POSMS 
 
 JOAQ.UIN MILLER
 
 STATE NORMAL SCHOOL, 
 
 Los Angeles, Cat. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 SONGS OF THE SIERRAS. 
 
 ARIZONIAN 1 
 
 WITH WALKER IN NICARAGUA 23 
 
 ' CALIFORNIAN 65 
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS 107 
 
 INA 120 
 
 / THE TALE OF THE TALL ALCALDE 195 
 
 I KIT CARSON'S RIDE 243 
 
 BURNS AND BYRON 255 
 
 . MYRRH 267 
 
 I EVEN So 277 
 
 \ 
 
 SONGS OF THE SUN-LANDS. 
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS . 7 
 
 FROM SEA TO SEA 105 
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS 115 
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER . 149
 
 SONGS OF THE SIERRAS.
 
 4 ARIZONIAN. 
 
 Kiss'd by kine and the brown sweet bee 
 For these have the sun, and moon, and air, 
 And never a bit of the burthen of care ; 
 And with all of our caring what more have we ? 
 I would court content like a lover lonely, 
 I would woo her, win her, and wear her only, 
 And never go over this white sea wall 
 For gold or glory or for aught at all." 
 
 He said these things as he stood with the Squire 
 By the river's rim in the fields of clover, 
 While the stream flow'd under and the clouds flew over, 
 With the sun tangled in and the fringes afire. 
 So the Squire lean'd with a kind desire 
 To humor his guest, and to hear his story ; 
 For his guest had gold, and he yet was clever, 
 And mild of manner ; and, what was more, he, 
 In the morning's ramble, had praised the kine, 
 The clover's reach and the meadows fine, 
 
 And so made the Squire his friend- for ever. 
 
 
 
 His brow was brown'd by the sun and weather, 
 And touch'd by the terrible hand of time ; 
 His rich black beard had a fringe of rime,
 
 ARIZONIAN. 
 
 As silk and silver inwove together. 
 
 There were hoops of gold all over his hands, 
 
 And across his breast, in chains and bands, 
 
 Broad and massive as belts of leather. 
 
 And the belts of gold were bright in the sun, 
 
 But brighter than gold his black eyes shone 
 
 From their sad face-setting so swarth and dun, 
 
 Brighter than beautiful Santan stone, 
 
 Brighter even than balls of fire, 
 
 As he said, hot-faced, in the face of the Squire: 
 
 " The pines bow'd over, the stream bent under 
 The cabin cover'd with thatches of palm, 
 Down in a canon so deep, the wonder 
 Was what it could know in its clime but calm. 
 Down hi a canon so cleft asunder 
 By sabre-stroke in the young world's prime, 
 It look'd as broken by bolts of thunder, 
 And bursted asunder and rent and riven 
 By earthquakes, driven, the turbulent time 
 A red cross lifted red hands to heaven. 
 And this in the land where the sun goes down, 
 And gold is gather'd by tide and by stream, 
 And maidens are brown as the cocoa brown,
 
 6 ARIZONIAN. 
 
 And a life is a love and a love is a dream ; 
 Where the winds come in from the far Cathay 
 With odor of spices and balm and bay, 
 And summer abideth for aye and aye, 
 Nor comes in a tour with the stately June, 
 And comes too late and returns too soon 
 To the land of the sun and of' summer's noon. 
 
 "She stood in the shadows as the sun went down 
 Fretting her curls with her fingers brown, 
 As tall as the silk-tipp'd tassel'd corn 
 Stood strangely watching as I weigh'd the gold 
 We had wash'd that dny-where the river roll'd ; 
 And her proud lip curl'd with a sun-clime scorn, 
 As she ask'd, Is she better or fairer than I ? 
 She, that blonde in the land beyond, , 
 Where the sun is hid and the seas are high 
 That you gather in gold as the years go on, 
 And hoard and hide it away for her 
 As a squirrel burrows the black pine-burr ? ' 
 
 " Now the gold weigh' d well, but was lighter of weight 
 Than we two had taken for days of late, 
 So I was fretted, and, brow a-frown,
 
 ARIZONIAN. 7 
 
 1 said, ' She is fairer, and I loved her first, 
 And shall love her last corne the worst to worst.' 
 Now her eyes were black and her skin was brown, 
 But her lips grew livid and her eyes afire 
 As I said this tiling : and higher and higher 
 The hot words ran, when the booming thunder 
 Peal'd in the crags and the pine-tops under, 
 While up by the cliff in the murky skies 
 It look'd as the clouds had caught the fire 
 The flash and fire of her wonderful eyes. 
 
 " She turn'd from the door and down to the river. 
 And mirror'd her face in the whimsical tide ; 
 Then threw back her hair, as if throwing a quiver, 
 As an Indian throws it back far from his side 
 And free from his hands, swinging fast to the shoulder 
 When rushing to battle ; and, rising, she sigh'd 
 And shook, and shiver'd as aspens shiver. 
 Then a great green snake slid into the river, 
 Glistening, green, and with eyes of fire ; 
 Quick, double-handed she seized a boulder, 
 And cast it with all the fury of passion, 
 As with lifted head it went curving across, 
 Swift darting its tongue h'ke a fierce desire,
 
 8 ARIZONIAA. 
 
 Curving and curving, lifting higher and higher, 
 Bent and beautiful as a river moss ; 
 Then, smitten, it turn'd, bent, broken and doubled, 
 And lick'd, red-tongued, like a forked fire, 
 And sank, and the troubled waters bubbled, 
 And then swept on in their old swift fashion. 
 
 " I lay in my hammock : the air was heavy 
 And hot and threat'ning ; the very heaven 
 Was holding its breath ; and bees in a bevy 
 Hid under my thatch ; and birds were driven 
 In clouds to the rocks in a hurried whirr 
 As I peer'd down by the path for her. 
 She stood like a bronze bent over the river, 
 The proud eyes fix'd, the passion unspoken 
 When the heavens broke like a great dyke broken. 
 Then, ere I, fairly had time to give her 
 A shout of warning, a rushing of wind 
 And the rolling of clouds and a deafening din 
 And a darkness that had been black to the blind 
 Came down, as I shouted, ' Come in ! come in ! 
 Come under the roof, come up from the river, 
 As up from a grave come now, or come never 1 ' 
 The tassel'd tops of the pines were as weeds,
 
 ARIZONIAN. 9 
 
 The red- woods rock'd like to lake-side reeds, 
 
 And the world seem'd darken'd and drown'd for ever. 
 
 " One time in the night as the black wind shifted, 
 And a flash of lightning stretch'd over the stream, 
 I seem'd to see her with her brown hands lifted 
 Only seem'd to see, as one sees in a dream 
 With her eyes wide wild and her pale lips press' d, 
 And the blood from her brow and the flood to her 
 
 breast ; 
 
 When the flood caught her hair as the flax in a wheel, 
 And wheeling and whirling her round like a reel, 
 Laugh'd loud her despair, then leapt long like a steed, 
 Holding tight to her hair, folding fast to her heel, 
 Laughing fierce, leaping far as if spurr'd to its speed . . 
 Now mind, I tell you all this did but seem 
 Was seen as you see fearful scenes in a dream ; 
 For what the devil could the lightning show 
 In a night like that, I should like to know I 
 
 " And then I slept, and sleeping I dream'd 
 Of great green serpents with tongues of fire, 
 And of death by drowning, and of after death 
 Of the day of judgment, wherein it seem'd
 
 io ARIZONIAN. 
 
 That she, the heathen, was bidden higher, 
 Higher than I ; that I clung to her side, 
 And clinging struggled, and stniggling cried, 
 And crying, waken'd, all weak of my breath. 
 
 " Long leaves of the sun lay over the floor, 
 And a chipmonk chirp'd in the open door, 
 But above on his crag the eagle scream'd, 
 Scream'd as he never had scream'd before. 
 I rush'd to the river : the flood had gone 
 Like a thief, with only his tracks upon 
 The weeds and grasses and warm wet sand ; 
 And I ran after with reaching hand, 
 And call'd as I reach'd and reach'd as I ran, 
 And ran till I came to the canon's van, 
 Where the waters lay in a bent lagoon, 
 Hook'd and crook'd like the horned moon. 
 
 " Here in the surge where the waters met, 
 And the warm wave lifted, and the winds did fret 
 The wave till it foam'd with rage on the land, 
 She lay with the wave on the warm white sand ; 
 Her rich hair trail'd with the trailing weeds, 
 And her small brown hands lay prone or lifted
 
 ARIZONIAN. ii 
 
 As the wave sang strophes in the broken reeds, 
 
 Or paused in pity, and in silence sifted 
 
 Sands of gold, as upon her grave. 
 
 And as sure as you see yon browsing kine, 
 
 And breathe the breath of your meadows fine, 
 
 When I went to my waist in the warm white wave 
 
 And stood all pale in the wave to my breast, 
 
 And reach'd for her in her rest and unrest, 
 
 Her hands were lifted and reach'd to mine. 
 
 " Now mind, I tell you I cried, ' Come in ! 
 Oome in to the house, come out from the hollow, 
 Oome out of the storm, come up from the river ! ' 
 varied, and call'd, in that desolate din, 
 Oiough I did not rush out, and in plain words give her 
 A wordy warning of the flood to follow, 
 Word t>y word, and letter by letter : 
 But she xnew it as well as I, and better ; 
 For one*} in the desert of New Mexico 
 When I sought frantically far and wide 
 For the famous spot where Apaches shot 
 With bullets of gold their buflalo, 
 And she followed faithfully at my side, 
 ( threw me down in the hard hot sand
 
 12 ARIZONIAN. 
 
 Utterly famish'd, and ready to die, 
 
 And a speck arose in the red-hot sky 
 
 A speck no larger than .a lady's hand 
 
 While she at my side bent tenderly over, 
 
 Shielding my face from the sun as a cover, 
 
 And wetting my face, as she watch'd by my side, 
 
 From a skin she had borne till the high noon-tide, 
 
 (I had emptied mine in the heat of the morning) 
 
 When the thunder mutter'd far over the plain 
 
 Like a monster bound or a beast in pain, 
 
 She sprang the instant, and gave the warning, 
 
 With her brown hand pointed to the burning skies. 
 
 I was too weak unto death to arise, 
 
 And I pray'd for death in my deep despair, 
 
 And did curse and clutch in the sand in my rage, 
 
 And bite in the bitter white ashen sage, 
 
 That covers the desert like a coat of hair; 
 
 But she knew the peril, and her iron will, 
 
 With heart as true as the great North Star, 
 
 Did bear me up to the palm-tipp'd hill, 
 
 Where the fiercest beasts in a brotherhood, 
 
 Beasts that had fled from the plain and far, 
 
 In perfectest peace expectant stood, 
 
 With their heads held high, and their limbs a-quiver ,
 
 ARIZONIAN. 13 
 
 And ere she barely had time to breathe 
 
 The boiling waters began to seethe 
 
 From hill to hill in a booming river, 
 
 Beating and breaking from hill to hill 
 
 Even while yet the sun shot fire, 
 
 Without the shield of a cloud above 
 
 Filling the canon as you would fill 
 
 A wine-cup, drinking in swift desire, 
 
 With the brim new-kiss' d by the lips you love. 
 
 " So you see she knew knew perfectly well, 
 
 As well as I could shout and tell, 
 
 \ 
 The mountains would send a flood to the plain, 
 
 Sweeping the gorge like a hurricane, 
 When the fire flash'd, and the thunder fell. 
 Therefore it is wrong, and I say therefore 
 Unfair, that a mystical brown whig'd moth 
 Or midnight bat should for evermore 
 Fan my face with its wings of air, 
 And follow me up, down, everywhere, 
 Flit past, pursue me, or fly before, 
 Dimly limning in each fair place 
 The full fix'd eyes and the sad brown face, 
 So forty times worse than if it were wroth.
 
 14 ARIZONIAN 
 
 "I gather'd the gold I had hid in the earth, 
 Hid over the door and hid under the hearth : 
 Hoarded and hid, as the world went over, 
 For the love of a blonde by a sun-brown'd lover ; 
 , And I said to myself, as I set my face 
 To the East and afar from the desolate place, 
 ' She has braided her tresses, and through her teara 
 Look'd away to the West, for years, the years 
 That I have wrought where the sun tans brown ; 
 She has waked by night, she has watch'd by day, 
 She has wept and wonder'd at my delay, 
 Alone and in tears, with her head held down, 
 Where the ships sail out and the seas swirl in, 
 Forgetting to knit and refusing to spin. 
 She shall lift her head, she shall see her lover, 
 She shall hear his voice like a sea that rushes, 
 She shall hold his gold in her hands of snow, 
 And down on his breast she shall hide her blushes, 
 And never a care shall her true heart know, 
 While the clods are below, or the clouds are above her. 
 
 " On the fringe of the night she stood with hei 
 
 pitcher 
 At the old town-pump : and oh ! passing fair
 
 ARIZONIAN. 15 
 
 'I am riper now,' I said, ' but am richer,' 
 
 And 1 lifted my hand to my beard and hair ; 
 
 * I am burnt by the sun, I am brown'd by the sea , 
 
 I am white of my beard, and am bald, may be ; 
 
 Yet for all such things what can her heart care ? * 
 
 Then she moved ; and I said, ' How marvellous fair ! 
 
 She look'd to the West, with her arm arch'd over; 
 
 ' Looking for me, her sun-brown' d lover,' 
 
 I said to myself, with a hot heart-thump, 
 
 And ttepp'd me nearer to the storm-stain'd pump, 
 
 As approaching a friend ; for 'twas here of old 
 
 Our troths were plighted and the tale was told. 
 
 " How young she was and how fair s*he was ! 
 How tall as a palm, and how pearly fair, 
 As the night came down on her glorious hair ! 
 Then the night grew deep and the eye grew dim, 
 And a sad-faced figure began to swim 
 And float in my face, flit past, then pause, 
 With her hands held up and her head held down, 
 Yet face to face ; and her face was brown. 
 Now why did she come and confront me there, 
 With the mould on her face and the moist in her hair, 
 And a mystical stare in her marvellous eyes ?
 
 14 ARIZONIAN 
 
 "I gathered the gold I had hid in the earth, 
 Hid over the door and hid under the hearth : 
 Hoarded and hid, as the world went over, 
 For the love of a blonde by a sun-brown'd lover ; 
 , And I said to myself, as I set my face 
 To the East and afar from the desolate place, 
 ' She has braided her tresses, and through her tears 
 Look'd away to the West, for years, the years 
 That I have wrought where the sun tans brown ; 
 She has waked by night, she has watch'd by day, 
 She has wept and wonder'd at my delay, 
 Alone and in tears, with her head held down, 
 Where the ships sail out and the seas swirl in, 
 Forgetting to knit and refusing to spin. 
 She shall lift her head, she shall see her lover, 
 She shall hear his voice like a sea that rushes, 
 She shall hold his gold in her hands of snow, 
 And down on his breast she shall hide her blushes, 
 And never a care shall her true heart know, 
 While the clods are below, or the clouds are above her. 
 
 " On the fringe of the night she stood with hei 
 
 pitcher 
 At the old town-pump : and oh ! passing fair
 
 ARIZ ONI AN. ij 
 
 'I am riper now,' I said, ' but am richer,' 
 
 And 1 lifted my band to my beard and hair ; 
 
 ' I am burnt by the sun, I am brown'd by the sea , 
 
 I am white of my beard, and am bald, may be ; 
 
 Yet for all such things what can her heart care ? ' 
 
 Then she moved ; and I said, ' How marvellous fair ! 
 
 She look'd to the West, with her arm arch'd over; 
 
 ' Looking for me, her sun-brown'd lover,' 
 
 I said to myself, with a hot heart-thump, 
 
 And ktepp'd me nearer to the storm-stain'd pump, 
 
 As approaching a friend ; for 'twas here of old 
 
 Our troths were plighted and the tale was told. 
 
 " How young she was and how fair sTie was ! 
 How tall as a palm, and how pearly fair, 
 As the night came down on her glorious hair ! 
 Then the night grew deep and the eye grew dim, 
 And a sad-faced figure began to swim 
 And float in my face, flit past, then pause, 
 With her hands held up and her head held down, 
 Yet face to face ; and her face was brown. 
 Now why did she come and confront me there, 
 With the mould on her face and the moist in her hair, 
 And a mystical stare in her marvellous eyes ?
 
 1 8 ARIZONIAN. 
 
 So I lifted my voice and I spoke aloud : 
 ' Annette, my darling ! Annette Macleod ! ' 
 She started, she stopp'd, she turn'd, amazed, 
 She stood all wonder with her eyes wild-wide, 
 Then turn'd in terror down the dusk wayside, 
 And cried as she fled, ' The man is crazed, 
 And calls the maiden name of my mother ! ' 
 
 " From a scene that saddens, from a ghost that wearies, 
 From a white isle set in a wall of seas, 
 From the kine and clover and all of these 
 I shall set my face for the fierce Sierras. 
 I shall make me mates on the stormy border, 
 I shall beard the grizzly, shall battle again, 
 And from mad disorder shall mould me order 
 And a wild repose for a weary brain. 
 
 " Let the world turn over, and over, and over, 
 And toss and tumble like a beast in pain, 
 Crack, quake, and tremble, and turn full over 
 And die, and never rise up again ; 
 Let her dash her peaks through the purple cover, 
 Let her plash her seas in the face of the sun 
 I have no one to love me now, not one,
 
 ARIZONIAN. ig 
 
 In a world as full as a world can hold ; 
 So I will get gold as I erst have done, 
 I will gather a coffin top-full of gold, 
 To take to the door of Death, to buy 
 Content, when I double my hands and die. 
 There is nothing that is, be it beast or human, 
 Love of maiden or the lust of man, 
 Curse of man or the kiss of woman, 
 For which I care or for which I can 
 Give a love for a love or a hate for a hate, 
 A curse for a curse or a kiss for a kiss, 
 Since life has neither a bane nor a bliss, 
 To one that is cheek by jowl with fate; 
 For I have lifted and reach'd far over 
 To the tree of promise, and have pluck'd of all 
 And ate ate ashes, and myrrh, and gall. 
 Go down, go down to the fields of clover, 
 Down with the kine in the pastures fine, 
 And give no thought, or care, or labor 
 For maid or man, good name or neighbor ; 
 For I have given, and what have I ? 
 Given all my youth, my years, and labor, 
 And a love as warm as the world is cold, 
 For a beautiful, bright, and delusive lie.
 
 20 ARIZONIAN. 
 
 Gave youth, gave years, gave love for gold, 
 
 Giving and getting, yet what have I 
 
 But an empty palm and a face forgotten, 
 
 And a hope that's dead, and a heart that's rotten ? 
 
 Red gold on the waters is no part bread, 
 
 But sinks dull-sodden like a lump of lead, 
 
 And returns no more in the face of Heaven. 
 
 So the dark day thickens at the hope deferr'd, 
 
 And the strong heart sickens and the soul is stirr'd 
 
 Like a weary sea when his hands are lifted, 
 
 Imploring peace, with his raiment drifted 
 
 And driven afar and rent and riven. 
 
 " The red ripe stars hang low overhead, 
 Let the good and the light of soul reach up, 
 Pluck gold as plucking a butter-cup : 
 But I am as lead and my hands are red ; 
 There is nothing that is that can wake one passion 
 In soul or body, or one sense of pleasure, 
 No fame or fortune in the world's wide measure, 
 Or love full-bosomed or in any fashion. 
 
 " The doubled sea, and the troubled heaven, 
 Starr'd and barr'd by the bolts of fire,
 
 ARIZONIAN. 21 
 
 In storms where stars are riven, and driven 
 
 As clouds through heaven, as a dust blown higher j 
 
 The angels hurl'd to the realms infernal, 
 
 Down from the walls in unholy wars 
 
 That man misnameth the falling stars ; 
 
 The purple robe of the proud Eternal, 
 
 The Tyrian blue with its fringe of gold, 
 
 Shrouding His countenance, fold on fold 
 
 All are dull and tame as a tale that is told. 
 
 For the loves that hasten and the hates that linger, 
 
 The nights that darken and the days that glisten, 
 
 And men that lie and maidens that listen, 
 
 I care not even the snap of my finger. 
 
 " So the sun climbs up, and on, and over, 
 And the days go out and the tides come in, 
 And the pale moon rubs on the purple cover 
 Till worn as thin and as bright as tin ; 
 But the ways are dark and the days are dreary, 
 And the dreams of youth are but dust in age, 
 And the heart gets harden'd, and the hands grow weary 
 Holding them up for their heritage. 
 
 " And the strain'd heart-strings wear bare and brittle,
 
 22 ARIZONIAN. 
 
 And the fond hope dies when so long deferr'd ; 
 Then the fair hope lies in the heart interr'd, 
 So stiff and cold in its coffin of lead. 
 For you promise so great and you gain so little ; 
 For you promise so great of glory and gold, 
 And gain so little that the hands grow cold ; 
 And for gold and glory you gain instead 
 A fond heart sicken'd and a fair hope dead. 
 
 " So I have said, and I say it over, 
 And can prove it over and over again, 
 That the four-footed beasts on the red-crown'd clovei, 
 The pied and horned beasts on the plain 
 That lie down, rise up, and repose again, 
 And do never take care or toil or spin, 
 Nor buy, nor build, nor gather in gold, 
 Though the days go out and the tides come in. 
 Are better than we by a thousand fold ; 
 For what is it all, in the words of fire, 
 But a vexing of soul and a vain desire ? "
 
 WITH WALKER IN NICARAGUA.
 
 Come to my sun land! Come with me 
 To the land I love ; where the sun and sea 
 Are wed forever: where palm and pine 
 Are filled with singers; where tree and vine 
 Are voiced with prophets ! O come, and you 
 Shall sing a song ivilh the seas that swirl 
 And kiss their hands to the cold white girl, 
 To the maiden moon in her mantle of blue.
 
 WITH WALKER IN NICARAGUA. 
 
 T TE was a brick : let this be said 
 
 Above my brave dishonored dead. 
 I ask no more, this is not much, 
 Yet I disdain a colder touch 
 To memory as dear as his ; 
 For he was true as any star, 
 And brave as Yuba's grizzlies are, 
 Yet gentle as a panther is, 
 Mouthing her young in her first fierce kiss ; 
 Tall, courtly, grand as any king, 
 Yet simple as a child at play, 
 In camp and court the same alway, 
 And never moved at any thing ; 
 A dash of sadness in his air, 
 Born, may be, of his over care, 
 And, may be, born of a despair 
 In early love I never knew ;
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 I question'd not, as many do, 
 Of things as sacred as this is ; 
 I only knew that he to me 
 Was all a father, friend, could be ; 
 I sought to know no more than thil 
 Of history of him or his. 
 
 A piercing eye, a princely air, 
 A presence like a chevalier, 
 Half angel and half Lucifer ; 
 Fair fingers, jewell'd manifold 
 With great gems set in hoops of gold ; 
 Sombrero black, with plume of snow 
 That swept his long silk locks below ; 
 A red scrape with bars of gold, 
 Heedless falling, fold on fold ; 
 A sash of silk, where flashing swung 
 A sword as swift as serpent's tongue, 
 In sheath of silver chased in gold ; 
 A face of blended pride and pain, 
 Of mingled pleading and disdain, 
 With shades of glory and of grief; 
 And Spanish spurs with bells of steel 
 That clash'd and dangl'd at the heel
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 
 
 The famous filibuster chief 
 
 Stood by his tent 'mid tall brown trees 
 
 That top the fierce Cordilleras, 
 
 With brawn arm arch'd above his brow ; 
 
 Stood still he stands, a picture, now 
 
 Long gazing down the sunset seas. 
 
 WHAT strange strong bearded men were these 
 
 ,He led toward the tropic seas ! 
 
