That black, that dead and hollow face + Was kiss'd at midnight.... + What if I say + The long, white moonbeams reaching there, + Caressing idle hands of clay, + And resting on the wrinkled hair + And great lips push'd in sullen pout, + Were God's own fingers reaching out + From heaven to that lonesome place? + + + + +XXXIV. + + + By waif and stray and cast-away, + Such as are seen in seas withdrawn, + Old Morgan led in silence on, + And sometime lifting up his head + To guide his footsteps as he led, + He deem'd he saw a great ship lay + Her keel along the sea-wash'd sand, + As with her captain's old command. + + * * * * * + + The stars were seal'd; and then a haze + Of gossamer fill'd all the west, + So like in Indian summer days, + And veil'd all things. + And then the moon + Grew pale, and faint, and far. She died, + And now nor star nor any sign + Fell out of heaven. + Oversoon + Some black men fell. Then at their side + Some one sat down to watch, to rest ... + To rest, to watch, or what you will, + The man sits resting, watching still. + + + + +XXXV. + + + The day glared through the eastern rim + Of rocky peaks, as prison bars; + With light as dim as distant stars + The sultry sunbeams filter'd down + Through misty phantoms weird and dim, + Through shifting shapes bat-wing'd brown. + + Like some vast ruin wrapp'd in flame + The sun fell down before them now. + Behind them wheel'd white peaks of snow, + As they proceeded. + Gray and grim + And awful objects went and came + Before them then. They pierced at last + The desert's middle depths, and lo! + There loom'd from out the desert vast + A lonely ship, well-built and trim, + And perfect all in hull and mast. + + No storm had stain'd it any whit, + No seasons set their teeth in it. + Her masts were white as ghosts, and tall; + Her decks were as of yesterday. + The rains, the elements, and all + The moving things that bring decay + By fair green lands or fairer seas, + Had touch'd not here for centuries. + + Lo! date had lost all reckoning, + And Time had long forgotten all + In this lost land, and no new thing + Or old could anywise befall, + Or morrows, or a yesterday, + For Time went by the other way. + + The ages have not any course + Across this untrack'd waste. + The sky + Wears here one blue, unbending hue, + The heavens one unchanging mood. + The far still stars they filter through + The heavens, falling bright and bold + Against the sands as beams of gold. + The wide, white moon forgets her force; + The very sun rides round and high, + As if to shun this solitude. + + What dreams of gold or conquest drew + The oak-built sea-king to these seas, + Ere Earth, old Earth, unsatisfied, + Rose up and shook man in disgust + From off her wearied breast, and threw + And smote his cities down, and dried + These measured, town-set seas to dust? + Who trod these decks? + What captain knew + The straits that led to lands like these? + + Blew south-sea breeze or north-sea breeze? + What spiced winds whistled through this sail? + What banners stream'd above these seas? + And what strange seaman answer'd back + To other sea-king's beck and hail, + That blew across his foamy track! + + Sought Jason here the golden fleece? + Came Trojan ship or ships of Greece? + Came decks dark-mann'd from sultry Ind, + Woo'd here by spacious wooing wind? + So like a grand, sweet woman, when + A great love moves her soul to men? + + Came here strong ships of Solomon + In quest of Ophir by Cathay?... + Sit down and dream of seas withdrawn, + And every sea-breath drawn away.... + Sit down, sit down! + What is the good + That we go on still fashioning + Great iron ships or walls of wood, + High masts of oak, or any thing? + + Lo! all things moving must go by. + The sea lies dead. Behold, this land + Sits desolate in dust beside + His snow-white, seamless shroud of sand; + The very clouds have wept and died, + And only God is in the sky. + + + + +XXXVI. + + + The sands lay heaved, as heaved by waves, + As fashion'd in a thousand graves: + And wrecks of storm blown here and there, + And dead men scatter'd everywhere; + And strangely clad they seem'd to be + Just as they sank in that old sea. + + The mermaid with her splendid hair + Had clung about a wreck's beam there; + And sung her song of sweet despair, + The time she saw the seas withdrawn + And all her home and glory gone: + + Had sung her melancholy dirge, + Above the last receding surge, + And, looking down the rippled tide, + Had sung, and with her song had died. + + The monsters of the sea lay bound + In strange contortions. Coil'd around + A mast half