 Men sometime of uncommon birth, 
 
 Men rich in histories untold, 
 
 Who boasted not, though more than bold, 
 
 Blown from the four parts of the earth. 
 
 Men mighty-thew'd as Samson was, 
 
 That had been kings in any cause, 
 
 A remnant of the races past ; 
 
 Dark-brow'd as if in iron cast, 
 
 Broad-breasted as twin gates of brass, 
 
 Men strangely brave and fiercely true, 
 
 Who dared the West when giants were, 
 
 Who err'd, yet bravely dared to err ; 
 
 A remnant of that early few 
 
 Who held no crime or curse or vice
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 As dark as that of cowardice ; 
 With blendings of the worst and best 
 Of faults and virtues that have blest 
 Or cursed or thrill'd the human breast. 
 
 They rode, a troop of bearded men, 
 Rode two and two out from the town, 
 And some were blonde and some were brown 
 And all as brave as Sioux ; but when 
 From San Bennetto south the line 
 That bound them in the laws of men 
 Was passed, and peace stood mute behind 
 And streamed a banner to the wind 
 The world knew not, there was a sign 
 Of awe, of silence, rear and van. 
 Men fiiought who never thought before ; 
 I heard the clang and clash of steel 
 From sword at hand or spur at heel 
 And iron feet, but nothing more. 
 Some thought of Texas, some of Maine, 
 But more of rugged Tennessee, 
 Of scenes in Southern vales of wine, 
 And scenes in Northern hills of pine 
 As scenes they might not meet again ;
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 29 
 
 And one of Avon thought, and one 
 Thought of an isle beneath the sun, 
 And one of Rowley, one the Rhine, 
 And one turned sadly to the Spree. 
 
 Defeat meant something more than death 
 The world was ready, keen to smite, 
 As stern and still beneath its ban 
 With iron will and bated breath, 
 Their hands against their fellow-man, 
 They rode each man an Ishmaelite. 
 But when we struck the hills of pine, 
 These men dismounted, doffed their cares, 
 Talked loud and laughed old love affairs, 
 And on the grass took meat and wine, 
 And never gave a thought again 
 To land or life that lay behind, 
 Or love, or care of any kind 
 Beyond the present cross or pain. 
 
 And I, a waif of stormy seas, 
 A child among such men as these, 
 Was blown along this savage surf 
 And rested with them on the turf,
 
 10 WITH WALKER 
 
 And took delight below the trees. 
 I did not question, did not care 
 To know the right or wrong. I saw 
 That savage freedom had a spell, 
 And loved it more than I can tell, 
 And snapped my fingers at the law. 
 I bear my burden of the shame, 
 I shun it not, and naught forget, 
 However much I may regret : 
 I claim some candor to my name, 
 And courage cannot change or die. 
 Did they deserve to die ? they died. 
 Let justice then be satisfied, 
 And as for me, why what am I ? 
 
 The standing side by side till death, 
 The dying for some wounded friend, 
 The faith that failed not to the end, 
 The strong endurance till the breath 
 And body took their ways apart, 
 I only know. I keep my trust. 
 Their vices ! earth has them by heart. 
 Their virtues ! they are with their dust.
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 
 
 How wound we through the solid wood, 
 With all its broad boughs hung in green, 
 With lichen-mosses trail'd between ! 
 How waked the spotted beasts of prey, 
 Deep sleeping from the face of day, 
 And dash'd them like a troubled flood 
 Down some defile and denser wood ! 
 
 And snakes, long, lithe and beautiful 
 As green and graceful-bough'd bamboo, 
 Did twist and twine them through and through 
 The boughs that hung red-fruited full. 
 One, monster-sized, above me hung, 
 Close eyed me with his bright pink eyes, ' 
 Then raised his folds, and sway'd and swung, 
 And lick'd like lightning his red tongue, 
 Then oped his wide month with surprise ; 
 He writhed and curved, and raised and lower'd 
 His folds like liftings of the tide, 
 And sank so low I touched his side, 
 As I rode by, with my broad sword. 
 
 The trees shook hands high overhead, 
 And bow'd and intertwined across
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 The narrow way, while leaves and moss 
 And luscious fruit, gold-hued and red, 
 Through all the canopy of green, 
 Let not one sunshaft shoot between. 
 
 Birds hung and swung, green-robed and red, 
 Or droop'd in curved lines dreamily, 
 Rainbows reversed, from tree to tree, 
 Or sang low-hanging overhead 
 Sang low, as if they sang and slept, 
 Sang faint, like some far waterfall, 
 And took no note of us at all, 
 Though nuts that in the way were spread 
 Did crush and crackle as we stept. 
 
 Wild lilies, tall as maidens are, 
 As sweet of breath, as pearly fair, 
 As fair as faith, as pure as truth, 
 Fell thick before our every tread, 
 As in a sacrifice to ruth, 
 And all the air with perfume fill'd 
 More sweet than ever man distill'd. 
 The ripen'd fruit a fragrance shed 
 And hung in hand-reach overhead,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 33 
 
 In nest of blossoms on the shoot, 
 The bending shoot that bore the fruit. 
 
 How ran the monkeys through the leaves ! 
 How rush'd they through, brown clad and blue. 
 Like shuttles hurried through and through 
 The threads a hasty weaver weaves ! 
 
 How quick they cast us fruits of gold, 
 Then loosen'd hand and all foothold, 
 And hung limp, limber, as if dead, 
 Hung low and listless overhead ; 
 And all the time, with half-oped eyes 
 Bent full on us in mute surprise 
 Look'd wisely too, as wise hens do 
 That watch you with the head askew. 
 
 The long days through from blossom'd trees 
 There came the sweet song of sweet bees, 
 With chorus-tones of cockatoo 
 That slid his beak along the bough, 
 And walk'd and talk'd and hung and swung, 
 In crown of gold and coat of blue, 
 The wisest fool that ever sung, 
 Or had a crown, or held a tongue. 
 8
 
 34 WITH WALKER 
 
 Oh when we broke the sombre wood 
 And pierced at last the sunny plain, 
 How wild and still with wonder stood 
 The proud mustangs with banner'd inane, 
 And necks that never knew a rein, 
 And nostrils lifted high, and blown, 
 Fierce breathing as a hurricane : 
 Yet by their leader held the while 
 In solid column, square, and file, 
 And ranks more martial than our owii 1 
 
 Some one above the common kind, 
 Some one to look to, lean upon, 
 I think is much a woman's mind ; 
 But it was mine, and I had drawn 
 A rein beside the chief while we 
 Rode through the forest leisurely ; 
 "When he grew kind and questioned me 
 Of kindred, home, and home affair, 
 Of how I came to wander there, 
 And had my father herds and land 
 And men in hundreds at command ? 
 At which I silent shook my head, 
 Then, timid, met his eyes and said,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 35 
 
 u Not so. Where sunny-foot hills run 
 DOWL. to the North Pacific sea, 
 And Willamette meets the sun 
 In many angles, patiently 
 My father tends his flocks of snow, 
 And turns alone the mellow sod 
 And sows some fields not over broad, 
 And mourns my long delay in vain, 
 Nor bids one serve-man come or go ; 
 While mother from her wheel or churn, 
 And may be from the milking shed, 
 There lifts an humble weary head 
 To watch and wish for my return 
 Across the camas' blossom' d plain." 
 
 He held his bent head very low, 
 A sudden sadness in his ah* ; 
 Then turned and touched my yellow hair 
 And took the long locks in his hand, 
 Toyed with them, smiled, and let them go, 
 Then thrummed about his saddle bow 
 As thought ran swift across his face ; 
 Then turning sudden from his place, 
 He gave some short and quick command.
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 They brought the best steed of the band, 
 They swung a bright sword at my side, 
 He bade me mount and by him ride, 
 And from that hour to the end 
 I never felt the need of friend. 
 
 Far in the wildest quinine wood 
 We found a city old so old, 
 Its very walls were turn'd to mould, 
 And stately trees upon them stood. 
 No history has mention'd it, 
 No map has given it a place ; 
 The last dim trace of tribe and race 
 The world's forgetfulnesss is fit. 
 
 It held one structure grand and moss'd, 
 Mighty as any castle sung, 
 And old when oldest Ind was young, 
 With threshold Christian never cross'd ; 
 A temple builded to the sun, 
 Along whose sombre altar-stone 
 Brown bleeding virgins had been strown 
 Like leaves, when leaves are crisp and dun,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 37 
 
 In ages ere the Sphinx was born, 
 Or Babylon had birth or morn. 
 
 My chief led up the marble step 
 He ever led, broad blade in hand 
 When down the stones, with double hand 
 Clutch' d to his blade, a savage leapt, 
 Hot bent to barter life for life. 
 The chieftain drove his bowie knife 
 Full through his thick and broad breast-bone, 
 And broke the point against the stone, 
 The dark stone of the temple wall. 
 I saw him loose his hold and fall 
 Full length with head hung down the step ; 
 I saw run down a ruddy flood 
 Of rushing pulsing human blood. 
 Then from the crowd a woman crept 
 And kiss'd the gory hands and face, 
 And smote herself. Then one by one 
 The dark crowd crept and did the same, 
 Then bore the dead man from the place. 
 Down darken'd aisles the brown priests came, 
 So picture-like, with sandall'd feet 
 And long gray dismal grass-wove gowns,
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 So like the pictures of old time, 
 And stood all still and dark of frowns, 
 At blood upon the stone and street. 
 So we laid ready hand to sword 
 And boldly spoke some bitter word ; 
 But they were stubborn still, and stood 
 Dark frowning as a winter wood, 
 And mutt'ring something of the crime 
 Of blood upon the temple stone, 
 As if the first that it had known. 
 
 We turned toward the massive door 
 With clash of steel at heel, and with 
 Some swords all red and ready drawn. 
 I traced the sharp edge of my sword 
 Along the marble wall and floor 
 For crack or crevice ; there was none. 
 From one vast mount of marble stone 
 The mighty temple had been cored 
 By nut-brown children of the sun, 
 When stars were newly bright and blithe 
 Of song along the rim of dawn, 
 A mighty marble monolith !
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 3 g 
 
 THBOUGH marches through the mazy wood, 
 And may be through too much of blood, 
 At last we came down to the seas. 
 A city stood, white-wall' d, and brown 
 With age, in nest of orange trees ; 
 And this we won, and many a town 
 And rancho reaching up and down, 
 Then rested in the red-hot days 
 Beneath the blossom'd orange trees, 
 Made drowsy with the drum of bees, 
 And drank in peace the south-sea breeze, 
 Made sweet with sweeping boughs of bays. 
 
 Well ! there were maidens, shy at first, 
 And then, ere long, not over shy, 
 Yet pure of soul and proudly chare. 
 No love on earth has such an eye ! 
 No land there is is bless'd or curs'd 
 With such a limb or grace of face, 
 Or gracious form, or genial air ! 
 In all the bleak North-land not one 
 Hath been so warm of soul to me
 
 40 WITH WALKER 
 
 As coldest soul by that warm sea, 
 Beneath the bright hot centred sun. 
 
 No lands where any ices are 
 Approach, or ever dare compare 
 With warm loves born beneath the sun, 
 The one the cold white steady star, 
 The lifted shifting sun the one. 
 I grant you fond, I grant you fair, 
 I grant you honor, trust and truth, 
 And years as beautiful as youth, 
 And many years beyond the sun, 
 And faith as fix'd as any star ; 
 But all the North-land hath not one 
 So warm of soul as sun-maids are. 
 
 I was but in my boyhood then, 
 I count my fingers over, so, 
 And find it years and years ago, 
 And I am scarcely yet of men. 
 But I was tall and lithe and fair, 
 With rippled tide of yellow hair, 
 And prone to mellowness of heart ; 
 While she was tawny-red like wine,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 41 
 
 With black hair boundless as the night. 
 
 As for the rest I knew my part, 
 
 At least was apt, and willing quite 
 
 To learn, to listen, and incline 
 
 To teacher warm and wie as mine. 
 
 O bright, bronzed mairtens of the sun I 
 So fairer far to look upon 
 Than curtains of the Solonon, 
 Or Kedar's tents, or any on, 
 Or any thing beneath the sun ! 
 What follow'd then ? WhaJ has been done, 
 And said, and writ, and read, *nd sung ? 
 What will be writ and read again, 
 While love is life, and life remain * 
 While maids will heed, and men hav tongue? 
 
 What follow'd th,en ? But let that pass. 
 I hold one picture in my heart, 
 Hung curtain' d, and not any part 
 Of all its dark tint ever has 
 Been look'd upon by any one. 
 But if, may be, one brave and strong 
 As liftings of the bristled sea
 
 42 WITH WALKER 
 
 Steps forth from out the days to be 
 And knocks heart-wise, and enters bold 
 A rugged heart inured to wrong 
 As one would storm a strong stronghold - 
 Strong-footed, and most passing fair 
 Of truth, and thought beyond her years, 
 We two will lift the crape in tears, 
 Will turn the canvas to the sun, 
 Will trace the features one by one 
 Of my dear dead, in still despair. 
 
 Love well who will, love wise who can, 
 But love, be loved, for God is love ; 
 Love pure, like cherubim above ; 
 Love maids, and hate not any man. 
 Sit as sat we by orange tree, 
 Beneath the broad bough and grape-vine 
 Top-tangled in the tropic shine, 
 Close face to face, close to the sea, 
 And full of the red-centred sun, 
 With grand sea-songs upon the soul, 
 Roll'd melody on melody, 
 Like echoes of deep organ's roll, 
 And love, nor question any one.
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 43 
 
 If God is love, is love not God ? 
 As high priests say, let prophets sing, 
 Without reproach or reckoning ; 
 This much I say, knees knit to sod, 
 -And low voice lifted, questioning. 
 
 Let eyes be not dark eyes, but dreams, 
 Or drifting clouds with flashing fires, 
 Or far delights, or fierce desires, 
 Yet not be more than well beseems ; 
 Let hearts be pure and strong and true, 
 Let lips be luscious and blood-red, 
 Let earth in gold be garmented 
 And tented in her tent of blue, 
 Let goodly rivers glide between 
 Their leaning willow walls of green, 
 Let all things be fill'd of the sun, 
 And full of warm winds of the sea, 
 And I beneath my vine and tree 
 Take rest, nor war with any one ; 
 Then I will thank God with full cause, 
 Say this is well, is as it was. 
 
 Let lips be red, for God has said
 
 44 WITH WALKER 
 
 Love is like one gold-garmented, 
 And made them so for such a time. 
 Therefore let lips be red, therefore 
 Let love be ripe in ruddy prime, 
 Let hope beat high, let hearts be true, 
 And you be wise thereat, and you 
 Drink deep, and ask not any more. 
 
 Let red lips lift, proud curl'd, to kiss, 
 And round limbs lean and raise and reach 
 In love too passionate for speech, 
 Too full of blessedness and bliss 
 For any thing but this and this ; 
 Let luscious lips lean hot to kiss 
 And swoon in love, while all the air 
 Is redolent with balm of trees, 
 And mellow with the song of bees, 
 While birds sit singing everywhere 
 And you will have not any more 
 Than I in boyhood, by that shore 
 Of olives, had in years of yore. 
 
 Let the unclean think things unclean ; 
 I swear tip-toed, with lifted hands,
 
 iN NICARAGUA. 45 
 
 That we were pure as sea-washed sands, 
 That not one coarse thought came between ; 
 Believe or disbelieve who will, 
 Unto the pure all things are pure ; 
 As for the rest, I can endure 
 Alike their good will or their ill. 
 
 She boasted Montezuma's blood, 
 Was pure of soul as Tahoe's flood, 
 And strangely fair and princely soul'd, 
 And she was rich in blood and gold 
 More rich in love grown over-bold 
 From its own consciousness of strength. 
 How warm ! Oh, not for any cause 
 Could I declare how warm she was, 
 In her brown beauty and hair's length. 
 We loved in the sufficient sun, 
 We lived in elements of fire, 
 For love is fire and fierce desire ; 
 Yet lived as pure as priest and nun; 
 
 We lay slow rocking in the bay 
 In birch canoe beneath the crags 
 Thick, topp'd with palm, like sweeping flags
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 Between us and the burning day. 
 The red-eyed crocodile lay low 
 Or lifted from his rich rank fern, 
 And watch'd us and the tide by turn, 
 And we slow cradled to and fro. 
 
 And slow we cradled on till night, 
 And told the old tale, overtold, 
 As misers in recounting gold 
 Each time do take a new delight. 
 With her pure passion-given grace 
 She drew her warm self close to me ; 
 And, her two brown hands on my knee, 
 And her two black eyes in my face, 
 She then grew sad and guess'd at ill, 
 And in the future seem'd to see 
 With woman's ken of prophecy ; 
 Yet proffer'd her devotion still. 
 And plaintive so, she gave a sign, 
 A token cut of virgin gold, 
 That all her tribe should ever hold 
 Its wearer as some one divine, 
 Nor touch him with a hostile hand. 
 And I in turn gave her a blade,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 47 
 
 A dagger, worn as well by maid 
 
 As man, in that half-lawless land ; 
 
 It had a massive silver hilt, 
 
 Had a most keen and cunning blade, 
 
 A gift by chief and comrades made 
 
 For reckless blood at Rivas spilt. 
 
 " Show this," said I, " too well 'tis known, 
 
 And worth an hundred lifted spears, 
 
 Should ill beset your sunny years ; 
 
 There is not one in Walker's band, 
 
 But at the sight of this alone, 
 
 Will reach a brave and ready hand, 
 
 And make your right or wrong his own." 
 
 IV. 
 
 LOVE while 'tis day ; night cometh soon, 
 Wherein no man or maiden may ; 
 Love in the strong young prime of day ; 
 Drink drunk with love in ripe red noon, 
 lied noon of love and life and sun ; 
 Walk in love's light as in sunshine, 
 Drink in that gun as drinking wine,
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 Drink swift, nor question any one ; 
 For loves change sure as man or moon, 
 And wane like warm full days of June. 
 
 O Love, so fair of promises, 
 Bend here thy brow, blow here thy kiss, 
 Bend here thy bow above the storm 
 But once, if only this once more. 
 Comes there no patient Christ to save, 
 Touch and re-animate thy form 
 Long three days dead and in the grave ? 
 Spread here thy silken net of jet; 
 Since man is false, since maids forget, 
 Since man must fall for his sharp sin, 
 Be thou the pit that I fall in ; 
 I seek no safer fall than this. 
 Since man must die for some dark sin, 
 Blind leading blind, let come to this, 
 And my death-crime be one deep kiss. 
 Lo ! I have found another land, 
 May I not find another love, 
 True, trusting as a bosom'd dove, 
 To lay its whole heart in my hand ? 
 But lips that leap and cling and crush,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 49 
 
 And limbs that twist and intertwine 
 
 With passion as a passion-vine, 
 
 And veins that throb and swell and rush 
 
 Be ye forbidden fruit and wine. 
 
 Such passion is not fair or fit 
 
 Or fashion'd tall touch none of it. 
 
 Ill comes disguised in many forms : 
 Fair winds are but a prophecy 
 Of foulest winds full soon to be 
 The brighter these, the blacker they; 
 The clearest night has darkest day, 
 And brightest days bring blackest storms. 
 There came reverses to our arms ; 
 I saw the signal-light's alarms 
 At night red-crescenting the bay. 
 The foe pour'd down a flood next day 
 As strong as tides when tides are high, 
 And drove us bleeding in the sea, 
 In such wild haste of flight that we 
 Had hardly time to arm and fly. 
 
 Blown from the shore, borne far a-sea, 
 4
 
 50 WITH WALKER 
 
 I lifted my two hands on high 
 With wild soul plashing to the sky, 
 And cried, " O more than crowns to me 
 Farewell at last to love and thee ! " 
 I walk'd the deck, I kiss'd my hand 
 Back to the far and fading shore, 
 And bent a knee as to implore, 
 Until the last dark head of land 
 Slid down behind the dimpled sea. 
 . At last I sank in troubled sleep, 
 A very child, rock'd by the deep, 
 Sad questioning the fate of her 
 Before the savage conqueror. 
 
 The loss of comrades, power, place, 
 A city wall'd, cool shaded ways, 
 Cost me no care at all ; somehow 
 I only saw her sad brown face, 
 And I was younger then than now. 
 
 Red flash'd the sun across the deck, 
 Slow flapp'd the idle sails, and slow 
 The black ship cradled to and fro. 
 Afar my city lay, a speck
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 51 
 
 Of white against a line of blue; 
 Around, half lounging on the deck, 
 Some comrades chatted two by two. 
 I held a new-fill'd glass of wine, 
 And with the mate talk'd as in play 
 Of fierce events of yesterday, 
 To coax his light life into mine. 
 
 He jerk'd the wheel, as slow he said, 
 Low laughing with averted head, 
 And so, half sad : You bet they '11 fight ; 
 They follow'd in canim, canoe, 
 A perfect fleet, that on the blue 
 Lay dancing till the mid of night. 
 Would you believe ! one little cuss 
 (He turn'd his stout head slow sidewise, 
 And 'neath his hat-rim took the skies) 
 "In petticoats did follow us 
 The livelong night, and at the dawn 
 Her boat lay rocking in the lee, 
 Scarce one short pistol-shot from rne." 
 This said the mate, half mournfully, 
 Then peck'd at us ; for he had drawn, 
 By bright light heart and homely wit,
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 With full per cent against them, and 
 Staked all upon a single hand, 
 And lost or won, content the same. 
 
 1 never saw my chief again, 
 I never sought again the shore, 
 Or saw my white-wall'd city more. 
 I could not bear the more than pain 
 At sight of blossom' d orange trees 
 Or blended song of birds and bees, 
 The sweeping shadows of the palm 
 Or spicy breath of bay and balm. 
 And, striving to forget the while, 
 I wander' d through the dreary isle, 
 Here black with juniper, and there 
 Made white with goats in summer coats, 
 The only things that anywhere 
 We found with life in all the land, 
 Save birds that ran long-bill'd and brown, 
 Long-legg'd and still as shadows are, 
 Like dancing shadows, up and down 
 The sea-rim on the swelt'ring sand. 
 
 The warm sea laid his dimpled face,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 55 
 
 With every white hair smoothed in place, 
 
 As if asleep against the land ; 
 
 Great turtles slept upon his breast, 
 
 As thick as eggs in any nest ; 
 
 I could have touched them with my hand. 
 
 I would some things were dead and hid, 
 Well dead and buried deep as hell, 
 With recollection dead as well, 
 And resurrection God-forbid. 
 They irk me with their weary spell 
 Of fascination, eye to eye, 
 And hot mesmeric serpent hiss, 
 Through all the dull eternal days. 
 Let them turn by, go on their ways, 
 Let them depart or let me die ; 
 For life is but a beggar's lie, 
 And as for death, I grin at it ; 
 I do not care one whiff or whit 
 Whether it be or that or this. 
 
 I give my hand ; the world is wide ; 
 Then farewell memories of yore.
 
 WITH WALKER 
 
 With full per cent against them, and 
 Staked all upon a single hand, 
 And lost or won, content the same. 
 
 I never saw my chief again, 
 I never sought again the shore, 
 Or saw my white-wall'd city more. 
 I could not bear the more than pain 
 At sight of blossom'd orange trees 
 Or blended song of birds and bees, 
 The sweeping shadows of the palm 
 Or spicy breath of bay and balm. 
 And, striving to forget the while, 
 I wander'd through the dreary isle, 
 Here black with juniper, and there 
 Made white with goats in summer coats, 
 The only things that anywhere 
 We found with life in all the land, 
 Save birds that ran long-bill'd and brown, 
 Long-legg'd and still as shadows are, 
 Like dancing shadows, up and down 
 The sea-rim on the swelt'ring sand. 
 