heaved above the sand, + The great sea-serpent's folds were found, + As solid as ship's iron band. + And basking in the burning sun + There rose the great whale's skeleton. + + A thousand sea things stretch'd across + Their weary and bewilder'd way: + Great unnamed monsters wrinkled lay + With sunken eyes and shrunken form. + The strong sea-horse that rode the storm + With mane as light and white as floss, + Lay tangled in his mane of moss. + + And anchor, hull, and cast-away, + And all things that the miser deep + Doth in his darkling locker keep, + To right and left around them lay. + + Yea, coins lay there on either hand, + Lay shining in the silver sand; + As plenty in the wide sands lay + As stars along the Milky Way. + + And golden coin, and golden cup, + And golden cruse, and golden plate, + And all that great seas swallow up, + Right in their dreadful pathway lay.... + The hungry and insatiate + Old sea, made hoary white with time, + And wrinkled cross with many a crime, + With all his treasured thefts was there, + His sins, his very soul laid bare, + As if it were the Judgment Day. + + + + +XXXVII. + + + And now the tawny night fell soon, + And there was neither star nor moon; + And yet it seem'd it was not night. + There fell a phosphorescent light, + There rose from white sands and dead men + A soft light, white and fair as when + The Spirit of Jehovah moved + Upon the water's conscious face, + And made it His abiding-place. + + O mighty waters unreproved! + Thou deep! where the Jehovah moved + Ere soul of man was called to be! + O seas! that were created not + As man, as earth, as light, as aught + That is. O sea! thou art to me + A terror, death, eternity. + + + + +XXXVIII. + + + I do recall some sad days spent, + By borders of the Orient, + Days sweet as sad to memory ... + 'Twould make a tale. It matters not ... + I sought the loneliest seas; I sought + The solitude of ruins, and forgot + Mine own lone life and littleness + Before this fair land's mute distress, + That sat within this changeful sea. + + Slow sailing through the reedy isles, + By unknown banks, through unknown bays, + Some sunny, summer yesterdays, + Where Nature's beauty still beguiles, + I saw the storied yellow sail + And lifted prow of steely mail. + 'Tis all that's left Torcello now,-- + A pirate's yellow sail, a prow. + + Below the far, faint peaks of snow, + And grass-grown causeways well below, + I touched Torcello. + Once a-land, + I took a sea-shell in my hand, + And blew like any trumpeter. + I felt the fig-leaves lift and stir + On trees that reached from ruined wall + Above my head, but that was all. + Back from the farther island shore + Came echoes trooping; nothing more. + + Lo! here stood Adria once, and here + Attila came with sword and flame, + And set his throne of hollowed stone + In her high mart. + And it remains + Still lord o'er all. Where once the tears + Of mute petition fell, the rains + Of heaven fall. Lo! all alone + There lifts this massive empty throne! + The sea has changed his meed, his mood, + And made this sedgy solitude. + + By cattle paths grass-grown and worn, + Through marbled streets all stain'd and torn + By time and battle, there I walked. + A bent old beggar, white as one + For better fruitage blossoming, + Came on. And as he came he talked + Unto himself; for there are none + In all his island, old and dim, + To answer back or question him. + + I turned, retraced my steps once more. + The hot miasma steamed and rose + In deadly vapor from the reeds + That grew from out the shallow shore, + Where peasants say the sea-horse feeds, + And Neptune shapes his horn and blows. + + I climb'd and sat that throne of stone + To contemplate, to dream, to reign; + Ay, reign above myself; to call + The people of the past again + Before me as I sat alone + In all my kingdom. + There were kine + That browsed along the reedy brine, + And now and then a tusky boar + Would shake the high reeds of the shore, + A bird blow by,--but that was all. + + I watched the lonesome sea-gull pass. + I did remember and forget; + The past rolled by; I stood alone. + I sat the shapely chiselled stone + That stands in tall sweet grasses set; + Ay, girdle deep in long strong grass, + And green Alfalfa. + Very fair + The heavens were, and still and blue, + For Nature knows no changes there. + The Alps of Venice, far away + Like some half-risen half moon lay. + + How sweet the grasses at my feet! + The smell of clover over sweet. + I heard the hum of bees. The bloom + Of clover-tops and cherry-trees + Were being rifled by the bees, + And these were