 The warm sea laid his dimpled face,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 55 
 
 With every white hair smoothed in place, 
 
 As if asleep against the land ; 
 
 Great turtles slept upon his breast, 
 
 As thick as eggs in any nest ; 
 
 I could have touched them with my hand. 
 
 I would some things were dead and hid, 
 Well dead and buried deep as hell, 
 With recollection dead as well, 
 And resurrection God-forbid. 
 They irk me with their weary spell 
 Of fascination, eye to eye, 
 And hot mesmeric serpent hiss, 
 Through all the dull eternal days. 
 Let them turn by, go on their ways, 
 Let them depart or let me die ; 
 For life is but a beggar's lie, 
 And as for death, I grin at it ; 
 I do not care one whiff or whit 
 Whether it be or that or this. 
 
 I give my hand ; the world is wide ; 
 Then farewell memories of yore.
 
 56 WITH WALKER 
 
 Between us let strife be no more ; 
 
 Turn as you choose to either side ; 
 
 Say, Fare-you-well, shake hands and say 
 
 Speak loud, and say with stately grace, 
 
 Hand clutching hand, face bent to face 
 
 Farewell for ever and a day. 
 
 O passion-toss'd and bleeding past, 
 Part now, part well, part wide apart, 
 As ever ships on ocean slid 
 Down, down the sea, hull, sail, and mast; 
 And in the album of my heart 
 Let hide the pictures of your face, 
 With other pictures in their place, 
 Slid over like a coffin's lid. 
 
 The days and grass grow long together ; 
 They now fell short and crisp again, 
 And all the fair face of the main 
 Grew dark and wrinkled at the weather. 
 Through all the summer sun's decline 
 Fell news of triumphs and defeats,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 
 
 Of hard advances, hot retreats 
 Then days and days and not a line. 
 
 At last one night they came. I knew 
 Ere yet the boat had touch'd the land 
 That all was lost : they were so few 
 I near could count them on one hand ; 
 But he the leader led no more. 
 The proud chief still disdain'd to fly, 
 But, like one wreck'd, clung to the shore, 
 And struggled on, and struggling fell 
 From power to a prison-cell, 
 And only left that cell to die. 
 
 My recollection, like a ghost, 
 Goes from this sea to that sea-side, 
 Goes and returns as turns the tide, 
 Then turns again unto the coast. 
 I know not which I mourn the most, 
 My brother or my virgin bride, 
 My chief or my unwedded wife. 
 The one was as the lordly sun, 
 To joy in, bask in, and admire ;
 
 5& WITH WALKER 
 
 The peaceful moon was as the one, 
 To love, to look to, and desire ; 
 And both a part of my young life. 
 
 Years after, shelter'd from the sun 
 Beneath- a Sacramento bay, 
 A black Muchacho by me lay 
 Along the long grass crisp and dun, 
 His brown mule browsing by his side, 
 And told with all a Peon's pride 
 How he once fought, how long and well, 
 Broad breast to breast, red hand to hand, 
 Against a foe for his fair land, 
 And how the fierce invader fell ; 
 And artless told me how he died. 
 
 To die with hand and brow unbound 
 He gave his gems and jewell'd sword ; 
 Thus at the last the warrior found 
 Some freedom for his steel's reward. 
 He walk'd out from the prison-wall 
 Dress'd like a prnce for a parade, 
 And made no n^ to of man or maid,
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 59 
 
 But gazed out calmly over all ; 
 
 Then look'd afar, half paused, and then 
 
 Above the mottled sea of men * 
 
 He kiss'd his thin hand to the sun ; 
 
 Then smiled so proudly none had known 
 
 But he was stepping to a throne, 
 
 Yet took no note of any one. 
 
 A nude brown beggar Peon child, 
 
 Encouraged as the captive smiled, 
 
 Xook'd up, half scared, half pitying; 
 
 He stoop'd, he caught it from the sands, 
 
 Put bright coins in its two brown hands, 
 
 Then strode on like another king. , 
 
 Two deep, a musket's length, they stood, 
 A-front, in sandals, nude, and dun 
 As death and darkness wove in one, 
 Their thick lips thirsting for his blood. 
 He took their black hands one by one, 
 And, smiling with a patient grace, 
 Forgave them all and took his place. 
 He bared his broad brow to the sun, 
 Gave one long last look to the sky, 
 The white- wing'd clouds that hurried by,
 
 6o WITH WALKER 
 
 The olive hills in orange hue ; 
 
 A last list to the cockatoo 
 
 That hung by beak from cocoa-bough 
 
 Hard by, and hung and sung as though 
 
 He never was to sing again, 
 
 Hung all red-crown'd and robed in green, 
 
 With belts of gold and blue between. 
 
 A bow, a touch of heart, a pall 
 Of purple smoke, a crash, a thud, 
 A warrior's raiment rent, and blood, 
 A face in dust and that was all. 
 
 Success had made him more than king; 
 Defeat made him the vilest thing 
 In name, contempt or hate can bring : 
 So much the leaded dice of war 
 Do make or mar of character. 
 
 Speak ill who will of him, he died 
 In all disgrace ; say of the dead 
 His heart was black, his hands were red 
 Say this much, and be satisfied ; 
 Gloat over it all undenied.
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 61 
 
 J only say that he to me, 
 
 Whatever he to others was, 
 
 Was truer far than any one 
 
 That I have known beneath the sun, 
 
 Sinner, saint, or Pharisee, 
 
 As boy or man, for any cause ; 
 
 I simply say he was my friend 
 
 When strong of hand and fair of fame : 
 
 Dead and disgraced, I stand the same 
 
 To him, and so shall to the end. 
 
 I lay this crude wreath on his dust, 
 Inwove with sad, sweet memories 
 Recall'd here by these colder seas. 
 I leave the wild bird with his trust, 
 To sing and say him nothing wrong ; 
 T wake no rivalry of song. 
 
 He lies low in the levell'd sand, 
 TJnshelter'd from the tropic sun, 
 And now of all he knew not one 
 Will speak him fair in that far land. 
 Perhaps 'twas this that made me seek, 
 Disguised, his grave one winter-tide ;
 
 62 WITH WALKER 
 
 A weakness for the weaker side, 
 A siding with the helpless weak. 
 
 A palm not far held out a hand, 
 Hard by a long green bamboo swung, 
 And bent like some great bow unstrung, 
 And quiver'd like a willow wand ; 
 Beneath a broad banana's leaf, 
 Ferch'd on its fruits that crooked hang, 
 A bird in rainbow splendor sang 
 A low sad song of temper'd grief. 
 
 No sod, no sign, no cross nor stone, 
 But at his side a cactus green 
 Upheld its lances long and keen ; 
 It stood in hot red sands alone, 
 Flat-palm'd and fierce with lifted spears ; 
 One bloom of crimson crown'd its head, 
 A drop of blood, so bright, so red, 
 Yet redolent as roses' tears. 
 In my left hand I held a shell, 
 All rosy lipp'd and pearly red ; 
 I laid it by his lowly bed, 
 For he did love so passing well
 
 IN NICARAGUA. 63 
 
 The grand songs of the solemn sea. 
 
 shell ! sing well, wild, with a will, 
 When storms blow loud and birds be still, 
 The wildest sea-song known to thee ! 
 
 I said some things, with folded hands, 
 Soft whisper'd in the dim sea-sound, ' 
 And eyes held humbly to the ground, 
 And frail knees sunken in the sands. 
 He had done more than this for me, 
 And yet I could not well do more : 
 
 1 turned me down the olive snore, 
 And set a sad face to the sea. 
 
 London. 1871
 
 CALIFORNIAN.
 
 (rlintings of any in the darkness, 
 
 Flashings of flint and of steel, 
 
 Blended in gossamer texture 
 
 The ideal and the reai, 
 
 Limrfd like the phantom-ship shadow, 
 
 Crowding up under the keel.
 
 CALIFOKNIAN. 
 
 T STAND beside the mobile sea ; 
 
 And sails are spread, and sails are furFd 
 From farthest corners of the world, 
 And fold like white wings wearily. 
 Steamships go up, and some go down 
 In haste, like traders in a town, 
 And seem to see and beckon all. 
 Afar at sea some white shapes flee, 
 With arms stretch'd like a ghost's to me, 
 And cloud-like sails far blown and curl'd, 
 Then glide down to the under-world. 
 As if blown bare in winter blasts 
 Of leaf and limb, tall naked masts 
 Are rising from the restless sea, 
 So still and desolate and tall, 
 I seem to see them gleam and shine 
 With clinging drops of dripping brine.
 
 68 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 Broad still brown wings flit here and there. 
 Thin sea-blue wings wheel everywhere, 
 And white wings whistle through the air 
 I hear a thousand sea-gulls call. 
 
 Behold the ocean on the beach 
 Kneel lowly down as it in prayer. 
 I hear a moan as of despair, 
 While far at sea do toss and reach 
 Some things so like white pleading handg. 
 The ocean's thin and hoary hair 
 Is trail'd along the silver'd sands, 
 At every sigh and sounding moan. 
 Tis not a place for mirthfulness, 
 But meditation deep, and prayer, 
 And kneelings on the salted sod, 
 Where man must own his littleness 
 And know the mightiness of God. 
 The very birds shriek in distress 
 And sound the ocean's monotone, 
 
 Dare'd I but say a prophecy, 
 As sang the holy men of old, 
 Of rock-built cities yet to be
 
 CALIFORNIAN, 69 
 
 Along these shining shores of gold, 
 Crowding athirst into the sea, 
 What wondrous marvels might be told I 
 Enough, to know that empire here 
 Shall burn her loftiest, brightest star ; 
 Here art and eloquence shall reign, 
 As o'er the wolf-reared realm of old ; 
 Here learn'd and famous from afar, 
 To pay their noble court, shall come, 
 And shall not seek or see in vain, 
 But look on all with wonder dujnb. 
 
 Afar the bright Sierras lie 
 A swaying line of snowy white, 
 A fringe of heaven hung in sight 
 Against the blue base of the sky. 
 
 I look along each gaping gorge, 
 I hear a thousand sounding strokes 
 Like giants rending giant oaks, 
 Or brawny Vulcan at his forge; 
 I see pick-axes flash and shine 
 And great wheels whirling in a mine. 
 Here winds a thick and yellow thread,
 
 70 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 A moss'd and silver stream instead ; 
 And trout that leap'd its rippled tide 
 Have turn'd upon their sides and died. 
 
 Lo ! when the last pick in the mine 
 Is rusting red with idleness, 
 And rot yon cabins in the mould, 
 And wheels no more croak in distress, 
 And tall pines reassert command, 
 Sweet bards along this sunset shore 
 Their mellow melodies will pour ; 
 Will charm as charmers veiy wise, 
 Will strike the harp with master hand, 
 Will sound unto the vaulted skies 
 The valor of these men of old 
 The mighty men of 'Forty-nine ; 
 Will sweetly sing and proudly say, 
 Long, long agone there was a day 
 When there were giants in the land. 
 
 CUEAMBO ! what a cloud of dust 
 Comes dashing down like driven gust J
 
 CALIFORNIA N 71 
 
 And who rides rushing on the sight 
 Adown yon rocky long defile, 
 Swift as an eagle in his flight, 
 Fierce as a winter's storm at night 
 Blown from the bleak Sierra's height, 
 Careering down some yawning gorge ? 
 His face is flush'd, his eye is wild, 
 And 'neath his courser's sounding feet 
 (A glance could barely be more fleet) 
 The rocks are flashing like a forge. 
 Such reckless rider ! I do ween 
 No mortal man his like has seen. 
 And yet, but for his long serape 
 All flowing loose, and black as crape, 
 And long silk locks of blackest hair 
 All streaming wildly in the breeze, 
 You might believe him in a chair, 
 Or chatting at some country fair 
 With friend or senorita rare, 
 He rides so grandly at his ease. 
 
 But now he grasps a tighter rein, 
 A red rein wrought in golden chain, 
 And in hia tapidaros stands,
 
 72 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 Half turns and shakes two bloody hands, 
 
 And shouts defiance at his foe ; 
 
 Now lifts his broad hat from his brow 
 
 As if to challenge fate, and now 
 
 His hand drops to his saddle-bow 
 
 And clutches something gleaming there 
 
 As if to something more than dare, 
 
 While halts the foe that follow'd fast 
 
 As rushing wave or raving blast, 
 
 More sudden-swift than though were prest 
 
 All bridle-bands at one behest. 
 
 The stray winds lift the raven curls, 
 Soft as a fair Castilian girl's, 
 And press a brow so full and high 
 Its every feature does belie 
 The thought he is compell'd to fly ; 
 A brow as open as the sky 
 On which you gaze and gaze again 
 As on a picture you have seen 
 And often sought to see in vain, 
 That seems to hold a tale of woe 
 Or wonder, that you fain would know; 
 A brow cut deep as with a knife,
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 73 
 
 With many a dubious deed in life ; 
 A brow of blended pride and pain, 
 And yearnings for what should have been. 
 
 He grasps his gilded gory rein, 
 And wheeling like a hurricane, 
 Defying wood, or stone, or flood, 
 Is dashing down the gorge again. 
 Oh never yet has prouder steed 
 Borne master nobler in his need I 
 There is a glory in his eye 
 That seems to dare and to defy 
 Pursuit, or time, or space, or race. 
 His body is the type of speed, 
 While from his nostril to his heel 
 Are muscles as if made of steel. 
 He is not black, nor gray, nor white, 
 But 'neath that broad serape of night 
 And locks of darkness streaming o'er, 
 His sleek sides seem a fiery red 
 They may be red with gushing gore. 
 
 What crimes have made that red hand red ? 
 What wrongs have written that young face
 
 74 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 With lines of thought so out of place ? 
 
 Where flies he? And from whence has fled? 
 
 And what his lineage and race ? 
 
 What glitters in his heavy belt, 
 
 And from his furr'd catenas gleam ? 
 
 What on his bosom that doth seem 
 
 A diamond bright or dagger's hilt ? 
 
 The iron hoofs that still resound 
 
 Like thunder from the yielding ground 
 
 Alone reply ; and now the plain, 
 
 Quick as you breathe and gaze again, 
 
 Is won, and all pursuit is vain. 
 
 I STAND upon a stony rim, 
 Stone-paved and pattern'd as a street ; 
 A rock-lipp'd canon plunging south, 
 As if it were earth's open'd mouth, 
 Yawns deep and darkling at my feet j 
 So deep, so distant, and so dun 
 Its waters wind, a yellow thread, 
 And call so faintly and so far, 
 I turn aside my swooning head.
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 75 
 
 I feel a fierce impulse to leap 
 Adown the beetling precipice, 
 Like some lone, lost, uncertain star ', 
 To plunge into a place unknown, 
 And win a world all, all my own ; 
 Or if I might not meet that bliss, 
 At least escape the curse of this. 
 
 I gaze again. A gleaming star 
 Shines back as from some mossy well 
 Reflected from blue fields afar. 
 Brown hawks are wheeling here and there, 
 And up and down the broken wall 
 Cling clumps of dark green chaparral, 
 While from the rent rocks, gray and bare, 
 Blue junipers hang in the air. 
 
 Here, cedars sweep the stream, and here, 
 Among the boulders moss'd and brown 
 That time and storms have toppled down 
 From towers undefiled by man, 
 Low cabins nestle as in fear, 
 And look no taller than a span. 
 From low and shapeless chimneys rise
 
 76 CALIFORNIA*'. 
 
 Some tall straight columns of blue smoke, 
 And weld them to the bluer skies ; 
 While sounding down the sombre gorge 
 I hear the steady pick-axe stroke, 
 As if upon a flashing forge. 
 
 Another scene, another sound ! 
 Sharp shots are fretting through the air, 
 Red knives are flashing everywhere, 
 And here and there the yellow flood 
 Is purpled with warm smoking blood. 
 The brown hawk swoops' low to the ground, 
 And nimble chip-monks, small and still, 
 Dart striped lines across the sill 
 That lordly feet shall press no more. 
 The flume lies wai-ping in the sun, 
 The pan sits empty by the door, 
 The pick-axe on its bed-rock floor 
 Lies rusting in the silent mine. 
 There comes no single sound nor sign 
 Of life, beside yon monks in brown 
 That dart their dim shapes up and down 
 The rocks that swelter in the sun ; 
 But dashing round yon rocky sprr
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 77 
 
 Where scarce a hawk would dare to whirr, 
 Fly hoi-semen reckless in their flight. 
 One wears a flowing black capote, 
 While down the cape doth flow and float 
 Long locks of hair as dark as night, 
 And hands are red that erst were white. 
 
 All up and down the land to-day 
 Black desolation and despair 
 It seems have sat and settled there, 
 With none to frighten them away. 
 Like sentries watching by the way 
 Black chimneys topple in the air, 
 And seem to say, Go back, beware ! 
 While up around the mountain's rim 
 Are clouds of smoke, so still and grim 
 They look as they are fasten'd there. 
 
 A lonely stillness, so like death, 
 So touches, terrifies all things, 
 That even rooks that fly o'erhead 
 Are hush'd, and seem to hold their breath, 
 To fly with muffled wings, 
 And heavy as if made of lead.
 
 78 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 Some skulls that crumble to the touch, 
 
 Some joints of thin and chalk-like bone, 
 
 A tall black chimney, all alone, 
 
 That leans as if upon a crutch, 
 
 Alone are left to mark or tell, 
 
 Instead of cross or cryptic stone, 
 
 Where fair maids loved or brave men fell. 
 
 I look along the valley's edge, 
 \ Where swings the white road like a swell 
 Of surf, along a sea of hedge 
 jAnd black and brittle chaparral, 
 And enters like an iron wedge 
 . ^)rove in the mountain dun and brown, 
 As if to split the hills in twain. 
 Two clouds of dust roll o'er the plain, 
 l Jtnd men ride up and men ride down, 
 And hot men halt, and curse and shout, 
 And coming coursers plunge and neigh. 
 The clouds of dust are roll'd in one 
 And horses, horsemen, where are they? 
 Lol through a rift of dust and dun, 
 Of desolation and of rout,
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 79 
 
 I see some long white daggers flash, 
 I hear the sharp hot pistols crash, 
 And curses loud in mad despair 
 Are blended with a plaintive prayer 
 That struggles through the dust and air 
 
 The cloud is lifting like a veil : 
 The frantic curse, the plaintive wail 
 Have died away ; nor sound nor word 
 Along the dusty plain is heard 
 Save sounding of yon courser's feet, 
 Who flies so fearfully and fleet, 
 With gory girth and broken rein, 
 Across the hot and trackless plain. 
 Behold him, as he trembling flies, 
 Look back with red and bursting eyes 
 To where his gory master lies. 
 The cloud is lifting like a' veil, 
 But underneath its drifting sail 
 I see a loose and black capote 
 In careless heed far fly and float, 
 So vulture-like above a steed 
 Of perfect mould and passing speed.
 
 8o CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 Here lies a man of giant mould, 
 His mighty right arm, perfect bare 
 Save but its sable coat of hair, 
 Is clutching in its iron clasp 
 A clump of sage, as if to hold 
 The earth from slipping from his grasp ; 
 "While, stealing from his brow, a stain 
 Of purple blood and gory brain 
 Yields to the parch'd lips of the plain, 
 Swift to resolve to dust again. 
 
 Lo ! friend and foe blend here and there 
 With dusty lips and trailing hair : 
 Some with a cold and sullen stare, 
 Some with their red hands clasp'd in prayer. 
 
 Here lies a youth, whose fair face is 
 Still holy from a mother's kiss, 
 With brow as white as alabaster, 
 Save a. tell-tale powder-stain 
 Of a deed and a disaster 
 That will never come again, 
 With their perils and their pain. 
 
 The tinkle of bells on the bended hills,
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 81 
 
 The hum of bees in the orange trees, 
 And the lowly call of the beaded rills 
 Are heard in the land as I look again 
 Over the peaceful battle-plain. 
 Murderous man from the field has fled, 
 Fled in fear from the face of his dead. 
 He battled, he bled, he ruled a day 
 And peaceful Nature resumes her sway. 
 And the sward where yonder corses lie, 
 When the verdant season shall come again, 
 Shall greener grow than it grew before ; 
 Shall again in sun-clime glory vie 
 With the gayesf green in the tropic scene, 
 Taking its freshness back once more 
 From them that despoil'd it yesterday. 
 
 The sun is red and flush'd and dry, 
 And fretted from his weary beat 
 Across the hot and desert sky, 
 And swollen as from overheat, 
 And failing too ; for see, he sinks 
 Swift as a ball of burnish'd ore :
 
 83 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 It may be fancy, but methinks 
 He never fell so fast before. 
 
 I hear the neighing of hot steeds, 
 I see the marshalling of men 
 That silent move among the trees 
 As busily as swarming bees 
 With step and stealthiness profound, 
 On carpetings of spindled weeds, 
 Without a syllable or sound 
 Save clashing of their burnish'd arms, 
 Clinking dull death-like alarms 
 Grim bearded men and brawny men 
 That grope among the ghostly trees. 
 Were ever silent men as these ? 
 Was ever sombre forest deep 
 And dark as this ? Here one might sleep 
 While all the weary years went round, 
 Nor wake nor weep for sun or sound. 
 
 A stone's-throw to the right, a rock 
 Has rear'd his head among the stars 
 An island in the upper deep 
 And on his front a thousand scars
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 83 
 
 Of thunder's crash and earthquake's shock 
 Are seani'd as if by sabre's sweep 
 Of gods, enraged that he should rear 
 His froc ', amid their realms of air. 
 
 What moves along his beetling brow. 
 So small, so indistinct and far, 
 This side yon blazing evening star, 
 Seen through that redwood's shifting bough ? 
 A lookout on the world below ? 
 A watcher for the friend or foe ? 
 This still troop's sentry it must be, 
 Yet seems no taller than my knee. 
 
 But for the grandeur of this gloom, 
 And for the chafing steeds' alarms, 
 And brown men's sullen clash of arms, 
 This were but as a living tomb. 
 These weeds are spindled, pale and white, 
 As if nor sunshine, life nor light 
 Had ever reach'd this forest's heart. 
 Above, the redwood boughs entwine 
 As dense as copse of tangled vine 
 Above, so fearfully afar,
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 It seems as 'twere a lesser sky, 
 A sky without a moon or star, 
 The moss'd boughs are so thick and high. 
 At every lisp of leaf I start ! 
 Would I could hear a cricket trill, 
 Or that yon sentry from his hill 
 Might shout or show some sign of life, 
 The place does seem so deathly still. 
 " Mount ye, and forward for the strife ! * 
 Who by yon dark trunk sullen stands, 
 With black serape and bloody hands, 
 And coldly gives his brief commands ? 
 
 They mount away ! Quick on his heel 
 He turns, and grasps his gleaming steel 
 Then sadly smiles, and stoops to kiss 
 An upturn'd face so sweetly fair, 
 So sadly, saintly, purely fair, 
 So rich of blessedness and bliss ! 
 I know she is not flesh and blood, 
 But some sweet spirit of this wood ; 
 I know it by her wealth of hair, 
 And step on the unyielding air ; 
 Her seamless robe of shining whito,
 
 CALIFORNIA^- 85 
 
 Her soul-deep eyes of darkest night : 
 But over all and more than all 
 That could be said or can befall, 
 That tongue can tell or pen can tracey 
 That wondrous witchery of face. 
 
 Between the trees I see him stride 
 To where a red steed fretting stands 
 Impatient for his lord's commands : 
 And she glides noiseless at his side. 
 
 Lo ! not a bud, or leaf, or stem, 
 Beneath her feet is bowed or bent ; 
 They only nod, as if in sleep, 
 And all their grace and freshness keep ; 
 And now will in their beauty bloom, 
 In pink and pearl habiliment, 
 As though fresh risen from a tomb, 
 For fairest sun has shone on them. 
 
 " The world is mantling black again ! 
 Beneath us, o'er the sleeping plain, 
 Dull steel-gray clouds slide up and down 
 As if the still earth wore a frown. 
 The west is red with sunlight slain ! "
 
 86 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 (One hand toys with her waving hair, 
 Soft lifting from her shoulders bare ; 
 The other holds the loosen'd rein, 
 And rests upon the swelling mane 
 That curls the curved neck o'er and o'er, 
 Like waves that swirl along the shore. 
 He hears the last retreating sound 
 Of iron on volcanic stone, 
 That echoes far from peak to plain, 
 And 'neath the dense wood's sable zone 
 He peers the dark Sierras down.) 
 " But darker yet shall be the frown, 
 And redder yet shall be the flame. 
 And yet I would that this were not 
 That all, forgiven or forgot 
 Of curses deep and awful crimes, 
 Of blood and terror, could but seem 
 Some troubled and unholy dream ; 
 That even now I could awake, 
 And waking find me once again 
 "With hand and heart without a stain, 
 Swift gliding o'er that sunny lake, 
 Begirt with town and castle- wall, 
 Where first I saAv the silver light
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 87 
 
 Begirt with blossoms, and the bloom 
 Of orange, sweet with the perfume 
 Of cactus, pomegranate, and all 
 The thousand sweets of tropic climes; 
 And, waking, see the mellow moon 
 Pour'd out in gorgeous plenilune 
 On silyer ripples of that tide ; 
 And, waking, hear soft music pour 
 Along that flora-formed shore ; 
 And, waking, find you at my side, 
 My father's moss'd and massive halls, 
 My brothers in their strength and pride.' 
 
 (His hand forsakes her raven hair, 
 His eyes have an unearthly glare : 
 She shrinks and shudders at his side, 
 Then lifts to his her moisten' d eye, 
 And only looks her sad reply. 
 A sullenness his soul enthrals, 
 A silence born of hate and pride ; 
 His fierce volcanic heart so deep 
 Is stirr'd, his teeth, despite his will, 
 Do chatter as if in a chill ;
 
 88 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 His very dagger at his side 
 Does shake and rattle in its sheath, 
 As blades of brown grass in a gale 
 Do rustle on the frosted heath : 
 And yet he does not bend or weep.) 
 
 " I did not vow a girlish vow, 
 Nor idle imprecation now 
 Will I bestow by boasting word 
 Feats of the tongue become the knave, 
 A wailing in the land is heard 
 For those that will not come again ; 
 And weeping for the rashly brave, 
 Who sleep in many a gulch and glen, 
 Has wet a hundred hearths with tears, 
 And darken'd them for years and years. 
 Would I could turn their tears to gore, 
 Make every hearth as cold as one 
 Is now upon that sweet lake shore, 
 Where my dear kindred dwelt of yore ; 
 Where now is but an ashen heap, 
 And mass of mossy earth and stone ; 
 Where round an altar black wolves keep 
 Their carnival and doleful moan ;
 
 CALIFORNIA^. 89 
 
 Where horned lizards dart and climb, 
 And mollusks slide and leave their slime. 
 
 " But tremble not. This night, my own, 
 Shall see my fierce foe overthrown ; 
 And ere the day-star gleams again 
 My horse's hoofs shall spurn the dead 
 The still warm reeking dead of those 
 Who brought us all our bitter woes ; 
 WMle all my glad returning way 
 Shall be as light as living day, 
 From ranches, campos, burning red. 
 And then ! And then, my peri pearl " 
 (As if to charm her from her fears 
 And drive away the starting tears, 
 Again his small hand seeks a curl, 
 And voice forgets its sullen ire, 
 And eye forsakes its flashing fire) 
 "Away to where the orange tree 
 Is white through all the cycled years, 
 And love lives an eternity ; 
 Where birds are never out of tune 
 And life knows no decline of noon ; 
 Where winds are sweet as woman's breath,
 
 90 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 And purpled, dreamy, mellow skies 
 Are lovely as a woman's eyes, 
 There, we in calm and perfect bliss 
 Of boundless faith and sweet delight 
 Shall realize the world above, 
 Forgetting all the wrongs of this, 
 Forgetting all of blood and death, 
 And all your terrors of to-night, 
 In pure devotion and deep love.** 
 
 As gently as a mother bows 
 Her first-born sleeping babe above, 
 The cherish'd cherub lips to kiss 
 In her full blessedness and bliss, 
 He bends to her with stately air, 
 His proud head hi its cloud of hair. 
 I do not heed the hallow'd kiss ; 
 I do not hear the hurried vows 
 Of passion, faith, unfailing love ; 
 I do not mark the prison'd sigh, 
 I do not meet the moisten'd eye : 
 A low sweet melody is heard 
 Like cooing of some Balize bird, 
 Sc fine it doeb not touch the ah-,
 
 CALIFORNIA^*. Qi 
 
 So faint it stirs not anywhere ; 
 Faint as the falling of the dew, 
 Low as a pure unutter'd prayer, 
 The meeting, mingling, as it were, 
 Of souls in paradisal bliss. 
 
 Erect, again he grasps the rein 
 So tight, as to the seat he springs, 
 I see his red steed plunge and poise 
 And beat the air with iron feet, 
 And curve his noble glossy neck, 
 And toss on high his swelling mane, 
 And leap away ! he spurns the rein, 
 And flies so fearfully and fleet, 
 But for the hot hoofs' ringing noise 
 'Twould seem as if he were on wings. 
 
 And she is gone ! Gone like a breath 
 Gone like a white sail seen at night 
 A moment, and then lost to sight ; 
 Gone like a star you look upon, 
 That glimmers to a bead, a speck, 
 Then softly melts into the dawn, 
 And all is still and dark as death.
 
 Q2 
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 I LOOK far down a dewy vale, 
 Where cool palms lean along a brook 
 As crooked as a shepherd's crook. 
 Red parrots call from orange trees, 
 Where white lips kiss the idle breeze, 
 And murmur with the hum of bees : 
 The gray dove coos his low love-tale. 
 
 With cross outstretch'd like pleading hands 
 That mutely plead the faith of Christ, 
 Amid the palms a low church stands : 
 I would that man might learn from these 
 The priceless victories of Peace, 
 And woo her 'mid these olive trees, 
 And win an earthly paradise. 
 
 I see black clouds of troops afar 
 Sweep like a surge that sweeps the shore, 
 And check'ring all the green hills o'er 
 Are battlements and signs of war.
 
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 93 
 
 I hear the hoarse-voiced cannon roar : 
 The red-mouth'd orators of war 
 Plead as they never plead before ; 
 While outdone thunder stops his car 
 And leans in wonderment afar. 
 
 A fragment from the struggle rent 
 Forsakes the rugged battlement, 
 And winds it painfully and slow 
 Across the rent und riven lands 
 To where a gray church open stands, 
 As if it bore a load of woe. 
 
 Curambo ! 'tis a chief they bear ! 
 And by bis black and flowing hair 
 Methinks I have seen him before. 
 A gray priest guides them through the door 
 They lay him bleeding on the floor. 
 
 He moves, he lifts his feeble hand, 
 And points with tried and trenched brand, 
 And bids them to the battle-plain. 
 They turn they pause : he bids again ; 
 They turn a last time to their chief,
 
 94 
 
 CALJFORNIAN. 
 
 And gaze in silence and deep pain, 
 
 For silence speaks the deepest grief. 
 
 They clutch their blades; they turn are gone: 
 
 And priest and chief are left aloue. 
 
 u So here my last day has its close, 
 And here it ends. Here all is not. 
 I am content. "Tis what 1 sought 
 Revenge and then my last repose. 
 Oh for the rest for the rest eternal 1 
 Oh for the deep and the dreamless sleep I 
 Where never a hope lures to deceive ; 
 Where never a heart beats but to grieve ; 
 Nor thoughts of heaven or hells infernal 
 Shall ever wake or dare to break 
 The rest of an everlasting sleep ! 
 
 "Is there truth in the life eternal? 
 Will our memories never die ? 
 Shall we relive in realms supernal 
 Life's resplendent and glorious lie ? 
 Death has not one shape so frightful 
 But defiantly I would brave it ; 
 Earth has nothing so delightful
 
 CAUFORNIAN. 95 
 
 But my soul would scorn to crave it, 
 Could I know for sure, for certain, 
 That the falling of the curtain 
 And the folding of the hands 
 Is the full and the final casting 
 Of accounts for the everlasting ! 
 Everlasting, and everlasting! 
 
 " Well, I have known, I know not why, 
 Through all my dubious days of strife, 
 That when we live our deeds we die ; 
 That man may in one hour live 
 All that his life can bear or give. 
 This I have done, and do not grieve, 
 For I am older by a score 
 Than many born long, long before, 
 If sorrows be the sum of life. 
 
 " Ay, I am old old as the years 
 Could brand me with their blood and tears; 
 For with my fingers I can trace 
 Grief's trenches on my hollow face, 
 And through my thin frame I can feel 
 The pulses of my frozen heart
 
 96 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 Beat with a dull uncertain start : 
 And, mirror'd in my sword, to-day, 
 Before its edge of gleaming steel 
 Had lost its lustre in the fray, 
 I saw around my temples stray 
 Thin straggling locks of steely gray. 
 
 " Fly, fly you, to yon snowy height, 
 And tell to her I fail, I die ! 
 Fly swiftly, priest, I bid you! fly 
 ' Before the falling of the night t 
 What! know her not? O priest, be ware I 
 I warn you answer thus no more, 
 But bend your dull ear to the floor, 
 And hear you who she is, and where. 
 
 " She is the last, last of a line, 
 With blood as rich and warm as wine, 
 And blended blood of god and king; 
 Last of the Montezumas' line 
 Who dwelt up in the yellow sun, 
 And, sorrowing for man's despair, 
 Slid by his trailing yellow hair 
 To earth, to rule with love and bring
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 57 
 
 The blessedness of peace to us. 
 
 She is the last, last earthly one 
 
 Of all the children of the sun ; 
 
 A sweet perfume still lingering 
 
 In essence pure, and living thus 
 
 In blessedness about the spot, 
 
 When rose, and bush, and bloom are not. 
 
 " Beside Tezcuco's flowery shore, 
 Where waves were washing evermore 
 The massive columns of its wall, 
 Stood Montezuma's mighty hall. 
 And here the Montezumas reign'd 
 In perfect peace and love unfeign'd, 
 Until, from underneath the sea 
 Where all sin is, or ought to be, 
 Came men of death and strange device, 
 WTio taught a mad and mystic faith 
 Of crucifixion and of Christ, 
 More hated than the plague or death. 
 
 " Nay, do not swing your cross o'er me ; 
 You cross'd you once, but do not twice, 
 Nor dare repeat the name of Christ ; 
 
 7
 
 98 CAUFORNIAN. 
 
 Nor start, nor think to fly, nor frown, 
 While you the stole and surplice wear; 
 For I do clutch your sable gown, 
 And you shall hear my curse, or prayer, 
 And be my priest in my despair ; 
 - Since neither priest, nor sign, nor shrine 
 Is left in all the land, of mine. 
 
 " Enough ! We know, alas ! too well, 
 How red Christ ruled Tonatiu fell. 
 The black wolf in our ancient halls 
 Unfrighten'd sleeps the live-long day. 
 The stout roots burst the mossy walls, 
 And in the moonlight wild dogs play 
 Around the plazas overgrown, 
 Where rude boars hold their carnivals. 
 The moss is on our altar-stone, 
 The mould on JVIontezuma's throne, 
 And symbols in the desert strown. 
 
 " And when your persecutions ceased 
 From troop, and king, and cowled priest, 
 That we had felt for centuries 
 (Ah ! know you, priest, that cross of thine
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 Is but death's symbol, and the sign 
 Of blood and butchery and tears ? ) 
 And when return'd the faithful few, 
 Beside Tezcuco's sacred shore, 
 To build their broken shrines anew, 
 They number'd scarce a broken score. 
 Here dwelt my father here she dwelt 
 Here kept one altar burning bright, 
 Last of the thousands that had shone 
 Along the mountain's brows of stone, 
 Last of a thousand stars of night. 
 To Tonatiu Ytzaqual we bow'd 
 Nay, do not start, nor shape the sign 
 Of horror at this creed of mine, 
 Nor call again the name of Christ : 
 You cross you once, you cross you twice 
 I warn you do not cross you thrice ; 
 Nor will I brook a sign or look 
 Of anger at her faith avow'd. 
 I am no creedist. Faith to me 
 Is but a name for mystery, 
 I only know this faith is her's :" 
 I care to know no more, to be 
 The truest of its worshippers.
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 " The Cold-men came across the plain 
 With gory blade and brand of flame : 
 I know not that they knew or cared 
 What was our race, or creed, or name ; 
 I only know the Northmen dared 
 Assault and sack, for sake of gain 
 Of sacred vessels wrought in gold, 
 The temple where gods dwelt of old ; 
 And that my father, brothers, dared 
 Defend their shrines and all were slain. 
 
 " * Fly with the maid,' my father cried, 
 When first the fierce assault was made 
 ' A boat chafes at the causeway side,' 
 And in the instant was obey'd. 
 We gain'd the boat, sprang in, away 
 We dash'd along the dimpled tide. 
 
 " It must have been they thought we bore 
 The treasure in our flight and haste, 
 For in an instant from the shore 
 An hundred crafts were making chase, 
 And as their sharp prows drew apace
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 1 caught a carbine to ray face. 
 
 She, rising, dash'd it quick aside ; 
 
 And, when their hands were stretch'd to clasp 
 
 The boat's prow in their eager grasp^ 
 
 She turn'd to me and sudden cried, 
 
 ' Come, come ! ' and plunged into the tide. 
 
 I plunged into the dimpled wave : 
 
 I had no thought but 'twas my grave ; 
 
 But faith had never follower 
 
 More true than I to follow her. 
 
 " On, on through purple wave she cleaves, 
 As shoots a sunbeam through the leaves. 
 At last what miracle was there ! 
 Again we breathed the welcome air; 
 And, resting by the rising tide, 
 The secret outlet of the lake, 
 Safe hid by trackless fern and brake, 
 With yellow lilies at her side, 
 She told me how in ages gone 
 Her Fathers built with sacred stone 
 This secret way beneath the tide, 
 That now was known to her alone
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 "When night came on and all was still, 
 And stole the white moon down the hill 
 As soft, as if she too fear'd ill, 
 'Again I sought the sacred halls 
 And on the curving causeway stood. 
 I look'd naught but the blacken'd walls 
 And charr'd bones of ray kindred blood 
 Was left beside the dimpled flood. 
 
 " Enough ! Mine was no temper'd steel 
 To-day upon the stormy field, 
 As many trench'd heads yonder feel, 
 And many felt, that feel no more, 
 That fought beneath your cross and shield, 
 And, falling, called in vain to Christ. 
 You curs'd monk ! dare you cross you thrice, 
 When I have warn'd you twice before ? 
 To you and your damn'd faith I owe 
 My heritage of crime and woe ; 
 You shall not live to mock me more 
 if there be temper in this brand, 
 Or nerve left in this bloody hand.
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 103 
 
 I start, I leave the stony ground, 
 Despite of blood or mortal wound, 
 Or darkness that has dimm'd the eye, 
 Or senses that do dance and reel 
 I clutch a throat I clench a steel 
 I thrust I fail I fall I die . . ." 
 
 SHE stands upon the wild watch-towei 
 And with her own hand feeds the flame 
 The beacon-light to guide again 
 His coming from the battle-plain. 
 'Tis wearing past the midnight hour, 
 The latest that he ever came, 
 Yet silence reigns around the tower. 
 
 'Tis hours past the midnight hour: 
 She calls, she looks, she lists in vain 
 For sight or sound from peak or plain. 
 She moves along the beetling tower, 
 She leans, she lists forlorn and lone, 
 She stoops her ear low to the ground,
 
 104 CALIFORNIAN. 
 
 In hope to catch the welcome sound 
 Of iron on the rugged stone. 
 
 In vain she peers down in the night 
 But for one feeble flash of light 
 From flinty stone and feet of steel. 
 She stands upon the fearful rim, 
 "Where even coolest head would reel, 
 And fearless leans her form far o'er 
 Its edge, and lifts her hands to him, 
 And calls in words as sweetly wild 
 As bleeding saint or sorrowing child. 
 She looks, she lists, she leans in vain, 
 In vain his dalliance does deplore ; 
 She turns her to the light again, 
 And bids the watchman to the plain, 
 Defying night or dubious way, 
 To guide the flight or join the fray. 
 
 The day-star dances on the snow 
 That gleams along Sierra's crown 
 In gorgeous everlasting glow 
 And frozen glory and renown. 
 Yet still she feeds the beacon flame, 
 And lists, and looks, and leans in vain.
 
 CALIFORNIAN. 105 
 
 The day has dawn'd. She still is there I 
 Yet in her sad and silent air 
 I read the stillness of despair. 
 Why burns the red light on the tower 
 So brightly at this useless hour? 
 But see ! The day-king hurls a dart 
 At darkness, and his cold black heart 
 Is pierced ; and now, compell'd to flee, 
 Flies bleeding to the farther sea. 
 And now, behold, she radiant stands, 
 And lifts her thin white jewell'd hands 
 Unto the broad, unfolding sun, 
 And hails him Tonatiu and King 
 With hallow'd mien and holy prayer. 
 Her fingers o'er some symbols ran, 
 Her knees are bow'd in worshipping 
 Her God, beheld when thine is not, 
 In form of faith long, long forgot. 
 
 Again she lifts her brown arms bare, 
 Far flashing in their bands of gold 
 And precious stones, rare, rich, and old. 
 Was ever mortal half so fair ? 
 Was ever such a wealth of hair ?
 
 106 CALIFORNIA^. 
 
 Was ever such a plaintive air ? 
 Was ever such a sweet despair ? 
 
 Still humbler now her form she bends ; 
 Still higher now the flame ascends : 
 She bares her bosom to the sun. 
 Again her jewell'd fingers run 
 In signs and sacred form and prayer. 
 She bows with awe and holy air 
 In lowly worship to the sun ; 
 Then rising calls her lover's name, 
 And leaps into the leaping flame. 
 
 I do not hear the faintest moan, 
 Or sound, or syllable, or tone. 
 The red flames stoop a moment down, 
 As if to raise her from the ground ; 
 They whirl, they swirl, they sweep a*vund 
 With light'ning feet and fiery crown ; 
 Then stand up, tall, tip-toed, as OD<J 
 Would hand a soul up to the sun.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS.
 
 The hills were brown, the heavens, were blue, 
 
 A woodpecker pounded a pine-top shell, 
 
 While a partridge whistled the whole da;/ through 
 
 For a rabbit to dance in the chapparal, 
 
 And a gray grouse drummed, "All's wM, all's well.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 PAET FIKST. 
 
 "T T 7BINKLED and brown as a bag of leather, 
 
 A squaw sits moaning long and low. 
 Yesterday she was a wife and mother, 
 To-day she is rocking her to and fro, 
 A childless widow, in weeds and woe. 
 
 An Indian sits in a rocky cavern 
 Whetting a flint in an arrow head ; 
 His children are moving as still as shadows, 
 His squaw is moulding some balls of lead, 
 With her round face painted the battle-red. 
 
 An Indian sits in a black-jack jungle, 
 Where a grizzly bear has rear'd her young, 
 Whetting a flint on a granite boulder, 
 And his quiver is over his brown back hung, 
 And his face is streak'd and his bow is strung.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 An Indian hangs from a cliff of granite, 
 Like an eagle's nest built in the air, 
 Looking away to the east, and watching 
 The smoke of the cabins curling there, 
 And eagles' feathers are in his hair. 
 
 In belt of wampum, in battle fashion, 
 
 An Indian watches with wild desire. 
 
 He is red with paint, he is black with passion, 
 
 And grand as a god in his savage ire, 
 
 As he leans and listens till stars are a-fire. 
 
 Sombre and sullen and sad, the chieftain 
 Looks from the mountain far into the sea. 
 Just before him beat in the white billows, 
 Just behind him the toppled tall tree 
 And chopping of woodmen, knee buckl'd to knee. 
 
 Long he looks, and he leans and listens 
 Waves before him, behind him white waves 
 Beating and breaking on the last Taschastas ; 
 Waves that have toppled across red braves, 
 Levell'd, and left not a sign of their graves.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. n 
 
 " Awake and arise ! O, remnant Taschastas ! 
 Awake to the life that is death in the land, 
 And this shall be doubled in dust contented " 
 ITe lifts to heaven his doubled right hand, 
 Flashing afar with a great gold band. 
 
 PAKT SECOND. 
 ***** 
 ALL together, all in council, 
 In a canon wall'd so high 
 That no thing could ever reach them 
 Save some stars dropp'd from the sky, 
 And the brown bats sweeping by : 
 
 Some were gray and thin and wiry, 
 Wise as brief, and brief as bold ; 
 Some were young and fierce and fiery, 
 Some were stately tall, and told 
 Counsellings like kings of old. 
 
 Flamed the council-fire brighter, 
 Flash'd black eyes like diamond beads, 
 When a woman told her sorrows, 
 While a warrior told his deeds, 
 And a widow tore her weeds.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAb. 
 
 Then was lit the pipe of council 
 That their fathers smoked of old, 
 With its stem of manzinnetta, 
 And its bowl of quartz and gold, 
 And traditions manifold. 
 
 Lo ! from lip to lip in silence 
 Burn'd it round the circle red, 
 Like an evil star slow passing 
 (Sign of battles and blood shed) 
 Round the heavens overhead. 
 
 Then the silence deep was broken 
 By the thunder rolling far, 
 As gods muttering in anger, 
 Or the bloody battle-car 
 Of a Christian king at war. 
 
 "Tis the spirits of -my Fathers 
 Mutt'ring vengeance in the skies ; 
 And the flashing of the lightning 
 Is the anger of their eyes, 
 Bidding us in battle rise "
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 Cried the war-chief, now uprising, 
 Naked all above the waist, 
 While a belt of shells and silver 
 Held his tamoos to its place, 
 And the war-paint streak'd his face. 
 
 Women melted from the council, 
 Boys crept backward out of sight, 
 Till alone a wall of warriors 
 In their paint and battle-plight 
 Sat reflecting back the light. 
 
 *' O my Fathers in the storm-cloud ! " 
 (Red arms tossing to the skies, 
 While the massive walls of granite 
 Seem'd to shrink to half their size, 
 And to mutter strange replies) 
 
 " Soon we come, O angry Fathers, 
 Down the darkness you have cross'd : 
 Speak for hunting-grounds there for us ; 
 Those you left us we have lost 
 -Gone like blossoms in a frost
 
 U4 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 " Warriors ! " (and his arms fell folded 
 On his tawny swelling breast, 
 While his voice, now low and plaintive 
 As the waves in their unrest, 
 Touching tenderness confess'd,) 
 
 M Where is Wrotto, wise of counsel, 
 Yesterday here in his place ? 
 A brave lies dead down in the valley, 
 Last brave of his line and race, 
 And a Ghost sits on his face. 
 
 Where the boy the tender-hearted, 
 With his mother yestermorn ? 
 Lo ! a wigwam-door is darken'd, 
 And a mother mourns forlorn, 
 With her long locks toss'd and torn. 
 
 " Once like pines around a mountain 
 pid my braves in council stand; 
 Now I call you loud like thunder, 
 And you come at my command 
 Faint and few, with feeble hand.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 115 
 
 tt Lo! our daughters have been gathered 
 From among us by the foe, 
 Like the lilies they once gather'd 
 In the spring-time all aglow 
 From the banks of living snow. 
 
 " Through the land where we for ages 
 
 Laid the bravest, dearest dead, 
 
 Grinds the savage white-man's ploughshare, 
 
 Grinding sires' bones for bread 
 
 We shall give them blood instead.. 
 