building in a tomb. + + The fair Alfalfa; such as has + Usurped the Occident, and grows + With all the sweetness of the rose + On Sacramento's sundown hills, + Is there, and that mid island fills + With fragrance. Yet the smell of death + Comes riding in on every breath. + + Lo! death that is not death, but rest: + To step aside, to watch and wait + Beside the wave, outside the gate, + With all life's pulses in your breast: + To absolutely rest, to pray + In some lone mountain while you may. + + That sad sweet fragrance. It had sense, + And sound, and voice. It was a part + Of that which had possessed my heart, + And would not of my will go hence. + 'Twas Autumn's breath; 'twas dear as kiss + Of any worshipped woman is. + + Some snails have climb'd the throne and writ + Their silver monograms on it + In unknown tongues. + I sat thereon, + I dreamed until the day was gone; + I blew again my pearly shell,-- + Blew long and strong, and loud and well; + I puffed my cheeks, I blew, as when + Horn'd satyrs danced the delight of men. + + Some mouse-brown cows that fed within + Looked up. A cowherd rose hard by, + My single subject, clad in skin, + Nor yet half clad. I caught his eye, + He stared at me, then turned and fled. + He frightened fled, and as he ran, + Like wild beast from the face of man, + Across his shoulder threw his head. + He gathered up his skin of goat + About his breast and hairy throat. + He stopped, and then this subject true, + Mine only one in lands like these + Made desolate by changeful seas, + Came back and asked me for a _sou_. + + + + +XXXIX. + + + And yet again through the watery miles + Of reeds I rowed till the desolate isles + Of the black bead-makers of Venice are not. + I touched where a single sharp tower is shot + To heaven, and torn by thunder and rent + As if it had been Time's battlement. + A city lies dead, and this great gravestone + Stands at its head like a ghost alone. + + Some cherry-trees grow here, and here + An old church, simple and severe + In ancient aspect, stands alone + Amid the ruin and decay, all grown + In moss and grasses. + Old and quaint, + With antique cuts of martyr'd saint, + The gray church stands with stooping knees, + Defying the decay of seas. + + Her pictured Hell, with flames blown high, + In bright mosaics wrought and set + When man first knew the Nubian art, + Her bearded saints, as black as jet; + Her quaint Madonna, dim with rain + And touch of pious lips of pain, + So touched my lonesome soul, that I + Gazed long, then came and gazed again, + And loved, and took her to my heart. + + Nor monk in black, nor Capuchin, + Nor priest of any creed was seen. + A sun-browned woman, old and tall, + And still as any shadow is, + Stole forth from out the mossy wall + With massive keys to show me this: + Came slowly forth, and following, + Three birds--and all with drooping wing. + + Three mute brown babes of hers; and they-- + O, they were beautiful as sleep, + Or death, below the troubled deep. + And on the pouting lips of these + Red corals of the silent seas, + Sweet birds, the everlasting seal + Of silence that the God has set + On this dead island, sits for aye. + + I would forget, yet not forget + Their helpless eloquence. They creep + Somehow into my heart, and keep + One bleak, cold corner, jewel set. + They steal my better self away + To them, as little birds that day + Stole fruits from out the cherry-trees. + + So helpless and so wholly still, + So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise, + That I did love, despite my will. + One little maid of ten,--such eyes, + So large and lonely, so divine,-- + Such pouting lips, such peachy cheek,-- + Did lift her perfect eyes to mine, + Until our souls did touch and speak; + Stood by me all that perfect day, + Yet not one sweet word could she say. + + She turned her melancholy eyes + So constant to my own, that I + Forgot the going clouds, the sky, + Found fellowship, took bread and wine, + And so her little soul and mine + Stood very near together there. + And O, I found her very fair. + Yet not one soft word could she say: + What did she think of all that day? + + The sometime song of gondolier + Is heard afar. The fishermen + Betimes draw net by ruined shore, + In full spring time when east winds fall; + Then traders row with muffled oar, + Tedesca or the turban'd Turk, + The pirate, at some midnight work + By watery wall,--but that is all. + + + + +XL. + + + Remote, around the lonesome ship, + Old Morgan moved, but knew it not, + For neither star nor moon fell down ... + I trow that was a lonesome spot + He found, where