 " I saw white skulls in a furrow, 
 And around the cursed share 
 Clung the flesh of my own children ; 
 And my mother's tangled hair 
 TraiPd along the furrow there. 
 
 " O my mother up in cloud-land ! " 
 (Long arms lifting like the spray) 
 " Whet the flint heads in my arrows, 
 Make my heart as hard as they, 
 Nerve me like a bear at bay !
 
 u6 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 u Warriors ! braves ! 1 cry for vengeance ! 
 And the dim ghosts of the dead 
 Unavenged do wail and shiver 
 In the storm-cloud overhead, 
 And shoot arrows battle-red." 
 
 Then he ceased, and sat among them, 
 With his long locks backward strown ; 
 They as mute as men of marble, 
 He a king upon a throne, 
 And as still as polish'd stone. 
 
 Hard by stoocl the war-chiefs daughter, 
 Taller than the tassel'd corn, 
 Sweeter than the kiss of morning, 
 Sad as some sweet star of morn, 
 Half defiant, half forlorn. 
 
 Robed in skins of striped panther 
 Lifting loosely to the air, 
 With a face a shade of sorrow, 
 And black eyes that said, Beware 1 
 Nestled in a storm of hair;
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 117 
 
 With her striped robes around her, 
 Fasten'd by an eagle's be*ak, 
 Stood she by the stately chieftain, 
 Proud and pure as Shasta's peak, 
 As she ventured thus to speak : 
 
 u Must the tomahawk of battle 
 Be unburied where it lies, 
 O, last war-chief of Taschastas ? 
 Must the smoke of battle rise 
 Like a storm-cloud in the skies ? 
 
 " True, some wretch has laid a brother 
 With his swift feet to the sun, 
 But because one bough is broken, 
 Must the broad oak be undone ? 
 All the red-wood fell'd as one ? 
 
 " True, the braves have faded, wasted 
 Like ripe blossoms in the rain, 
 But when we have spent the arrows, 
 Do we twang the string in vain, 
 And then snap the bow in twain?"
 
 u8 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 Like a vessel in a tempest 
 Shook the warrior, wild and grim, 
 As he gazed out in the midnight, 
 As to things that beckon'd him, 
 And his eyes were moist and dim. 
 
 Then he turned, and to his bosom 
 Battle scarred, and strong as brass, 
 Tenderly the warrior press'd her 
 As if she were made of glass, 
 Murmuring, " Alas ! alas ! 
 
 "Loua Ellah ! Spotted Lily! 
 Streaks of blood shall be the sign, 
 On their curs'd and mystic pages, 
 Representing me and mine ! 
 By Tonatiu's fiery shrine ! 
 
 " When the grass shall grow untrodden 
 In my war-path, and the plough 
 Shall be grinding through this canon 
 Where my braves are gather'd now, 
 Still shall they record this vow.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. ITQ 
 
 " War and vengeance ! rise, my warriors, 
 Rise and shout the battle-sign, 
 Ye who love revenge and glory ! 
 Ye for peace, in silence, pme, 
 And no more be braves of mine." 
 
 Then the war-yell roll'd and echo'd 
 As they started from the ground, 
 Till an eagle from his cedar 
 Starting answered back the sound, 
 And flew circling round and round, 
 
 u Enough, enough, my kingly father I n 
 And the glory of her eyes 
 Flash'd the valor and the passion 
 That may sleep but never dies, 
 As she proudly thus replies : 
 
 " Shall the red-wood be a willow, 
 Pliant and as little worth? 
 It shall stand the king of forests, 
 Or its fall shall shake the earth, 
 Desolating heart and hearth ! "
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 ***** 
 
 FROM cold east shore to warm west sea 
 
 The red men follow'd the red sun, 
 
 And, faint and failing fhst as he, 
 
 Felt, sure as his, their race was run. 
 
 This ancient tribe, 'press'd to the wave, 
 
 There fain had slept a patient slave, 
 
 And died out as red embers die 
 
 From flames that once leapt hot and high; 
 
 But, roused to anger, half arose 
 
 Around that chief, a sudden flood, 
 
 At hot and hungry cry for blood ; 
 
 Half drowsy shook a feeble hand, 
 
 Then sank back in a tame repose, 
 
 And left him to his fate and foes, 
 
 A stately wreck upon the strand. 
 
 His was no common mould of mind, 
 But made for action, ill or good. 
 Cast in another land and scene, 
 His restless, reckless will had been 
 A curse or blessing to his kind.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 121 
 
 His eye was like the lightning's wing, 
 His voice was like a rushing flood ; 
 He boasted Montezuraa's blood, 
 And when a captive bound he stood 
 His presence look'd the perfect king. 
 
 Twas held at first that he should die : 
 I never knew the reason why 
 A milder counsel did prevail, 
 Save that we shrank from blood, and save 
 That brave men do respect the brave. 
 Down sea sometimes there was a sail, 
 And far at sea, they said, an isle, 
 And he was sentenced to exile, 
 In open boat upon the sea 
 To go the instant on the main, 
 And never under penalty 
 Of death, to touch the shore again. 
 A troop of bearded buckskinn'd men 
 Bore him hard-hurried to the wave, 
 Placed him swift in the boat ; and when 
 Swift pushing to the bristled sea, 
 His daughter rush'd down suddenly, 
 Threw him his bow, leapt from the shore
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 Into the boat beside the brave, 
 And sat her down and seized the oar, 
 And never question'd, made replies, 
 Or moved her lips, or raised her eyes. 
 
 His breast was like a gate of brass, 
 His brow was like a gather'd storm ; 
 There is no chisell'd stone that has 
 So stately and complete a form, 
 In sinew, arm, and every part, 
 In all the galleries of art. 
 
 Gray, bronzed, and naked to the waist, 
 He stood half halting in the prow. 
 With quiver bare and idle bow. 
 His daughter sat with her sad face 
 Bent on the wave, with her two hands 
 Held tightly to the dripping oar ; 
 And as she sat her dimpled knee 
 Bent lithe as wand of willow tree, 
 So round and full, so rich and free, 
 That no one would have ever knowr 
 That it had either joint or bone.
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 121 
 
 The warm sea fondled with the shore, 
 And laid his white face on the sands. 
 
 Her eyes were black, her face was brown, 
 Her breasts were bare, and there fell down 
 Such wealth of hair, it almost hid 
 The two, in its rich jetty fold 
 Which I had sometime fain forbid, 
 They were so richer, fuller far 
 Than any polish'd bronzes are, 
 And richer hued than any gold. 
 On her brown arms and her brown hands 
 Were hoops of gold and golden bands, 
 Rough hammer'd from the virgin ore, 
 So heavy, they could hold no more. 
 
 I wonder now, I wonder'd then, 
 That men who fear'd not gods nor men 
 Laid no rude hand at all on her. 
 I think she had a dagger slid 
 Down hi her silver'd wampum belt ; 
 It might have been, instead of hilt, 
 A flashing diamond hurry-hid 
 That I beheld I could not know
 
 124 THE LAST TASCHASTAb. 
 
 For certain, we did hasten so ; 
 
 And I know now less sure than then. 
 
 Deeds strangle memories of deeds, 
 
 Red blossoms wither, choked with weeds, 
 
 And floods drown memories of men. 
 
 Some things have happen'd since and then 
 
 This happen'd years and years ago. 
 
 "Go, go!" the captain cried, and smote 
 With sword and boot the swaying boat, 
 Until it quiver'd as at sea 
 And brought the old chief to his knee. 
 He turn'd his face, and turning rose 
 With hand raised fiercely to his foes : 
 "Yes, we wiU go, last of my race, 
 Push'd by the robbers ruthlessly 
 Into the hollows of the sea, 
 From this the last, last resting-place. 
 Traditions of my Fathern say 
 A feeble few reach'd for the land, 
 And we reach'd them a welcome hand, 
 Of old, upon another shore ; 
 Now they are strong, we weak as they, 
 And they have driven us before
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 125 
 
 Their faces, from that sea to this : 
 Then marvel not if we have sped 
 Sometime an arrow as we fled, 
 So keener than a serpent's kiss." 
 
 He turn'd a time unto the sun 
 That lay half hidden in the sea, 
 As in his hollows rock'd asleep, 
 All trembled and breathed heavily ; 
 Then arch'd his arm, as you have done, 
 For sharp masts piercing through the deep. 
 No shore or tall ship met the eye, 
 Or isle, or sail, or any thing, 
 Save white sea-gulls on dripping wing, 
 And mobile sea and molten sky. 
 
 " Farewell ! push seaward, child ! " he cried , 
 And quick the paddle-strokes replied. 
 Like lightning from the panther-skin 
 That bound his loins round about 
 He snatch'd a poison' d arrow out, 
 That like a snake lay hid within, 
 And twanged his bow. The captain fell 
 Prone on his face, and such a yell
 
 126 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 Of triumph from that savage rose 
 As man may never hear again. 
 He stood as standing on the main, 
 The topmost main, in proud repose, 
 And shook his clench'd fist at his foes, 
 And called, and cursed them every one 
 He heeded not the shouts and shot 
 That follow'd him, but grand and grim 
 Stood up against the level sun ; 
 And, standing so, seem'd in his ire 
 So grander than a leaping fire. 
 
 And when the sun had left the sea, 
 That laves Abrep, and Blanco laves, 
 And left the land to death and me, 
 The only tiling that I could see 
 Was, ever as the light boat lay 
 High lifted on the white-back'd waves, 
 A head as gray and tossed as they. 
 
 We raised the dead, and from his hands 
 Pick'd out the shells clutch'd as he lay,
 
 THE LAST TASCHASTAS. 
 
 And two by two bore him away, 
 And wiped his lips of blood and sands. 
 We bent and scoop'd a shallow home, 
 And laid him warm-wet in his blo.od, 
 Just as the lifted tide a-flood 
 Came charging in with mouth a-foam : 
 And as we turn'd, the sensate thing 
 Reach'd up, lick'd out its foamy tongue, 
 Lick'd out its tongue and tasted blood ; 
 The white lips to the red earth clung 
 An instant, and then loosening 
 All hold just like a living thing, 
 Brew back sad-voiced and shuddering, 
 All stain'd with blood, a striped flood.
 
 Sad song of the wind in the mountain*, 
 
 Arid the sea-wave of grass on the plain, 
 That breaks in bloom-foam b>/ the fountains. 
 And forests that breaketh again 
 On the "mountains, as breakelh a main. 
 
 Bold thoughts that were strong as the grizzlies, 
 But now weak in their prison of words ; 
 Bright fancies thatfiasV'l. Jike the glaciers, 
 Now dimm'd like the lustre vf birds, 
 And butterflies huddled as herds. 
 
 Sad symphony, wild, and unmeasured, 
 Weed warp, and woof woven in strouds, 
 Strange truths that a stray sou! has treasured. 
 Truths seen as through folding of shrouds, 
 Or as stars through the rolling of cloudt
 
 INA, 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Hacienda near Tezcuco, Mexico. Young DON CARLOS 
 alone, looking out on the moonlit mountains. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 pOPOCATAPETL looms lone like an island 
 
 Above the white cloud-waves that break up 
 
 against him ; 
 
 Around him white buttes in the moonlight are flashing 
 Like silver tents pitch'd in the fields of heaven ; 
 While standing in line, in their snows everlasting, 
 Flash peaks, as my eyes into heaven are lifted, 
 Like milestones that lead to the city eternal. 
 
 Ofttime when the sun and the sea lay together, 
 Red-welded as one, in their red bed of lovers, 
 Embracing and blushing like loves newly wedded, 
 I have trod on the trailing crape fringes of twilight, 
 And stood there and listen'd, and lean'd with lips 
 parted,
 
 r 3 2 INA. 
 
 Till lordly peaks wrapp'd them, as chill night blew 
 
 over, 
 
 In great cloaks of sable, like proud sombre Spaniards, 
 And stalk'd from my sight down the dark corridors, 
 And in the deep stillness so still, so profoundly 
 I surely have heard their strong footfalls retreating. 
 
 When the red-curtain'd West has bent red as with 
 
 ' weeping 
 
 Low over the couch where the prone day lay dying, 
 I have stood with brow lifted, confronting the moup 
 
 tains 
 
 That held their white faces of snow in the heavens, 
 And said, " It is theirs to array them so purely, 
 Because of their nearness to the temple et ernal ; " 
 And child-like have said, " They are fair resting-placea 
 For the dear weary dead on their way up to heaven.' 
 
 But my soul is not with you to-night, mighty rnoun* 
 
 tains : 
 
 It is held to the levels of earth by an angel 
 Far more than a star, earth-fallen or unfallen, 
 Yet fierce in her follies and head-strong and stronger 
 Than streams of the sea running in with the billows
 
 INA. ,133 
 
 Very well. Let him woo, let him thrust his white 
 
 whiskers 
 
 And lips pale and purple with death in between us; 
 Let her wed, as she wills, for the gold of the gray- 
 beard, 
 
 And to give in my hand his league-lands and doub- 
 loons : 
 
 1 will set my face for you, O mountains, my brothers, 
 For I yet have my honor, my conscience and freedom, 
 My fleet-footed mustang and pistols rich-silver' d ; 
 I will turn as the earth turns her back on the sun, 
 But return to the light of her eyes never more, 
 While red noons have a night and white seas have a 
 shore. 
 
 INA, approaching, offers him her hand. 
 INA. 
 
 I have come, dear Don Carlos, to say you farewell 
 I shall wed with Don Castro at dawn of to-morrow, 
 And be all his own firm, honest, and faithful. 
 I have promised this thing; that I will keep my 
 
 promise 
 
 You who do know me care never to question. 
 I have master'd myself to say this thing to you
 
 As a hunter would master an hungered grizzly. 
 Hear me : be strong, then, and say me farewell. 
 The world is his own who will brave its bleak hours. 
 Dare, then, to confront the cold days in their column ; 
 As they march down upon you, stand, hew them to 
 
 pieces, 
 
 One after one, as you would a fierce foeman, 
 Till not one abideth between two true bosoms. 
 
 Here, standing here, in the vines by the twilight, 
 While the fair moon was resting her face pure and 
 
 pallid 
 
 On the broad breast of heaven as one that is weary, 
 And her yellow hair trail'd bridal veils down upon us, 
 And the merry stars play'd hide-and-seek in the 
 
 heaven, 
 And danced there and dangled like to golden threads 
 
 tangled, 
 
 He said to me this: "I am old and am heirless, 
 And should I die so. by Mejico's statutes 
 My gold and my broad reach of lands do go forfeit 
 To the State, in despite of my will or my wishes ; 
 But you, my true wife, would be left my fair widow, 
 A queen in your wealth to enrich a young lover."
 
 INA. 1*5 
 
 Then I told to him all all my love and my struggles ; 
 And he called me most brave, and most true, and most 
 
 noble, 
 
 And said that he knew all my yearnings already, 
 And only sought thus with his wealth to endow me. 
 So then I promised, and shall keep my promise 
 True as the sun keeps his course in the heaven, 
 As stainless and pure, yet as warm as the summer 
 
 Let us part as true friends, with a hope all unutter'd ; 
 Without strife or a word, or an ill will between us. 
 Turn you to the right or the left like to Abram : 
 The world is before us, come cloud, or come sky ; 
 Give your hand here in mine and say bravely, Good-by. 
 
 [Dox CARLOS with a laugh of scorn flies from the verandah, 
 mounts his steed, and disappears. 
 
 IN A (looking out into the night, after a long silence). 
 
 How doleful the night-hawk screams high in thp 
 
 heavens, 
 
 How dismally gibbers the gray coyote ! 
 Afar to the south now the red-tongued thunder, 
 Mine equal brother, my soul's own companion, 
 Talks low in his sleep, like a giant deep-troubled;
 
 136 INA. 
 
 Talks fierce in accord with my own stormy spirit. 
 But beyond him the supple California lion 
 Has aroused him up in a dangerous rivalry 
 The beast, I could beard him alone in his lair, 
 And toy with his mane, though it toss'd like a fire. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A spur of Mount Hood overlooking the Willamette nver 
 LAMONTE, a mountaineer, pitches his solitary camp for tht 
 night, and contemplates the scene. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 \ FLUSHED and weary messenger a-west 
 
 Is standing at the half-closed door of day, 
 As he would say, Good-night ; and now his bright 
 Red cap he tips to me and turns his face. 
 Were it an unholy thing to say, An angel 
 Beside the door stood with uplifted seal ? 
 Behold the door seal'd with that blood-red seal 
 Now burning, spreading o'er the mighty West. 
 Never again shall the dead day arise 
 Therefrom, but must be born and come anew. 
 
 The tawny, solemn Nigrt, child of the East, 
 Her mournful robes trails on the distant woods.
 
 TNA. 137 
 
 And comes this way with firm and stately step. 
 Afront, and very high, she wears her shining 
 Breastplate of silver, and on her dark brow 
 The radiant Venus burns like flashing wit. 
 Behold ! how in her gorgeous flow of hair 
 Glitter a million mellow yellow gems, 
 Spilling their molten gold on the dewy grass. 
 Throned on the boundless plain, and gazing down 
 Calmly upon the red-seal'd tomb of day, 
 Resting her form against the Rocky Mountains, 
 She rules with silent power a peaceful world. 
 
 'Tis midnight now. The bent and broken moon, 
 Batter' d and black, as from a thousand battles, 
 Hangs silent on the purple walls of heaven. 
 The angel warrior, guard of the gates eternal, 
 In battle-harness girt, sleeps on the field ; 
 But when to-morrow comes, when wicked men 
 That fret the patient earth are all astir, 
 He will resume his shield, and, facing earthward, 
 The gates of heaven guard from sins of earth. 
 
 'Tis morn. Behold the kingly Day now leaps 
 The eastern wall of earth with sword in hand.
 
 I 3 8 IN A. 
 
 Clad in a flowing robe of mellow light, 
 Like to a king that has regain'd his throne, 
 He warms his drooping subjects into joy, 
 That rise rejoiced to do him fealty, 
 And rules with pomp the universal world. 
 
 Far, far down in yon narrow spruce-lined canon 
 Is the storm-hid abysm of ghostly darkness. 
 I see him now, as down and down I peer, 
 Crouch down, and shrink, and creep still up the gorge 
 Like some great beast that would conceal its form 
 In nervous terror from the gaze of man. 
 The Willamette flashes back afar, 
 And down his path of palms goes ever on, 
 An endless caravan to some fair Mecca. 
 On either side he spreads his yellow vales 
 With strips of foamy streams and fringe of green, 
 As a merchant of the storied East unfolds 
 His gorgeous wealth of green and yellow silks. 
 
 Tis harvest time, and valiant Nature bears 
 Upon earth's broad nnd never-failing bosom 
 A yellow shield of bright and gleaming gold,
 
 INA. 139 
 
 Wrought out by patient husbandman to guard 
 His sturdy race against the hosts of famine. 
 
 Lifting the purple curtains of the gods 
 With Hashing helmets that defy the cloiids, 
 And make fierce fellowship with undirnm'd stars, 
 Mount Hood ! and fair Saint Helens ! snows eternal 
 As the sun, from this my mossy mountain throne, 
 With lifted and uncover'd head, I greet . ye ! 
 
 Soft snowy breasts on Nature's swelling bosom 
 Nature benign and bounteous let me draw 
 Pure inspiration from ye, as a child 
 Draws nurture from a loving mother's breast, 
 And be your child, your yearning, waywar-d child, 
 And, sitting here as on a parent's knee, 
 Gaze wonder-full into the face of Nature. 
 
 DON CARLOS ascends the mountain gesticulating and talking to 
 himself. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Oh for a name that black-eyed maids would sigh 
 And lean with parted lips at mention of, 
 That I should seem so tall in the minds of men
 
 i4c IN A. 
 
 That I might walk beneath the arch of Heaven, 
 
 And pluck the ripe red stars as I pass'd on, 
 
 As favour'd guests do pluck the purple grapes 
 
 That hang above the humble entrance-way 
 
 Of a palm-thatch'd mountain-inn of Mexico. 
 
 Oh, I would give the green leaves of my life 
 
 For something grand and real undream'd deeds ! 
 
 To wear a mantle, broad and richly jewell'd 
 
 As purple heaven fringed with gold at sunset ; 
 
 To wear a crown as dazzling as the sun, 
 
 And, holding up a sceptre lightning-charged, 
 
 Stride out among the stars as I have strode 
 
 A barefoot boy among the buttercups. 
 
 Alas ! I am so restless. There is that 
 
 Within me doth rebel and rise against 
 
 The all I am and half I see in others ; 
 
 And were 't not for contempt of coward act 
 
 Of flying all defeated from the world, 
 
 As if I feared and dared not face its ills, 
 
 I should ere this have known, known more or less 
 
 Than any flesh that frets this sullen earth. 
 
 I know not where such thoughts will lead me to : 
 
 I have had a fear that they would drive me mad, 
 
 And then have flatter'd my weak self, and said
 
 IN A. 141 
 
 The soul 's outgrown the body yea, the soul 
 Aspires to the stars, and in its struggles 
 Does make the dull flesh quiver like an aspen. 
 
 LA.MONTE. 
 
 WTiat waif is this cast here upon my shore, 
 From seas of subtle and uncertain men ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Subtle and selfish men ! ah, that 's the term ! 
 And if you be but earnest in your spleen, 
 And the other sex across man's shoulders curse, 
 I'll stand beside you on this crag and curse 
 And hurl my clench'd fists' down upon their heads, 
 Till I am hoarse as yonder cataract. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 Why, no, my friend, I'll not consent to that. 
 No true man yet has ever cursed a woman ; 
 And I I do not hate my fellow man. 
 For man by nature bears within himself 
 Nobility that makes him half a god ; 
 But as in somewise he hath made himself,
 
 140 INA. 
 
 That I might walk beneath the arch of Heaven, 
 
 And pluck the ripe red stars as I pass'd on, 
 
 As favour'd guests do pluck the purple grapes 
 
 That hang above the humble entrance-way 
 
 Of a palm-thatch'd mountain-inn of Mexico. 
 
 Oh, I would give the green leaves of my life 
 
 For something grand and real undream'd deeds ! 
 
 To wear a mantle, broad and richly jewell'd 
 
 As purple heaven fringed with gold at sunset ; 
 
 To wear a crown as dazzling as the sun, 
 
 And, holding up a sceptre lightning-charged, 
 
 Stride out among the stars as I have strode 
 
 A barefoot boy among the buttercups. 
 
 Alas ! I am so restless. There is that 
 
 Within me doth rebel and rise against 
 
 The all I am and half I see in others ; 
 
 And were 't not for contempt of coward act 
 
 Of flying all defeated from the world, 
 
 As if I feared and dared not face its ills, 
 
 I should ere this have known, known more or less 
 
 Than any flesh that frets this sullen enrth. 
 
 I know not where such thoughts will lead me to : 
 
 I have had a fear that they would drive me mad, 
 
 And then have flatter'd my weak self, and said
 
 INA. 141 
 
 The soul 's outgrown the body yea, the soul 
 Aspires to the stars, and in its struggles 
 Does make the dull flesh quiver like an aspen. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 WTiat waif is this cast here upon my shore, 
 From seas of subtle and uncertain men ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Subtle and selfish men ! ah, that 's the term ! 
 And if you be but earnest in your spleen, 
 And the other sex across man's shoulders curse, 
 I'll stand beside you on this crag and curse 
 And hurl my clench'd fists' down upon their heads, 
 Till I am hoarse as yonder cataract. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 Why, no, my friend, I'll not consent to that. 
 No true man yet has ever cursed a woman ; 
 And I I do not hate my fellow man. 
 For man by nature bears within himself 
 Nobility that makes him half a god ; 
 But as in somewise he hath made himself,
 
 142 IN A. 
 
 His universal thirst for gold and pomp, 
 
 And purchased fleeting fame and bubble honors, 
 
 Forgetting good, neglecting helpless age, 
 
 And rushing rough-shod over lowly merit, 
 
 I hold him but a sorry worm indeed ; 
 
 And so have turn'd me quietly aside 
 
 To know the majesty of peaceful woods. 
 