boat and ship did dip + In sands like some half-sunken town, + And all things rose bat-winged and brown. + + At last before the leader lay + A form that in the night did seem + A slain Goliath. + As in a dream, + He drew aside in his slow pace, + And look'd. He saw a sable face, + A friend that fell that very day, + Thrown straight across his wearied way. + + He falter'd now. His iron heart, + That never yet refused its part, + Began to fail him; and his strength + Shook at his knees, as shakes the wind + A shatter'd ship. + His scatter'd mind + Ranged up and down the land. At length + He turn'd, as ships turn, tempest toss'd, + For now he knew that he was lost, + And sought in vain the moon, the stars, + In vain the battle-star of Mars. + + Again he moved. And now again + He paused, he peer'd along the plain, + Another form before him lay. + He stood, and statue-white he stood, + He trembled like a stormy wood,-- + It was a foeman brown and gray. + + He lifted up his head again, + Again he search'd the great profound + For moon, for star, but sought in vain. + He kept his circle round and round; + The great ship lifting from the sand + And pointing heavenward like a hand. + + + + +XLI. + + + And still he crept along the plain, + Yet where his foeman dead again + Lay in his way he moved around, + And soft as if on sacred ground, + And did not touch him anywhere. + It might have been he had a dread, + In his half-crazed and fever'd brain, + His mortal foe might wake again + If he should dare to touch him there. + + He circled round the lonesome ship + Like some wild beast within a wall, + That keeps his paces round and round. + The very stillness had a sound; + He saw strange somethings rise and dip; + He felt the weirdness like a pall + Come down and cover him. + + It seem'd + To take a form, take many forms, + To talk to him, to reach out arms; + Yet on he kept, and silent kept, + And as he led he lean'd and slept, + And as he slept he talk'd and dream'd. + + Then shadows follow'd, stopp'd, and stood + Bewildered, wandered back again, + Came on and then fell to the sand + And sinking died. + Then other men + Did wag their woolly heads and laugh, + Then bend their necks and seem to quaff + Of cooling waves that careless flow + Where woods and long strong grasses grow. + + Yet on wound Morgan, leaning low, + With head upon his breast, and slow + As hand upon a dial plate. + He did not turn his course or quail, + He did not falter, did not fail, + Turn right or left or hesitate. + + Some far-off sounds had lost their way, + And seem'd to call to him and pray + For help, as if they were affright. + It was not day, it seem'd not night, + But that dim land that lies between + The mournful, faithful face of night + And loud and gold-bedazzled day; + A night that was not felt but seen. + + There seem'd not then the ghost of sound. + He stepp'd as soft as step the dead; + Yet on he led in solemn tread, + Bewilder'd, blinded, round and round, + About the great black ship that rose + Tall-masted as that ship that blows + Her ghost below lost Panama,-- + The tallest mast man ever saw. + + Two leaning shadows follow'd him, + Their eyes were red, their teeth shone white, + Their limbs did lift as shadows swim. + Then one went left and one went right, + And in the night pass'd out of night; + Pass'd through the portals black, unknown, + And Morgan totter'd on alone. + + + + +XLII. + + + And why he still survived the rest, + Why still he had the strength to stir, + Why still he stood like gnarléd oak + That buffets storm and tempest stroke, + One cannot say, save but for her, + That helpless being on his breast; + At rest; that would not let him rest. + + She did not speak, she did not stir; + In rippled currents over her + Her black, abundant hair pour'd down + Like mantle or some sable gown. + + That sad, sweet dreamer; she who knew + Not any thing of earth at all, + Nor cared to know its bane or bliss; + That dove that did not touch the land, + That knew, yet did not understand. + And this may be because she drew + Her all of life right from the hand + Of God, and did not choose to learn + The things that make up earth's concern. + + Ah! there be souls none understand; + Like clouds, they cannot touch the land, + Drive as they may by field or town. + Then we look wise at this and frown, + And we cry, "Fool," and cry, "Take hold + Of earth, and fashion gods of gold." + + ... Unanchor'd ships, they blow and blow, + Sail to and fro, and then go down + In unknown seas that none shall know, + Without one ripple of renown. + Poor drifting dreamers sailing by, + They seem to only live to die. + + Call these not fools; the test of worth + Is not the hold you have of earth. + Lo! there be gentlest souls sea-blown + That know not any harbor known. + Now it may be the reason is + They touch on fairer shores than this. + + + + +XLIII. + + + And dark-eyed Ina? Nestled there, + Half-hidden in her glorious hair, + The while its midnight folds fell down + From out his great arms nude and brown, + She lay against his hairy breast, + All motionless as death, below + His great white beard like shroud, or snow, + As if in everlasting rest. + + He totter'd side to side to keep + Erect and keep his steady tread; + He lean'd, he bent to her his head ... + "She sleeps uncommon sound," he said, + "As if in that eternal sleep, + Where cool and watered willows sweep." + + At last he touch'd a fallen group, + Dead fellows tumbled in the sands, + Dead foemen, gather'd to the dead. + And eager now the man did stoop, + Lay down his load and reach his hands, + And stretch his form and look steadfast + And frightful, and as one aghast + And ghostly from his hollow eyes. + He lean'd and then he raised his head, + And look'd for Vasques, but in vain; + He laid his two great arms crosswise, + Took breath a time with trembling main, + Then peered again along the plain. + + Lo! from the sands another face, + The last that follow'd through the deep, + Comes on from out the lonesome place. + And Vasques, too, survives! + But where? + His last bold follower lies there, + Thrown straight across old Morgan's track, + As if to check him, bid him back. + He stands, he does not dare to stir, + He watches by his child asleep, + He fears, for her: but only her. + The man who ever mock'd at death, + He hardly dares to draw his breath. + + Beyond, and still as black despair, + A man rose up, stood dark and tall, + Stretch'd out his neck, reach'd forth, let fall + Dark oaths, and Death stood waiting there. + + He drew his blade, came straight as death + Right up before the follower, + The last of Morgan's sable men, + While Morgan watched aside by her, + And saw his foeman wag his beard + And fiercest visage ever seen. + The while that dead man lay between. + I think no man there drew a breath, + I know that no man quail'd or fear'd. + + The tawny dead man stretch'd between, + And Vasques set his foot thereon. + The stars were seal'd, the moon was gone, + The very darkness cast a shade. + The scene was rather heard than seen, + The rattle of a single blade.... + + A right foot rested on the dead, + A black hand reach'd and clutch'd a beard, + Then neither prayed, nor dreamed of hope ... + A fierce face reach'd, a fierce face peer'd ... + No bat went whirling overhead, + No star fell out of Ethiope.... + + The dead man lay between them there, + The two men glared as tigers glare, + The black man held him by the beard. + He wound his hand, he held him fast, + And tighter held, as if he fear'd + The man might 'scape him at the last. + Whiles Morgan did not speak or stir, + But stood in silent watch by her. + + Not long.... A light blade lifted, thrust, + A blade that leapt and swept about, + So wizard-like, like wand in spell, + So like a serpent's tongue thrust out ... + Thrust twice, thrust thrice, thrust as he fell, + Thrust through until it touch'd the dust. + + Yet ever as he thrust and smote, + The black hand like an iron band + Did tighten to the gasping throat. + He fell, but did not loose his hand; + The two fell dead upon the sand. + + Lo! up and from the fallen forms + Two ghosts came forth like cloud of storms. + Two tall ghosts stood, and looking back, + With hands all bloody, and hands clutch'd, + Strode on together, till they touch'd, + Along the lonesome, chartless track, + Where dim Plutonian darkness fell, + Then touch'd the outer rim of hell, + And looking back their great despair + Sat sadly down as resting there. + + + + +XLIV. + + + Perchance there was a strength in death; + The scene it seem'd to nerve the man + To superhuman strength. He rose, + Held up his head, began to scan + The heavens and to take his breath + Right strong and lustily. He now + Resumed his load, and with his eye + Fixed on a star that filtered through + The farther west, pushed bare his brow, + And kept his course with head held high, + As if he strode his deck and drew + His keel below some lifted light + That watched the rocky reef at night. + + How lone he was, how patient she, + Upon that lonesome sandy sea! + It were a sad, unpleasant sight + To follow them through all the night, + Until the time they lifted hand, + And touched at last a watered land. + + The turkeys walked the tangled grass, + And scarcely turned to let them pass. + There was no sign of man, or sign + Of savage beast. 