 There is a freshness there, a perfect fairness, 
 
 A candor and unlanguaged harmony 
 
 That wins you, and you worship unawares. 
 
 DON CARLOS (as if alone). 
 
 The fabled fount of youth led many fools, 
 Zealous in its pursuit, to hapless death ; 
 And yet this thirst for fame, this hot ambition, 
 This soft-toned syren-tongue, enchanting Fame, 
 Doth lead me headlong on to equal folly, 
 Like to a wild bird charm'd by shining coils 
 And swift mesmeric glare of deadly snake : 
 I would not break the charm, but win a world 
 Or die with curses blistering my lips. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 You startle me ! I am unused to hear
 
 IN A. 1 13 
 
 Men talk these fierce and bitter thoughts ; and yet 
 In closed recesses of my soul was once 
 A dark and gloomy chamber where they dwelt. 
 Give up ambition yea, crush out such thoughts 
 As you would crush from hearth a scorpion-brood : 
 For, mark me well, they '11 get the mastery, 
 And drive you on to death or worse, across 
 A thousand ruin'd homes and broken hearts. 
 
 DON CAHLOS. 
 
 Give up ambition ! Oh, rather than die, 
 And glide a lonely, nameless, shivering ghost 
 Down the dark tide of utter nothingness, 
 I 'd write a name in blood and orphans' tears. 
 The temple-burner wiser was than kings. 
 Yet violence is not my inner nature : 
 I would embalm my name in noblest good, 
 Would die a death of lofty self-denial, 
 If but the world beheld the sacrifice 
 And men took note and told my fame to her, 
 That she might weep for spite and envy me 
 My sweet applause and dignity of death. 
 I 'd write a song eternal as the sun,
 
 144 
 
 As chaste and beautiful as is the moon, 
 
 That men might read even as they read the stars 
 
 In their enamell'd setting in the ring 
 
 Above, the crescent blue, in deep delight ; 
 
 Denied the art and opportunity, 
 
 I 'd leap strong arm'd upon the centre stage 
 
 Of this uncertain, accidental life, 
 
 Snatch up the slacken'd reins, and ruthless guide 
 
 The idle energies of the monster mob, 
 
 Reckless of every cost or pain to man, 
 
 To my grand honor, glory and renown, 
 
 While he should wonder, worship, call me wise. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 But would you dare the curse of man and 
 
 DON CAELOS. 
 
 Dare ! 
 
 t 'd dare the curses of the sceptred kings! 
 I 'd build a pyramid of the whitest skulls, 
 And step therefrom unto the spotted moon, 
 And thence to stars, thence to the central suns ; 
 Then with one grand and mighty leap would land
 
 INA. 145 
 
 Unhinder'd on the shores of the gods of old, 
 And, sword in hand, unbared and unabash'd, 
 Would stand forth in the presence of the God 
 Of gods ; there, on the Jewell' d inner-side 
 The walls of heaven, carve with a Damascus 
 Steel, highest up, a grand and titled name 
 That time nor tide could touch or tarnish ever 
 Yea, any thing on earth, in hell or heaven, 
 Rather than lie a nameless clod forgot, 
 Letting stern Time in triumph forward tramp 
 Above my tonibless and neglected dust. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 Seek not to crop above the heads of men 
 To be a better mark for envy's shafts. 
 Come to my peaceful home, and leave behind 
 These stormy thoughts and daring aspirations. 
 It is revenge that shows the savage heart, 
 And earthly power 's a thing comparative. 
 Is not a petty chief of some lone isle, 
 With half-a-,dozen nude and starving subjects, 
 As much a king as he the Czar of Rusk ? 
 In yonder sweet retreat and balmy place 
 10
 
 146 INA. 
 
 I'll abdicate, and you be chief indeed. 
 
 There you will reign and tell me of the worlc^ 
 
 Its life and lights, its sins and sickly shadows. 
 
 The pheasant will reveille beat at morn, 
 
 And rouse us to the battle of the day. 
 
 My swarthy subjects will in circle sit, 
 
 And, gazing on your kingly presence, deem 
 
 You great indeed, and call you chief of chiefs; 
 
 And, knowing no one greater than yourself 
 
 In all the leafy borders of your realm, 
 
 'Gainst what can pride or poor ambition chafe ? 
 
 'Twill be a kingdom without king, save you, 
 Broader than that the cruel Cortes won, 
 With subjects truer than he ever knew, 
 That know no law but only Nature's law, 
 And no religion know but that of love. 
 There truth and beauty are, for there is Nature, 
 Serene and simple. She will be our priestess, 
 And in her calm and uncomplaining face 
 We will read well her rubric and be wise. 
 
 A glass-like lake lies on this mountain-top : 
 You bend you o'er, and, resting on your palms,
 
 2'NA. 147 
 
 Gaze down and down full fifty fathoms deep, 
 And see the speckled mountain-trout that sport, 
 All gold and silver-sheathed and scaled, above 
 Rich palaces, brown, marble-built and massive, 
 Hewn out and built or ever man had named 
 The stars when mighty Nimrod kept the chase. 
 
 Black, quilless pines, perfect as those ashore 
 Proportion'd mighty, perfectly erect 
 Stand dark and sullen in the silent courts. 
 You cast a pebble in, a nut in size, 
 And watch it wind and wind a weary time, 
 Then see it plain as if 'twas in your hand. 
 Could you believe a flood could be so pure, 
 So mirror-like, so strangely beautiful ? 
 Some tall pines press up to the water's edge 
 And droop adown their plumed and sable heads, 
 And weep above their buried comrades still 
 All night the dewy tears of Nature. 
 
 A league across, the pines have broken rank 
 And stand in small platoons, or stand alone; 
 While far across the rolling sea-like meads 
 Do dash and wheel the spotted Indian steeds.
 
 J4S INA. 
 
 The warriors shout and gallop up and down, 
 
 And lovely maids in beaded raoccasons, 
 
 Furs thick with red and yellow feathers fringed, 
 
 As tall and straight as water tules are, 
 
 Go forth in dusky beauty in their walk 
 
 Beneath the circling shadows of the pines, 
 
 Or bathe and dream along the borders of the lake. 
 
 And far beyond, where pines crowd thick and tall, 
 And waters dwindle to a narrow wedge, 
 The glad lake opes her pretty gushing mouth, 
 And down a foaming cataract of silver 
 Pours all her ceaseless song and melody 
 The far source of the lovely Willamette. 
 
 At night, o'erspread by the rich, purple robe, 
 The deep imperial Tyrian hue that folds 
 The invisible form of the Eternal God, 
 You will see the sentry stars come marching forth 
 And take their posts upon the field above, 
 Around the great white tent where sleeps their chief; 
 You will hear the kakea singing in a dream 
 The wildest, sweetest song a soul can drink. 
 And when the tent is folded up, and all
 
 1NA. H9 
 
 The golden-fringed red sentries faced about 
 
 To .et the pompous day-king pass along, 
 
 We two will stand upon a sloping hill, 
 
 Where white-lipped springs come leaping, laughing up, 
 
 With water spouting forth in merry song 
 
 Like bridled mirth from out a school-girl's throat 
 
 And look far down the bending Willamette, 
 
 And in his thousand graceful curves and strokes 
 
 And strange meanderings, men misunderstand, 
 
 Read the unutterable name of GOD. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Why, truly now, this fierce and broken land, 
 Seen through your eyes, assumes a faker shape 
 Lead up, for you are nearer God than I. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 INA, in black, alone by the sea. Midnight. 
 INA. 
 
 I T 7EEP ? Me to weep ? How I laugh to think 
 VV of it! 
 
 I lift my dark brow to the breath of the ocean, 
 Soft kissing me now like the lips of my mother,
 
 i 5 o INA. 
 
 And laugh low and long as I crush the brown grasses, 
 To think I should weep ! Why, I never wept never, 
 Not even in punishments dealt me in childhood ! 
 Yea, all of my wrongs and my bitterness buried 
 In my brave baby heart, all alone and unfriended. 
 And I pitied, with proud and disdainfulest pity, 
 The weak who would weep, and I laugh'd at the folly 
 Of those who could laugh and make merry with plnv- 
 
 things: 
 Then I tuck'd down my chin and went under the 
 
 lindens, 
 And made me companions of grave horned cattle. 
 
 No ! I will not weep now over that I desired. 
 Desired ? Yes : I to myself dare confess it, 
 Ah, too, to the world should it question too closely, 
 And bathe me and sport in a deep sea of candor. 
 Bah ! Cowards deceive, and I know not what fear is. 
 Men lie, who lack courage to tell truth the cowards 
 
 Like Lucifer dower'd with pride and wild beauty, 
 With poverty cursed and the fiercest ambition, 
 I stood all alone by my sweet child-mother;
 
 IN A. 151 
 
 When the kind dotard came and did bend him for- 
 ward, 
 
 Fast thrusting his beard by my boy Don Carlos. 
 
 And so I did wed him. Would you know now the 
 reason ? 
 
 F endured the cold frost for the springtime to fol- 
 low, 
 
 Did wed to the one for the love of the other, 
 
 And to get for him gold, gave my whole fair body. 
 
 Oh, alone and unlike to all other things earthly 
 Was my brave boy-lover ; as an isle 'mid the oceans 
 Of men, so alike as are drops of water. 
 He did win my heart by his great defiance 
 Of men and manners, and his thoughts unbridled. 
 But now made a queen, after all my struggles, 
 I shall seek him out and surprise and enrich him ; 
 And seek him with songs as a sweet boy-poet. 
 I did bear my burden long, loyal and faithful, 
 Even down to the end, and did make no murmur : 
 But now he is dead and I dare joy at it. 
 And am I then the first that has joy'd thus fiercely, 
 And held Death's mantle while he did his office 9
 
 5* 
 
 IN A. 
 
 What now if the odds were but this wild courage, 
 That does dare shape thought into plainest language ! 
 
 Let the world be deceived : it insists upon it ; 
 Let it bundle me round in its black woe-garments ; 
 But I, self with self my free soul fearless 
 Am as frank as the sun, nor the toss of a copper 
 Care I if the world call it good or evil. 
 I am glad to-night, and in new-born freedom 
 Forget all earth with my old companions, 
 The moon and the stars and the moon-clad ocean. 
 I am face to face with the stars that know me, 
 And gaze as I gazed in the eyes of my mother, 
 Forgetting the city and the coarse things in it ; 
 For there's naught but God in the shape of mortal, 
 Save one my wandering, wild boy-lover 
 That I do esteem worth a stale banana. 
 
 The air hangs heavy and is warm on my shoulder, 
 And is thick with odors of balm and blossom ; 
 The great bay sleeps with the yhips on her bosom. 
 Through the Golden Gate, to the left-hand yonder,
 
 IN A. 153 
 
 rha white sea lies in a deep sleep, snoring, 
 The father of melody, the mother of measure, 
 Lifting his breast to the moon, deep breathing. 
 Let me sing by the sea a song as he slumbers, 
 A song to the air of the sweetest of singers. 
 
 O tempest-toss'd sea of white bosoms, 
 
 breasts with demands and desires, 
 
 hearts fill'd of fevers, of fires, 
 
 Reaching forth from the tangible blossoms, 
 
 Reaching far for impossible things ! 
 
 Beat not, O break not your warm wings 
 
 On the cruel cold bars any more. 
 
 Lo ! the sea, the great sea has his shore, 
 
 And lies in his limit; the moon 
 
 Has her night, and the sun has his noon. 
 
 What a wonderful world truly this is ! 
 How barren of wisdom and worth ! 
 How populous full is the earth 
 Of the fools that taste not of its blisses ! 
 Then despise not the glories before you.
 
 154 
 
 With your feet on the things that arc real : 
 Take the tangible loves that adore you, 
 Touch the forms that are flesh and can feel. 
 
 Leaves fade, and the frosts are before us ; 
 Leaves fall, and the winter winds are ; 
 Loves fail ! Let us cross and deplore us ; 
 Loves die ! Lift your hands as at war. 
 Lift your hands to the world and deny it ; 
 Lift your voice, cry aloud and deny ; 
 Cry aloud, " 'T is a lie ! " and belie it 
 With lives made a beautiful lie. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 \ 
 
 A Wood by a rivulet on a spur of Mount Hood, overlooking 
 the Columbia. LAMONTE and DON CARLOS, on their way to 
 the camp, have met with other hunters, and are reposing under 
 the shadow of the forest. Some deer are observed descending 
 to the brook, and one of the party-seizes his rifle. 
 
 N 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 AY, then, my friend, don't strike them from youi 
 coveit.
 
 IN A. 155 
 
 Strike like a serpent in the grass concealM ? 
 
 What, steal into their homes, and, when athirst 
 
 And unsuspecting, they come down in couples 
 
 And dip their muzzles in the mossy brink, 
 
 Then shoot them down without a chance to fly 
 
 The only means that God has given them, 
 
 Poor, unarm'd mutes, to baffle cruel man ! 
 
 Ah, now I see you had not thought of this! 
 
 The hare is fleet, and quick at sight and sound, 
 
 His coat is changed with color of the fields ; 
 
 Yon deer turn brown when forest-leaves are brown ; 
 
 The dog has .teeth, the cat has teeth and claws, 
 
 And man has craft and art and sinewy arms : 
 
 All things that live have some means of defence . . . 
 
 Lucus. 
 Ay, all save only lovely, helpless woman. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 Nay, woman has her tongue arm'd to the teeth. 
 
 Lucus. 
 
 Thou Timon, what can 'scape your bitterness ? 
 But for this sweet repose and peace of Nature
 
 S 6 IN A. 
 
 Upon whose breast we here recline and dream, 
 Why, you might lift your voice and rail at her! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Oh, I am out of patience with your faith ! 
 What! Nature quiet, peaceful, uncomplaining? 
 I Ve seen her fretted like a lion caged, 
 Chafe like a peevish woman cross'd and churl'd, 
 Tramping and foaming like a whelpless bear ; 
 Have seen her weep till earth was wet with tears, 
 Then turn all smiles a jade that won her point; 
 Have seen her tear the hoary hair of Ocean, 
 While he, himself full half a world, would moan 
 And roll and toss his clumsy hands all day 
 To earth like some great helpless babe, that lay 
 Rude-rock'd and cradled by an unseen nurse, 
 Then stain her snowy hem with salt-sea tears ; 
 And when the peaceful, mellow moon came forth, 
 To walk and meditate among the yellow 
 Blooms that make blest the upper purple fields, 
 This wroth dyspeptic sea ran after her 
 With all his soul, as if to pour himself, 
 All sick fmd helpless, in her snowy lap.
 
 INA. 157 
 
 Content ! Oh, she has crack'd the ribs of earth 
 And made her shake poor trembling man from off 
 Her back, even as a grizzly shakes the hounds ; 
 She has upheaved her rocky spine against 
 The flowing robes of the Eternal God. 
 Nature is not content. Ha ! I have heard her 
 Rushing at night swift down the streaming plain, 
 And, when the storm was thick and deep at night, 
 Have seen her press her face in blacken'd mask 
 Against my window-pane, and sob, and weep, 
 And wail, until the great round tears ran down ; 
 And then, as if in savage desperation, 
 Seize violent hold and shake the sash and frame 
 Until they quailed and quaked like aspen-leaf. 
 I did unbar the window for her once, 
 This wild-lamenting, fretful, childish Nature : 
 She, like a wood-rear'd girl, rush'd reckless in 
 And hid her trembling in a darken'd comer. 
 Peer down there, half a league by cliff and bough, 
 Into the river's white complaining face, 
 And sec his gray hair trail'd in shifting sands : 
 There comes a wail of terror aud despair 
 Up from his white and trembling lips a-foam, 
 While he uplifts his thin white palms to pines
 
 i S 8 INA. 
 
 That bend dark-brow'd and sad as o'er a tomb. 
 No ! 'tis a pretty thought and pretty theme 
 That Nature reigns in majesty serene : 
 But lift the skirts of Isis, and be wise. 
 
 Lucus. 
 
 Heartless ambition and unholy pride ! 
 Hatred of man and strange contempt of woman ! 
 At war with all, and your own enemy ! 
 While man is man, do not attempt to shine 
 Too bright : consult your peace, beware of pride ; 
 For malice shoots alone at shining marks. 
 Beware of pride. I once did hear a learn'd 
 Man say, "By pride the angels fell from heaven." 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 By pride they reach'd a place from which to fall 
 
 Lucus. 
 
 And were they better, happier, having thus 
 Ascended, then prostrate to fall so far ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 Yes ! Let me only win the love I woo,
 
 IN A 
 
 Enjoy her but one brief hour, then lose all, 
 I will be winner that one gracious hour ; 
 And in my memory then will I possess 
 \ wall'd spring hung about with cooling palms, 
 Where weary recollection traversing 
 The barren desert of my life, might pause 
 And bathe herself, and, resting, rise refresh'd. 
 There be some men with hope so full and strong, 
 Their souls feed on the future a green field 
 But mine will not go on, but backward turns 
 As if for something lost or left behind : 
 Goes back against my will, an endless lane, 
 A stray sheep from the flock that ever keeps 
 The dusty centre of the unwater'd way, 
 And looks up weary at the fasten' d gates 
 That lead to cooling springs and verdant banks, 
 But closed against me when at first I pass'd. 
 
 Lucus. 
 
 There was one once of nature like to this : 
 He stood a barehead boy upon a cliff 
 Pine-crown'd, that hung high o'er a bleak north sea 
 His long hair stream'd and flash'd like yellow silk, 
 His sea-bhte eyes lay deep and still as lakes
 
 160 INA. 
 
 O'erhung by mountains arched in virgin snow ; 
 
 And far astray, and friendless and alone, 
 
 A tropic bird blown through the north frost-wind, 
 
 He stood above the sea in the cold white moon, 
 
 His thin face lifted to the flashing stars, 
 
 And talk'd familiarly full face to face 
 
 With the Eternal God, in solemn night, 
 
 Confronting Him with free and flippant air 
 
 As one confronts a merchant o'er his counter, 
 
 And in his vehement blasphemy did say : 
 
 "God, put aside this world show me another! 
 
 God, this world is a cheat hand down another ! 
 
 I will not buy not have it as a gift. 
 
 Put it aside and hand me down another 
 
 Another, and another, still another, 
 
 Till I have tried the fairest world that hangs 
 
 Upon the walls and broad dome of your shop, 
 
 The finest one that has come from your hand ; 
 
 For I am proud of soul and regal born, 
 
 And will not have a cheap and cheating world." 
 
 DON CAKLOS. 
 The noble youth ! So God gave him another ?
 
 INA. 161 
 
 Lucus. 
 
 What, he, the poor blasphemous and crazy beggar! 
 So must you speak, or else the world will hiss you, 
 Of these brave spirits God tries in His fire, 
 Then takes unto Himself \ as guards in heaven 
 Loves them and takes them as his own companions 
 In their strong youth, as the old Greeks have said, 
 Leaving their dust in tracts most desolate. 
 A bear, as in old time, came from the woods 
 And tore him there upon tha,t storm-swept clift 
 A grim and grizzled bear, like unto hunger. 
 A tall ship sail'd adown the sea next morn, 
 And, standing with his glass upon the prow, 
 The captain saw a vulture on a cliSj 
 Gorging, and pecking, stretching his long neck, 
 Bracing his raven plumes against the wind, 
 Fretting the tempest with his sable feathers. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 'Twas wrong, he should have lived and fought it out. 
 This nursing a gushing heart of sentiment 
 Does bring contempt on half the schemes of life. 
 Tears are a woman's weapons, sorry things 
 11
 
 ,62 INA. 
 
 Even in her, but in man despicable. 
 
 What ! lie down and be rode upon rough-shod ? 
 
 No face and fight, and be at least respected 
 
 The lion is not a comely beast, but brave, 
 
 And is therefore revered above all beasts, 
 
 And. bravest of the brave, is chosen king. 
 
 God and his angels fought for heaven ; Christ 
 
 Did beat with thongs the craven money-changers ; 
 
 The chosen Peter wore a willing sword. 
 
 The stormy elements war through all the year ; 
 
 Spring and bluff Winter strive for mastery ; 
 
 Autumn and Winter struggle on the heath, 
 
 And I have seen them wrestle in the woods 
 
 Until the yellow leaves were all awhirl, 
 
 And sighs and groans went up and down the hills. 
 
 He sought the impossible asked good unmix' d, 
 Asked peace on earth where there is no peace. 
 Here do the kernel and the chaff all blend. 
 And good and evil intwine. Hereafter, 
 After the harvest, the segregation. 
 Even the Christ, two thousand years ago, 
 In the far dawn while yet the world was young,
 
 INA. 163 
 
 Newer, and purer from the hand of God, 
 Did find a traitor in His chosen twelve. 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 There 's that in you that draws my soul to yours , 
 Your head, I fear, but not your heart, is wrong. 
 I will not answer now, but summon you 
 To yon grand courts to give in evidence, 
 Where sleep the monarchs of a thousand storms, 
 For ever still in shrouds of color'd moss, 
 While green vines twine a pretty wreath above, 
 As crowning graves of dear and gallant dead ; 
 The Yew, in cloak of everlasting green, 
 Does sweep her pretty palms in winning eloquence, 
 While scarlet berries bead her lisping boughs 
 Like threaded drops of rainbow-painted dew, 
 Or pearls upon an Indian maiden's limbs. 
 Reposing there on couch of mossy carpet, 
 Where darkest green is wove with yellow moss, 
 And yellow wove with green, all undisturb'd 
 By sight or sound save birds of sweetest song, 
 While mighty trees above receive the red 
 And hot darts of the sun on bearded helmets,
 
 ib4 INA. 
 
 Will come to you the higher evidence, 
 Stronger a thousandfold and more convincing 
 Than if produced by oath of all mankind. 
 With me in my untraversed wilds and caves, 
 My kingdom unexplored, you will read the book 
 Of Nature that unclasp'd lies, while the winds 
 Mesmeric as the fingers of your love 
 Will turn the living leaves as you read on 
 Will paint in lambent amber hues and Tyrian, 
 And strike in plaintive mellow tone a harp 
 That hangs upon the lightning-shiver'd pine ; 
 And, reading, we shall happier grow and better. 
 Nature will mightier seem yet milder there, 
 Because we shall be nearer to her face. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 And if I should, what then ? What though I met 
 My Maker face to face, as in the Mount ? 
 Left mountain-bound in islands of the clouds, 
 What ame or fortune could betide me there? 
 I had as well know secrets of deep death, 
 Or hold in hand the keys of Csesar's coffers, 
 And be for evermore forbid their use.
 
 fNA. 165 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 Why, no ! You 'd gather up pure gems of thought, 
 Or catch bright fancies one by one that flit 
 You by like beauteous Orient birds, and cage 
 Them up between a precious volume's lids ; 
 Or like one gathering gold from out the sand, 
 A little here, a little there, then all 
 Mould in one bright and shining shield, and so 
 Bearing it up, descend upon the world 
 Like some proud conqueror of olden time ; 
 Or- shine forth in the newness of yOur thought 
 Like some bright lovely star that hastens forth 
 Before its mates, chasing the sullen sun, 
 And so be seen and known of all the world. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 What is there new atop of this old world ? 
 Should e'er I come to write your books, why I 
 Would search among the quaint and dusty tomes 
 While the selfish world sought pleasure and repose, 
 And Shoddy did up the European tour 
 Much as a blockhead schoolboy does a task, 
 While men well skill'd in sales of soap and lard,
 
 166 INA. 
 
 And learn'cl in all the art of packing pork, 
 Would coarsely tramp the sacred dust that deods, 
 When earth was blithe and young, have made im- 
 mortal 
 
 (Where I would softly tread unshod and bared). 
 I 'd pick up here and there from dusty masters 
 The ancient coins of loftiest, noblest thought, 
 And cast them in one shining shield of bronze, 
 And bearing it aloft high-heralded, 
 Well flank'd with sheets of broad advertisements, 
 Be call'd a bard of new-inspired song. 
 I 'd throttle modest mien and word in this 
 Swift age, as base traducers of my fame ; 
 I 'd cast meek modesty into the sea, 
 The Jonah that had brought me all 'my trouble. 
 I 'd plant a preface full afront my book 
 As you would plant a battery in war, 
 And, bearing down all things that dared oppose, 
 With shout and flourish take the world by storm. 
 Or at the least I 'd hold a touching tale 
 Before my book as you would hold a shield, 
 And with it catch or turn aside the darts 
 And poison'd shafts of killing criticism. 
 But mind you, fame is not now won with ink,
 
 INA. 167 
 
 The author's pen 's a lever, lifting others ; 
 The stain of blood is readier seen from far, . 
 And gold like some bright star's at once beheld 
 By all the world throughout the darkest day, 
 And instant wins the worship of the mob. 
 