'Twas so divine, + It seem'd as if the bended skies + Were rounded for this Paradise. + + The large-eyed antelope came down + From off their windy hills, and blew + Their whistles as they wandered through + The open groves of watered wood; + Then came as light as if a-wing, + And reached their noses wet and brown, + And stamped their little feet, and stood + Close up before them wondering. + + What if this were the Eden true, + They found in far heart of the new + And unnamed westmost world I sing, + Where date and history had birth, + And man first 'gan his wandering + To go the girdles of the earth! + + It lies a little isle mid land, + An island in a sea of sand; + With reedy waters and the balm + Of an eternal summer air. + Some blowy pines toss tall and fair; + And there are grasses long and strong, + And tropic fruits that never fail: + The Manzinetta pulp, the palm, + The prickly pear, with all the song + Of summer birds. + And there the quail + Makes nest, and you may hear her call + All day from out the chaparral. + + A land where white man never trod, + And Morgan seems some demi-god, + That haunts the red man's spirit land. + A land where never red man's hand + Is lifted up in strife at all. + He holds it sacred unto those + Who bravely fell before their foes, + And rarely dares its desert wall. + + Here breaks nor sound of strife or sign; + Rare times a red man comes this way, + Alone, and battle-scarred and gray, + And then he bends devout before + The maid who keeps the cabin door, + And deems her sacred and divine. + + Within the island's heart, 'tis said, + Tall trees are bending down with bread, + And that a fountain pure as truth, + And deep and mossy bound and fair, + Is bubbling from the forest there,-- + Perchance the fabled fount of youth! + + An isle where never cares betide; + Where solitude comes not, and where + The soul is ever satisfied. + An isle where skies are ever fair, + Where men keep never date nor day, + Where Time has thrown his glass away. + + This isle is all their own. No more + The flight by day, the watch by night. + Dark Ina twines about the door + The scarlet blooms, the blossoms white, + And winds red berries in her hair, + And never knows the name of care. + + She has a thousand birds; they blow + In rainbow clouds, in clouds of snow; + The birds take berries from her hand; + They come and go at her command. + + She has a thousand pretty birds, + That sing her summer songs all day; + Small black-hoofed antelope in herds, + And squirrels bushy-tail'd and gray, + With round and sparkling eyes of pink, + And cunning-faced as you can think. + + She has a thousand busy birds; + And is she happy in her isle, + With all her feathered friends and herds? + For when has Morgan seen her smile? + + She has a thousand cunning birds, + They would build nestings in her hair; + She has brown antelope in herds; + She never knows the name of care; + Why then is she not happy there? + + All patiently she bears her part; + She has a thousand birdlings there, + These birds they would build in her hair; + But not one bird builds in her heart. + + She has a thousand birds; yet she + Would give ten thousand cheerfully, + All bright of plume and loud of tongue, + And sweet as ever trilled or sung, + For one small fluttered bird to come + And sit within her heart, though dumb. + + She has a thousand birds; yet one + Is lost, and, lo! she is undone. + She sighs sometimes. She looks away, + And yet she does not weep or say. + + She has a thousand birds. The skies + Are fashioned for her paradise; + A very queen of fairy land, + With all earth's fruitage at command, + And yet she does not lift her eyes. + She sits upon the water's brink + As mournful soul'd as you can think. + + She has a thousand birds; and yet + She will look downward, nor forget + The fluttered white-winged turtle dove, + The changeful-throated birdling, love, + That came, that sang through tropic trees, + Then flew for aye across the seas. + + The waters kiss her feet; above + Her head the trees are blossoming, + And fragrant with eternal spring. + Her birds, her antelope are there, + Her birds they would build in her hair; + She only waits her birdling, love. + She turns, she looks along the plain, + Imploring love to come again. + + + + +Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Ship in the Desert, by Joaquin Miller + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41955 *** |