 The world has turn'd shopkeeper go, sell, sell ; 
 Put on yourself a costly price, to sell : 
 Real cash-customers buy no cheap goods. 
 The mob has now got hold the money-bags, 
 And skilful judges of corn, pork, and cabbage 
 Do judge men by their arrogance and name. 
 Assume a lofty air and sounding title 
 The barefaced fools outnumber and outshout 
 The men of sense and solid worth and thought. 
 The gilded chisell'd vessels that encase 
 Most stupid, sour, and unwholesome wines 
 At once are pluck'd at by the money-mob, 
 The while the plain but precious bottled liquor 
 Accumulates the dust of generations. 
 
 Go, buy and sell. Get gold. A golden lever 
 Moves more than e'er the Syracusan might. 
 Deceit brings wealth, wealth 1 uys the bubble fame.
 
 1 68 IN A. 
 
 Fame lulls the fever of the soul, and makes 
 Us feel that we have grasp'd an immortality. 
 
 Oh, I have mock'd at man and shook with mirth. 
 Yet is in all a sort of savage justice. 
 Have you no time observed with what an odd 
 Yet an impartial hand are things divided ? 
 The fool has fortunes thrust upon him, while 
 The man of brains is pinch'd with penury. 
 The dolt who feels as much of sentiment 
 As a milch-cow, fed in her field of clover, 
 Goes on serene through sweetest-smelling meads, 
 With maidens fainting for a breath of love, 
 And heiresses cast at his empty head 
 By fond mammas, whene'er he please to show it ; 
 "While he of finest sense is blown by fate, 
 Like some sea-waif, upon the frontier wild. 
 The prettiest maiden is a screeching parrot, 
 While she of wit is shorn of all of beauty ; 
 The gifted man is stoop'd and sallow-pale, 
 The ass stands six feet up of lovely flesh ; 
 Wisdom means age and gout and ugliness, 
 While the crude' boy has health and ruddy beauty, 
 And wisdom's sov'reign head is bow'd and bald, 
 And the rich man envies the beggar's stomach.
 
 IN A. 169 
 
 LAMONTE. 
 
 Give me your hand, your right in this my left 
 [ts blood comes nearer from the heart ; and then, 
 My right is dead, deader than this your love ; 
 For love, like Lazarus, can only sleep, 
 But, breathed upon by love and hope, will rise 
 Rise up a loftier and a holier love. 
 I know you now ; I am an elder brother, 
 For sorrow and deceit have made us kin. 
 From want and disappointment, bitter breasts, 
 We two have drawn our stormy natures. 
 
 A Young HUNTER ascends the mountain and approaches. 
 DON CABLOS. 
 
 Ho ! whom, now, have we here ? Talk of the devil, 
 And he is at hand. Say, who are you, and whence ? 
 
 I am a poet, and dwell down by the sea. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 A poet ! a poet, forsooth ! Fool ! hungry fool ! 
 Would you know what it means to be a poet?
 
 1 7 o INA. 
 
 It is to want a friend, to want a home, 
 
 A country, money, ay, to want a meal. 
 
 It is not wise to be a poet now, 
 
 For the world has so fine and modest grown 
 
 It will not praise a poet to his face, 
 
 But waits till he is dead some hundred years, 
 
 Then uprears marbles cold and stupid as itseli. 
 
 But rest you here, and while the red-hot sun 
 Wheels on, and sleep my friends beneath the boughs, 
 Do, pray, beguile the hour with a song. 
 
 HUNTER (sings). 
 I am as one unlearned, uncouth, 
 From country come to join the youth 
 Of some sweet town in quest of truth ; 
 
 A Nazarene of wood and plain 
 A-west, from whence no good may come. 
 I stand apart as one that's dumb. 
 I hope I fear I hasten home. 
 
 I plunge into my wilds again. 
 
 I catch some dulcet symphonies, 
 I drink the low sweet melodies
 
 INA. r 
 
 That stream through dense dark feathered trees. 
 
 Like echoes from some far church bell, 
 Or music on the water spilled 
 Beneath the still moon's holy spell, 
 And life is sweeter all is well 
 
 The soul is fed. The heart is filled. 
 
 I move among my frowning firs, 
 Black bats wheel by in rippled whirs, 
 While naught else living breathes or stirs. 
 
 I peep I lift the boughs apart 
 I tiptoe up I try to rise 
 I strive to gaze into the eyes 
 Of charmers charming very wise 
 
 I coin their faces on my heart. 
 
 I hear them on the Northern hills 
 Discoursing with the beaded rills, 
 While over all the full moon spills 
 
 Her flood in gorgeous plenilune. 
 White skilful hands sweep o'er the strings, 
 T heed as when a seraph sings, 
 I lean to catch the whisperings, 
 
 I list into the night's sweet noon.
 
 172 fNA. 
 
 I see them by the Eastern strand, 
 A singing sea-shell in each hand, 
 And silk locks tossing as they stand, 
 
 And tangled in the toying breeze. 
 And lo ! the sea with salty tears, 
 While white hands toss, then disappear, 
 Doth plead that they for years and years 
 
 Will stay and sing unto the seas. 
 
 DON CABLOS. 
 
 Hold ! hold your tongue, and hold ray aching head ! 
 'Tis well for you the Roman mob is dead. 
 This stuff of yours is full of pompous Fs 
 As a candidate for Congress is of lies. 
 Why talk so loudly of yourself at large ? 
 Your neighbors do that for you, free of charge ! 
 This poetry's not of the, heart, but stomach; 
 Not inspiration, but 'tis indigestion 
 Disturbs the balance-wheel that rules your brain. 
 Love food the less respect your stomach more, 
 For more have groan'd and died from over-use 
 Of knives and forks, than ever fell in war 
 By bloody sword and bayonet and ball. 
 
 r The HUNTER rises and moves away.
 
 INA. 173 
 
 DON CARLOS 
 
 Why, what 's the haste ? You '11 reach there soon 
 enough. 
 
 HUNTER. 
 Reach where ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 The Inn to which all earthly roads do tend : 
 The " iieat apartments furnish'd see within ; " 
 The " furnish' d rooms for quiet, single gentlemen n 
 The narrow six-by-two where you will lie 
 With cold blue nose pointing up to the grass, 
 Labell'd and box'd, and ready all for shipment. 
 'Twas said of old that all roads led to Rome, 
 But all roads now do lead to this small Inn. 
 'Tis just so many leagues ahead of you, 
 Why, then, make haste to cross the space between ?
 
 174 
 
 SCENE V. 
 LAMONTE'S Camp-fire in the Mountain. 
 
 DON CARLOS, LAMONTE, the HUNTER, and others, itated 
 
 around, smoking and telling tales of home and how they c-ime 
 
 to take to the Mountains. 
 OLD LAMONTE, the mountaineer, lounging at one side, talking 
 
 vrit7i the Young Hunter, and pointing out to him his new com- 
 
 panions : 
 
 T GREET you welcome to these wild mountains, 
 
 As will these my comrades at their good leisure. 
 And now, meantime, that you '11 know them better, 
 Yon fair-hair'd man, all in beaded buckskin 
 And belt of wampum, now peering skyward, 
 Is noble young Lucus, a heart-sick lover 
 That has fled a.coward from the shafts of Cupid, 
 Fearing far less the red Indians' arrows. 
 The man beyond him, thick-lipp'd and surly, 
 'Tis said, is a patriot from merry old England 
 Who took to these mountains for the good of his 
 
 country. 
 
 To the left, by the pine, is a dollarless marquis 
 At talk with a scholar high-bred, of Oxford, 
 Sell-exiled, say, for some gay peccadillo.
 
 IN A. 175 
 
 Beyond, in the shade, is a Southern gentleman 
 
 Talking with one of his ten brown women. 
 
 That black Kanuk, with his hair on his shoulders, 
 
 Has herds and leagues on the North Red River, 
 
 And wigwams alive with olive-hued children. 
 
 Over here, with his pipe, is a thoughtfullest German, 
 
 Profound, it is said, in his lore and letters, 
 
 And silent in all of the tongues of Europe. 
 
 Yon fast young man, with a rose in his bosom, 
 
 Is a Spaniard, waiting for a dear relation 
 
 To die, to come to his hard-earn'd fortune. 
 
 And last I name is a long-nosed Yankee, 
 
 Shrewdly watching to improve his chances, 
 
 Ready to trade, trap, preach, or peddle. 
 
 Such are the men of the rough Rocky Mountains, 
 
 Not hairy monsters as some do pronounce us, 
 
 But men blown up from the world's four quarters, 
 
 Gentle or vicious, serene or savage, 
 
 Common alone in undoubted courage. 
 
 Hist ! list and learn, as they tell their adventures. 
 
 A gray FRENCHMAN ends a tale thus: 
 
 Alas, the sight I saw that night ! 
 Alas, that I should tremble here !
 
 176 IN A. 
 
 I know 'tis not a coward fear, 
 And yet I shiver as in fright. 
 
 The blue fields blossom'd yellow bloom 
 Of brilliants set in purple gloom, 
 A silver shield slid on and on 
 Between me and the better land, 
 And I was glad. I kiss'd my hand 
 To melting stars and mellow moon 
 I left the full feast oversoon, 
 And sought the peerless paragon. 
 Gay jesting at her clever art 
 In hiding in some spot unknown, 
 I sought her, thought her mine, my own 
 I had despised a baser thought. 
 I sought her as I would be sought 
 With boundless faith and beating heart, 
 Fill'd full of sweet uncertainties, 
 Among the moonlit, fruited trees. 
 
 Alas, the sight I saw that night 
 Through striped bars of streaming light, 
 And boughs that whisper'd plaintively 
 In solemn sympathy with me !
 
 1NA. 177 
 
 A red dead leaf was in her hair, 
 Full half a swelling breast was bare, 
 And mad disorder everywhere. 
 And, gliding through a thorny brake 
 And sliding like a slimy snake, 
 I saw him stooping steal away 
 Like serpent' caught in Paradise, 
 That hid it from the face of day 
 With guilty and unholy eyes. 
 
 I saw a sight that night, that night, 
 Because I could not help but see 
 Because the moon was bleached so white 
 Because the stars were yellow light 
 Because they blossom'd in a tree 
 And dropp'd their blossoms on the grass 
 And saw because, alas, alas ! 
 An evil spirit guided me. 
 
 He was my friend. He ate my bread. 
 He counsell'd very wise and well ; 
 " I love you more than words can tell," 
 He many and many a time had said. 
 He suck'd the juices from iny fruit 
 12
 
 , 7 8 
 
 And left for me the bitter rind. 
 I am not crazed it was unkind 
 To suck the sweetness from my fruit 
 And give me back the bitter rind. 
 
 And did I curse or crush or kill ? 
 Go down to yonder wooded gate,' 
 Go down, go down, it groweth late ; 
 You hesitate and hesitate 
 I tremble as if in a chill. 
 
 It open'd very wide that night, 
 For two went through but one return'd 
 And when its rusty hinges turn'd, 
 They creak' d as if in pain or fright. 
 
 Three finger-prints are on the bar 
 Three finger-prints of purple gore. 
 You scan my hand here, scan it more, 
 And count my fingers o'er and o'er, 
 You cannot see a sign of gore. 
 I lost one finger in the war, 
 And is it not an honor'd scar ?
 
 INA. 1 7 Q 
 
 CARLOS. 
 
 Woman ! and still the sad burden is woman ! 
 O most valiant, most gallant gentleman, 
 Frighten'd from home by the flirt of a petticoat ! 
 Well, sigh to the moon and delight in delusions, 
 And dream that she too turns a pale face to heaven. 
 Bah ! barely your shadow goes out from her threshold 
 Before she is turning all smiles on another. 
 But you, yon gray trapper there, storm-stained and 
 
 And gazing still dreamily into the fire, 
 
 Sure you have a tale without burden of woman. 
 
 Come, call your far thoughts from the mountain or 
 
 plain, 
 In the wars with the savage, and fight them again. 
 
 THE TBAPPEB 
 
 (Still gazing into the fire, and speaking in a low tone as if to 
 himself). 
 
 Back, backward to-night is memory traversing, 
 Over the desert my weary feet travell'd, 
 Thick with the wreck of my dear heart-idols 
 And toppled columns of my ambition, 
 Red with the best of my hot heart's purple.
 
 (8o 1NA. 
 
 This then is all of the sweet life she promised ; 
 This then is all of the fair life I painted ! 
 Dead, ashen apples of the Dead-Sea border ! 
 Ah yes, and worse by a thousand numbers, 
 Since that can be lifted away as we will it, 
 While desolate life with its dead hope buried 
 Clings on to the clay, though the soul despise it. 
 
 Down under the hill and there under the fir-tree 
 By the spring, and looking far out in the valley, 
 She stands as she stood in the glorious Olden, 
 Swinging her hat in her right hand dimpled, 
 The other hand toys with a honey-suckle 
 That has tiptoed up and is trying to kiss her. 
 Her dark hair is twining her neck and her temples 
 As tendrils some beautiful Balize marble. 
 
 " O eyes of lustre and love and passion ! 
 
 radiant face like the sea-shell tinted ! 
 White cloud with the sunbeams tangled in it 1 " 
 
 1 cried, as I stood in the dust beneath her, 
 
 And gazed on the goddess my boy-heart worshipped 
 With a love and a passion, a part of madness.
 
 IN A. 181 
 
 " Droamer," she said, and a tinge of displeasure 
 Swept over her face that I should disturb her, 
 " All of the fair world is spread out before you; 
 Go down and possess it with love and devotion, 
 And heart ever tender and touching as woman's, 
 And life shall be fair as the first kiss of morning." 
 I turn'd down the pathway, was blinded no longer : 
 Another was coming, tall, manly, and bearded. 
 
 I built me a shrine in the innermost temple 
 In the innermost rim of the heart's red centre 
 And placed her therein, sole possessor and priestess, 
 And carved all her words on the walls of my temple. 
 They say that he woo'd her there under the fir-tree, 
 That he won her one eve, when the katydids mock'd 
 
 her. 
 
 He may have a maiden and call her Merinda ; 
 But mine is the one that stands there for ever 
 Leisurely swinging her hat by the ribbons. 
 
 They say she is wedded. No, not my Merindaj 
 For mine stands for ever there under the fir-tree 
 Gazing and swinging her hat by the ribbons. 
 They tell me her children reach up to my shoulder
 
 /82 INA. 
 
 'Tis false. I did see her down under the tir-tree 
 When the stars were all busy a-weaving thin laces 
 Made red with their gold and the moon's yellow tresses. 
 Swinging her hat as in days of the Olden. 
 
 True, that I spoke not nor ventured to touch her 
 Touch her ! I sooner would pluck the sweet Mary, 
 The mother of Jesus, from arms of the priesthood, 
 As they kneel at the altar in holy devotion ! 
 
 - * * * * * * 
 
 And was it for this that my heart was kept tender, 
 Fashion'd from thine, O sacristan maiden ? 
 That coarse men could pierce my warm heart to tin. 
 
 purple ? 
 
 That vandals could enter and burn out its freshness ? 
 That rude men could trample it into the ashes ? 
 Oh was it for this that my heart was kept open ? 
 I look'd in a glass, not the heart of my fellow, 
 Whose was the white soul I saw there reflected ? 
 But trample the grape that the wine may flow freely ! 
 
 Beautiful priestess, be with me for ever ! 
 You still are secure. They know not your temple, 
 They never can find it, nor pierce it, nor touch it,
 
 INA. 183 
 
 Because in their hearts they know no such temple. 
 I turned my back on them, a Seminole banished, 
 Much indeed leaving in dark desolation, 
 But bearing one treasure alone that is dearer 
 Than all they possess or have fiercely torn from me : 
 A maiden that stands looking far down the valley 
 Swinging her hat by its long, purple ribbons. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Worse and worse, and the burden still woman ! 
 The crucifixion of rhyme and of reason, 
 With the sweet Christ-truth bleeding dead between 
 
 them ! 
 
 Here you, young rover, or hunter, or poet, 
 If you have wit, here 's a chance to show it ; 
 Give us at least some rhymes that jingle, 
 Nor jar the soul till the senses tingle. 
 
 HUNTER (sings). 
 Alone on this desolate border, 
 On this ruggedest rinim'd frontier, 
 Where the hills huddle up in disorder 
 Like a fold in mortal fear, 
 Where the mountains are out at the elbow
 
 1 84 IN A. 
 
 In their yellow coats seedy and sere, 
 Where the river runs sullen and yellow, 
 This dismallest day of the year. 
 
 I go up and down on the granite, 
 Like an unholy ghost under bans. 
 
 Christ ! for the eloquent quiet ! 
 For the final folding of hands ! 
 What am I ? Where am I going, 
 
 With these turbulent winds that are blowing? 
 What sowing of wind in the lands, 
 And what shall I reap from such sowing ? 
 
 1 look at the lizard that glides 
 Up over the mossy boulders, 
 
 With green epaulets on his shoulders, 
 And regiment-stripes on his sides. 
 
 My feet are in dust to the ankles ; 
 My heart, it is dustier still ; 
 Will never the dust be levelFd 
 Till the heart is laid under the hill? 
 I look at the sun sliding over, 
 A cloud is swinging on hinges 
 And is trying his glory to cover.
 
 INA. 185 
 
 But see ! his beams in the fringes 
 Are tangled and fastened in falling, 
 And a sailor above us is calling 
 " Untangle the ravels and fringes." 
 
 In grim battle-lines up o'er us 
 Gray, shapely ships are wheeling, 
 Hulk, sail, and shroud revealing. 
 A flash, a crash appalling, 
 A hurling of red-hot spears, 
 Hark ! terrible thunder calling 
 In fierce infernal chorus ! 
 Now silver sails are falling 
 Like silver sheens before us. 
 ta 
 
 What Nelson to fame aspires 
 In the chartless bluer deep 
 Where white ships toss and tack? 
 And what armed host appears ? 
 Lo ! I have seen their fires 
 In blue fields where they sleep 
 At night, in the bivouac ; 
 And they battle, bleed, and weep, 
 For this rain is warm as tears.
 
 186 1NA. 
 
 Oh! why was I ever a dreamer? 
 Better a brute on the plain, 
 Or one who believes his redeemer 
 Is greed, and gold, and gain ; 
 Or one who can riot and revel, 
 Than be pierced by unbearable pain, 
 With poesy darling, in travail, 
 That will not be born from the brain, 
 
 O bride by the breathing ocean, 
 With lustrous and brimming eye, 
 Pour out the Lethean potion 
 Till a lustrum rolleth by, 
 Lulling a soul's commotion, 
 Plashing against the sky 
 Calming a living spectre 
 With its two hands toss'd on high. 
 
 Come to me, darling, adorning 
 Like Aurora the desolate region ; 
 Come with step stately as morning, 
 Or come like the march of a legion, 
 Or come without caution or warning, 
 Or come like the lordly tycoon,
 
 INA. 187 
 
 Or in majesty like to the moon, 
 But come, and come soon, over-soon. 
 
 Are the sea-winds mild and mellow 
 Where my sun-brown'd babies are, 
 A- weaving the silken and yellow 
 Seam'd sunbeams over their hair? 
 Go on and go on in disorder, 
 O cloud with the silver-red rim, 
 While tangled up in your bright border, 
 The glinting silk sunbeams swim. 
 
 DON- CABLOS (yawning). 
 
 Oh ! why indulge in such gipsy jargon, 
 Since maids must mock, and men slay to protect them 
 A song like to this with a savagest silence ? 
 I fear, young man, you mistake your calling ; 
 Why not fall the forests, plant red potatoes ? 
 Or what of the art of raising green pumpkins, 
 And tall-topp'd corn with its silks of silver ? 
 Or may be some sheep could endure your measures 
 On the Yamhill hills, if you must aspire, 
 As you swing a crook, and so sweep your lyre.
 
 1 88 IN A. 
 
 HUNTEB. 
 
 The bird sings in the busy spring, 
 The sea sings in his booming swells, 
 And all his pink and pearly shells 
 Sing of the sea, and ever sing. 
 You break the shell or bear it far 
 From ocean as the morning star, 
 Yet still it sings, fast bound or free, 
 In mellow measures, of the sea. 
 And I shall sing and sing and sing, 
 Sing ill or well, though men do chide, 
 Until a hand in mine is laid 
 To lead unto the other side. 
 Afar a ploughboy's song is heard, 
 In chorus with the building bird, 
 My song is his his my reward. 
 
 I heard a redbreast on the wall, 
 And then I heard the tru ants' call, 
 And cast a storm of earth and stone. 
 He flew, and perch'd him far and lone, 
 Above a rushing cataract, 
 Where never living thing had track'd -
 
 IJVA. 189 
 
 Where mate nor man nor living thing 
 Could ever heed or hear him sing ; 
 And there he sang his song of spring, 
 As if a world were listening. 
 He sang because he could but sing, 
 Sweet bird, for he was born to sing. 
 
 A million hearts have felt as much 
 As ever prince of poets told, 
 With souls that scorn'd a cokier touch 
 Than love refined to finest gold, 
 Yet drove the team and turn'd the mould, 
 And whistled songs and tragedies 
 That would have thrill'd to rage or tears ; 
 The beam and moon their lance and shield, 
 A moat, the furrow deep and broad ; 
 And lived content through all their years 
 In one long paradise of peace, 
 Unheard beyond their broken sod. 
 And shall I then be less than these ? 
 
 They kept their fields', their flocks' increase, 
 And walk'd their ideal world in peace, 
 They would not drag it down to fit
 
 190 INA. 
 
 The mass of men with golden god 
 They could not drag man up to it, 
 So lived and died without complain. 
 All tuneless in their full refrain, 
 They break in billows through the sod. 
 
 A million poets God hath wrought ; 
 But very few have made pretence, 
 And fewer still found utterance ; 
 For words are shackles unto thought, 
 And fancies fetter'd down by words 
 Droop dull and tame as prison'd birds, 
 Lose all the bright hues of the sky, 
 As does the clasped butterfly. 
 
 [As the YOUNG HUNTER concludes, DON CARLOS apart, a; 
 looking down the mountain to the declining moon, co 
 tinues : ] 
 
 Well, he would make you a good maid-servant ; 
 I could say, " She can come to you well recommended ; 
 For behold he has sung till they sleep most soundly. 
 The thin, sullen moon, pale-faced, and crooked 
 As a half-starved kine, a most vicious heifer, 
 Is sliding down in all haste from heaven,
 
 INA. 191 
 
 To gore in the flank of yon sleeping mountain. 
 My comrades sleep, and does sleep all Nature ; 
 The world has a rest and a truce till to-morrow ; " 
 There is peace, and surcease of sin and of sorrow ; 
 All things take rest but I 
 
 HUNTER. 
 
 And I only, 
 Four minstrel and whilom your roving young hunter. 
 
 [Loosening his hair from his shoulders. 
 Ah me ! My Don Carlos, look kindly upon me ! 
 With my hand on your arm and my dark brow lifted 
 Up level to yours, do you not now know me ? 
 'Tis your own, own INA, you loved by the ocean, 
 In the warm-spiced winds from the far Cathay. 
 O welcome me now after all my struggles, 
 And years of waiting and my weary journeys. 
 
 DON CARLOS (bitterly). 
 
 " And he received her with his arms extended, 
 And they were wedded, and lived long and happily" 
 At least so runneth the oft-told story. 
 But life is prosy, and my soul uprises 
 Against you, madam, as you stand before me
 
 I 9 2 INA. 
 
 With the smell of the deadman still upon you, 
 
 And your dark hair wet from his death-damp forehead 
 
 You are not my Ina, for she is a memory, 
 
 A marble chisell'd, in my heart's dark chamber 
 
 Set up for ever, and nought can change her ; 
 
 And you are a stranger, and the gulf between us 
 
 Is wide as the Plains, and as deep as Pacific. 
 
 No ! lips blood-stain'd and your limbs polluted 
 
 Shall tempt me not from my lordly mountains. 
 
 But now, good-by. In your scrape folded, 
 Hard by in the heat of the pine-knot fire, 
 Sleep you as sound as you will be secure ; 
 And on the morrow now mark me, madam 
 When to-morrow comes, why, you will turn you 
 To the right or left as did Father Abram. 
 Good-night, for ever and for aye, good-by ; 
 My bitter is sweet and your truth is a lie. 
 
 INA (letting go his arm and stepping back). 
 Well then ! 'tis over, and 'tis well thus ended ; 
 I am well escaped from my life's devotion. 
 The waters of bliss are a waste of bitterness ; 
 The day of joy I did join hands over,
 
 INA. 193 
 
 As a bow of promise when my years were weary, 
 
 And set high up as a brazen serpent 
 
 To look upon when I else had fainted 
 
 In burning deserts, while you sipp'd ices 
 
 And snowy sherbets, and roam'd unfetter'd, 
 
 Is a deadly asp in the fruit and flowers 
 
 That you in your bitterness now bring to me ; 
 
 But its fangs unfasten and it glides down from me, 
 
 From a Cleopatra of cold white marble. 
 
 I have but done what I would do over, 
 Did I find one worthy of so much devotion ; 
 And, standing here with my clean hands folded 
 Above a bosom whose crime is courage, 
 The only regret that my heart discovers 
 Is that I should do and have dared so greatly 
 For the love of one who deserved so little. 
 And as for my lips' and my limbs' pollution, 
 They are purer than any strong man's new-wedded, 
 Stain'd without purpose in his coarse brute-passion. 
 
 Nay, say no more, nor attempt to approach me; 
 This ten-feet line lying now between us 
 Shall never be less while the land has measure. 
 13
 
 194 INA. 
 
 See! night is forgetting the east in the heavens; 
 The birds pipe shrill and the beasts howl answer 
 The red sun reaches his arms from the ocean, 
 And the dusk and the dawn kiss hands good-by, 
 But not for ever, as do you and I.
 
 THE TALE OF THE TALL ALCALDE.
 
 Shadows that shroud the to-moivow, 
 Olists from the life that's within. 
 
 Traces of pain and of sorrow, 
 And maybe a trace of sin, 
 
 Eeachings for God in the darkness, 
 And for what should have been. 
 
 Stains from the gall and the wormwood, 
 
 Memories bitter like myrrh, 
 A sad, brown face in a fir-wood, 
 
 Blotches of heart's blood here, 
 But never the sound of a wailing, 
 
 Never the sign of a tear.
 
 THE TALE OF THE TALL ALCALDE. 
 
 Thou Italy of the Occident! 
 
 Land of flowers and summer climes, 
 
 Of holy priests and horrid crimes ; 
 
 Land of the cactus and sweet cocoa; 
 
 Richer than all the Orient 
 
 In gold and glory, in want and woe, 
 
 In self-denial, in days misspent, 
 
 In truth and treason, in good and guilt, 
 
 In ivied ruins and altars low, 
 
 In batter'd walls and blood misspilt; 
 
 Glorious, gory Mexico ! 
 
 TT THERE mountains repose in their blueness, 
 Where the sun first lands in his newness, 
 And marshals his beams and his lances, 
 Ere down to the vale he advances 
 With visor erect, and rides swiftly 
 On the terrible night in his way, 
 And slays him, and, daring and deftly, 
 Hews from him the beautiful day 
 With his flashing sword of silver, 
 Lay nestled the town of Renalda, 
 Far known for its famous Alcalde, 
 The judge of the mountain mine, 
 With a heart like the heart of woman,
 
 r9 8 ; THE TALE OF THE 
 
 And humanity more than human ; 
 And famed for its maids and silver, 
 Rich mines and its mountain wine. 
 
 And. the royalest feast of the year was given, 
 The yearly feast in commemoration 
 Of the Holy Mary's Annunciation ; 
 And the ears of night were rent and riven 
 By turbulent men made stormy with wine 
 Wine by virgins press'd from the vine, 
 Wine like gold from the San Diego, 
 Wine blood-red from the Saint Bennetto, 
 'ATiite and yellow and ruddy-red wine. 
 And the feast was full, and the guests afire, 
 For the shaven priest and the portly squire, 
 The solemn judge and the smiling dandy, 
 The duke and the don and the commandant^, 
 All sat, and shouted or sang divine, 
 Sailing in one great sea of wine ; 
 And, roused, red-crested knight Chanticleer 
 Answer* d and echo'd their song and cheer. 
 
 They boasted of broil, encounter, and battle, 
 They boasted of maidens most cleverly won,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 199 
 
 Boasted of duels most valiantly done, 
 
 Of leagues of land and of herds of cattle, 
 
 These men at the feast up in fair Renalda. 
 
 All boasted but one, the calm Alcalde, 
 
 Who sat stone-still in the wild wassail, 
 
 Though hard they press'd from first of the feast, 
 
 Press'd commandante, press'd poet and priest, 
 
 To tell, as the others, his own life's tale ; 
 
 And steadily still the attorney press'd, 
 
 With lifted glass and his face aglow, 
 
 Heedless of host and careless of guest 
 
 "A tale ! the tale of your life, so ho ! 
 
 For not one man in all Mexico 
 
 Can trace your history a half decade.** 
 
 A hand on the rude one's lips was laid: 
 
 " Sacred, my son," a pnest went on, 
 
 " Sacred the secrets of every one, 
 
 Inviolate as an altar-stone. 
 
 But what in the life of one who must 
 
 Have been so pure to be so just, 
 
 Have lived a life that is half divine 
 
 What can there be, O advocate, 
 
 In the life of one so desolate 
 
 Of luck with matron, or love with maid,
 
 X3 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 Midnight revel or escapade, 
 
 To stir the wonder of men at wine ? 
 
 But should the Alcalde choose, you know," 
 
 (And here his voice fell soft and low 
 
 As he set his wine-horn in its place. 
 
 And look'd in the judge's care-worn face) 
 
 " To weave us a tale that points a moral, 
 
 Out of his vivid imagination, 
 
 Of lass or of love, or lovers' quarrel, 
 
 Naught of his fame or name or station 
 
 Shall lose in lustre by its relation." 
 
 Softly the judge set down his horn, 
 Kindly look'd on the priests all shorn, 
 And gazed in the eyes of the advocate 
 With a touch of pity, but none of hate ; 
 Then look'd down into the brimming horn, 
 Half defiant and half forlorn. 
 
 Was it a tear ? Was it a sigh ? 
 Was it a glance of the priest's black eye ? 
 Or was it the drunken revel-cry 
 That smote the rock of his frozen heart 
 And forced his pallid lips apart ?
 
 FALL ALCALDE. 
 
 Or was it the weakness like to woman 
 
 Yearning for sympathy 
 
 Through the dark years, 
 
 Spurning the secrecy, 
 
 Burning for tears, 
 
 Proving him human, 
 
 As he said to the men of the silver mine, 
 
 With their eyes held up as to one divine, 
 
 With his eyes held down to his untouch'd wine 
 
 " It might have been where moonbeams kneel 
 At night beside some rugged steep ; 
 It might have been where breakers reel, 
 Or mild waves cradle men to sleep ; 
 It might have been in peaceful life, 
 Or mad tumult and storm and strife, 
 I drew my breath ; it matters not. 
 A silver'd head, a sweetest cot, 
 A sea of tamarack and pine, 
 A peaceful stream, a balmy clime, 
 A cloudless sky, a sister's smile, 
 A mother's love, that sturdy time 
 Has strengthened as he strengthens wine, 
 Are mine, are with me all the while,
 
 201 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 Are hung in memory's sounding halls, 
 Are graven on her glowing walls. 
 But rage, nor rack, nor wrath of man, 
 Nor prayer of priest, nor price, nor ban 
 Can wring from me their place or name, 
 Or why, or when, or whence I came ; 
 Or why I left that childhood home, 
 A child of form yet old of soul, 
 And sought the wilds where tempests roll 
 Round mountains white as driven foam. 
 
 " Mistaken and misunderstood, 
 My hot magnetic heart sought round 
 And craved of all the souls I knew 
 But one responsive throb or touch, 
 Or thrill that flashes through and through - 
 Deem you that I demanded much ? 
 Not one congenial soul was found. 
 I sought a deeper wild and wood, 
 A girlish form and a childish face, 
 A wild waif drifting from place to place. 
 
 Oh for the skies of rolling blue, 
 The balmy hours when lovers woo,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 203 
 
 When the moon is doubled as in desire, 
 The dreamy call of the cockatoo 
 From the orange snow in his crest of fire, 
 Like vespers calling the soul to bliss 
 In the blessed love of the life above, 
 Ere it has taken the stains of this ! 
 
 ' The world afar, yet at my feet, 
 Went steadily and sternly on ; 
 I almost fancied I could meet 
 The crush and bustle of the street, 
 When from the mountain I look'd down. 
 And deep down in the canon's mouth 
 The long-torn ran and pick-axe rang, 
 And pack-trains coming from the south 
 Were stringing round the mountain high 
 In long gray lines, as wild geese fly, 
 While mul'teers shouted hoarse and high, 
 And dusty, dusky mul'teers sang 
 ' Senora with the liquid eye ! 
 No floods can ever quench the flame, 
 Or frozen snows my passion tame, 
 Jouana with the coal-black eye ! 
 O senorita, bide a bye ! '
 
 THE TALE vF THE 
 
 " Environ'-d by a mountain wall, 
 So fierce, so terrible and tall, 
 It never yet had been defiled 
 By track or trail, save by the wild 
 Free children of the wildest wood 
 A wood that roll'd a sullen flood, 
 A sea that broke in snowy foam 
 Where everlasting glaciers rest, 
 Where stars and tempests have a home, 
 And clouds are curl'd in mad unrest 
 And whirl'd and swirl'd by crag and crest,- 
 An unkiss'd virgin at my feet, 
 Lay my pure, hallow'd, dreamy vale, 
 Where breathed the essence of my tale 
 Lone dimple in the mountain's face, 
 Lone Eden in a boundless waste 
 It lay so beautiful ! so sweet ! 
 
 " There in the sun's decline I stood 
 By God's form wrought in pink and pearl, 
 My peerless, dark-eyed Indian girl ; 
 And gazed out from a fringe of wood, 
 With full-fed soul and feasting eyes, 
 .Upon an earthly paradise.
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 
 
 Inclining to the south it lay, 
 
 And long leagues southward roll'd away, 
 
 Until the sable-feather' d pines 
 
 And tangled boughs and amorous vines 
 
 Closed like besiegers on the scene, 
 
 The while the stream that intertwined 
 
 Had barely room to flow between. 
 
 It was unlike all other streams, 
 
 Save those seen in sweet summer dreams ; 
 
 For sleeping, in its bed of snow 
 
 Nor rock nor stone was ever known, 
 
 But only shining, shifting sands, 
 
 For ever sifted by unseen hands. 
 
 It curved, it bent like Indian bow, 
 
 And like an arrow darted through, 
 
 Yet utter'd not a sound nor breath, 
 
 Nor broke a ripple from the start ; 
 
 It was as swift, as still as death, 
 
 Yet was so clear, so pure, so sweet, 
 
 It woilnd its way into your heart 
 
 As through the grasses at your feet. 
 
 " Once, through the tall untangled grass, 
 I saw two black bears careless pass, 
 And in the twilight turn to play ;
 
 206 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 I caught my rifle to my face, 
 She chid me with a quiet grace 
 And said, ' Not so, for us the day, 
 The night belongs to such as they.' 
 
 " And then from out the shadow'd wood 
 The antler'd deer came stalking down 
 In half a shot of where I stood ; 
 Then stopp'd and stamp'd impatiently, 
 Then shook his head and antlers high, 
 And then his keen horns backward threw 
 Upon his shoulders broad and brown, 
 And thrust his muzzle in the air, 
 Snuff'd proudly ; then a blast he blew 
 As if to say, No danger here. 
 And then from out the sable wood 
 His mate and two sweet dappled fawns 
 Stole forth, and by the monarch stood, 
 She timid, while the little ones 
 Would start like aspens in a gale. 
 Then he, as if to reassure 
 The timid, trembling, and demure, 
 Again his antlers backward threw, 
 Again a blast defiant blew, 
 Then led them proudly down the vale.
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 207 
 
 " I watch' d the forms of darkness come 
 Slow stealing from their sylvan home, 
 And pierce the sunlight drooping low 
 And weary, as if loath to go. 
 He stain'd the lances as he bled, 
 And, bleeding and pursued, he fled 
 Across the vale into the wood. 
 I saw the tall grass bend its head 
 Beneath the stately martial tread 
 Of the pursuer and pursued. 
 
 " ' Behold the clouds,' Winnema said, x 
 'All purple with the blood of day ; 
 The night has conquer'd in the fray, 
 The shadows live, and light is dead.' 
 
 " She turn'd to Shasta gracefully, 
 Around whose hoar and mighty head 
 Still roll'd a sunset sea of red, 
 While troops of clouds a space below 
 Were drifting wearily and slow, 
 As seeking shelter for the night, 
 Like weary sea-birds in their flight; 
 Then curved her right arm gracefully 
 Above her brow, and bow'd her knee,
 
 908 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 And chanted in an unknown tongue 
 Words sweeter than were ever sung. 
 
 " * And what means this ? ' I gently said. 
 I spoke to God, the Yopitone, 
 Who dwells on yonder snowy throne,' 
 She softly said, with drooping head ; 
 'I bow'd to God. He heard my prayer, 
 I felt his warm breath in my hair, 
 He heard me my desires tell, 
 And he is good, and all is well.' 
 
 " The dappled and the dimpled skies, 
 The timid stars, the tinted moon, 
 All smiled as sweet as sun at noon. 
 Her eyes were like the rabbit's eyes, 
 Her mien, her manner, just as mild, 
 And, though a savage war-chief's child, 
 She would not harm the lowliest worm. 
 
 * 
 
 And though her beaded foot was firm, 
 And though her airy step was true, 
 She would not crush a drop of dew. 
 
 " Her love was deeper than the sea, 
 And stronger than the tidal rise,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 3*09 
 
 And clung in all its strength to me. 
 A face like hers is never seen 
 This side v the gates of paradise, 
 Save in some Indian-Summer scene, 
 And then none ever sees it twice 
 Is seen but once, and seen no more, 
 Seen but to tempt the sceptic soul, 
 And show a sample of the whole 
 That Heaven has in store. 
 
 " You might have pluck'd beams from the 
 
 moon, 
 
 Or torn the shadow from the pine 
 When on its dial track at noon, 
 But not have parted us an hour, 
 She was so wholly, truly mine. 
 And life was one unbroken dream 
 Of purest bliss and calm delight, 
 A flow'ry-shored untroubled stream 
 Of sun and song, of shade and bower, 
 A full-moon' d serenading night. 
 
 " Sweet melodies were in the air, 
 And tame birds caroll'd everywhere. 
 14
 
 210 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 I listen'd to the lisping grove 
 And cooing pink-eyed turtle-dove, 
 And, loving with the holiest love, 
 Believing, with a grand belief, 
 That every thing beneath the skies 
 Was beautiful and born to love, 
 That man had but to love, believe, 
 And earth would be a paradise 
 As beautiful as that above, 
 My goddess, Beauty, I adored, 
 Devoutly, fervid, her alone ; 
 My Priestess, Love, unceasing pourM 
 Pure incense on her altar-stone. 
 
 " I carved my name in coarse design 
 Once on a birch down by the way, 
 At which she gazed, as she would say, 
 * What does this say ? What is this sign ? 
 And when I gayly said, ' Some day 
 Some one will come and read my name, 
 And I will live in song and fame, 
 As he who first found this sweet vale, 
 Entwined with many a mountain tale, 
 And they will give the place my name,'
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 
 
 She was most sad, and troubled much, 
 And look'd in silence far away ; 
 Then started trembling from my touch, 
 And when she turn'd her face again, 
 I read unutterable pain. 
 
 " At last she answer'd through her tears, 
 4 Ah 1 yes ; this, too, fulfils my fears. 
 Yes, they will come my race must go 
 As fades a vernal fall of snow ; 
 And you be known, and I forgot 
 Like these brown leaves that rust and rot 
 Beneath my feet ; and it is well : 
 I do not seek to thrust my name 
 On those who here, hereafter, dwell, 
 Because I have before them dwelt ; 
 They too will have their tales to tell, 
 They too will ask their time and fame. 
 
 " ' Yes, they will come, come even now : 
 The dim ghosts on yon mountain's brow, 
 Gray Fathers of my tribe and race, 
 Do beckon to us from their place, 
 And hurl red arrows through the air 
 At night, to bid our braves beware.
 
 212 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 A foot-print by the clear McCloud, 
 Unlike aught ever seen before, 
 Is seen. The crash of rifles loud 
 Is heard along its farther shore.' 
 
 " What tall and tawny men were these, 
 As sombre, silent, as the trees 
 They moved among! and sad some way 
 With tempered sadness, ever they, 
 Yet not with sorrow born of fear. 
 The shadow of their destinies 
 They saw approaching year by year, 
 And murmured not. They saw the sun 
 Go down ; they saw the peaceful moon 
 Move on in silence to her rest, 
 And white streams winding to the west : 
 And thus they knew that oversoon, 
 Somehow, somewhere, for every one 
 Was rest beyond the setting sun. 
 They knew not, never dreamed, a doubt, 
 But turned to death as to a sleep, 
 And died with eager hands held out 
 To reaching hands beyond the deep,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 213 
 
 And died with choicest bow at hand, 
 And quiver full, and arrow drawn 
 For use, when sweet to-morrow's dawn 
 Should wake them in the Spirit Land. 
 
 " What wonder that I lingered there 
 With Nature's children ! Could I part 
 With those that met me heart to heart, 
 And made me welcome, spoke me fair, 
 Were first of all that understood 
 My waywardness from others' ways, 
 My worship of the true and good, 
 And earnest love of Nature's God, 
 Now that their dark days gathered near, 
 And came calamity and fear? 
 O idle men of empty days, 
 Go court the mountains in the clouds, 
 And clashing thunder, and the shrouds 
 Of tempests, and eternal shocks, 
 And fast and pray as one of old 
 In earnestness, and ye shall hold 
 The mysteries ; shall hold the rod 
 That passes seas, that smites the rocks 
 Where streams of melody and song
 
 2i 4 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 Shall run as white streams rush and flow 
 Down from the mountains' crests of snow, 
 Forever, to a thirsting throng. 
 
 "Between the white man and the red 
 There lies no neutral, half-way ground. 
 I heard afar the thunder sound . 
 That soon should burst above my head, 
 And made my choice ; I laid my plan, 
 And child-like chose the weaker side ; 
 And ever have, and ever will, 
 While might is wrong and wrongs remain, 
 As careless of the world as I 
 Am careless of a cloudless sky. 
 With wayward and romantic joy 
 I gave my pledge like any boy, 
 But kept my promise like a man, 
 And lost ; yet with the lesson still 
 Would gladly do the same again. 
 
 "'They come! they come! the pale-face come ! 
 The chieftain shouted where he stood 
 Sharp watching at the margin wood, 
 And gave the war-whoop's treble yell,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 215 
 
 That like a knell on fair hearts feU 
 Far watching from their rocky home. 
 
 " No nodding plumes or banners fair 
 Unfurl'd or fretted through the air ; 
 No screaming fife or rolling drum 
 Did challenge brave of soul to come : 
 But, silent, sinew-bows were strung, 
 And, sudden, heavy quivers hung, 
 And, swiftly, to the battle sprung 
 Tall painted braves with tufted hair, 
 Like death-black banners in the air. 
 
 " And long they fought, and firm and well 
 And silent fought, and silent fell, 
 Save when they gave the fearful yell 
 Of death, defiance, or of hate. 
 But what were feather'd flints to fate ? 
 And what were yells to seething lead ? 
 And what the few and feeble feet 
 To troops that came with martial tread, 
 And stood by wood and hill and stream 
 As thick as people in a street, 
 AF strange as spirits in a dream ?
 
 ai6 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 " From pine and poplar, here and there, 
 A cloud, a flash, a crash, a thud, 
 A warrior's garments roll'd in blood, 
 A yell that rent the mountain air 
 Of fierce defiance and despair, 
 Did tell who fell, and when and where. 
 Then tighter drew the coils around, 
 And closer grew the battle-ground, 
 And fewer feather'd arrows fell, 
 And fainter grew the battle yell, 
 Until upon the hill was heard 
 The short, sharp whistle of the bird. 
 
 " The calm, that cometh after all, 
 Look'd sweetly down at shut of day, 
 Where friend and foe commingled lay 
 Like leaves of forest as they fall. 
 Afar the sombre mountains frown' d, 
 Here tall pines wheel'd their shadows round 
 Like long, slim fingers of a hand 
 That sadly pointed out the dead. 
 Like some broad shield high overhead 
 The great white moon led on and on, 
 As leading to the better land.
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 217 
 
 You might have heard the cricket's trill, 
 Or night-birds calling from the hill, 
 The place was so profoundly still. 
 
 " The mighty chief at last was down, 
 The broken breast of brass and pride ! 
 The hair all dust, the brow a-frown, 
 And proud mute lips compress'd in hate 
 To foes, yet all content with fate ; 
 While, circled round him thick, the foe 
 Had folded hands in dust, and died. 
 His tomahawk lay at his side, 
 All blood, beside his broken bow. 
 One arm stretch'd out as over-bold, 
 One hand half doubled hid in dust, 
 And clutch'd the earth, as if to hold 
 His hunting-grounds still in his trust. 
 
 " Here tall grass bow'd its tassel'd head 
 In dewy tears above the dead, 
 And there they lay in crooked fern, 
 That waved and wept above by turn ; 
 And further on, by sombre trees, 
 They lay, wild heroes of wildest deeds,
 
 718 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 In shrouds alone of weeping weeds, 
 Bound in a never-to-be-broken peace. 
 
 " Not one had falter'd, not one brave 
 Survived the fearful struggle, save 
 One save I the renegade, 
 The red man's friend, and they held me so 
 For this alone the white man's foe. 
 And I sat bound, a stone on stone, 
 And waked and watched alone ; alone 
 I looked on all, asleep or dead : 
 Watched dead and living undismay'd 
 Through gory hair with lifted head. 
 
 " They bore me bound for many a day 
 Through fen and wild, by foamy flood, 
 From my dear mountains far away, 
 Where an adobe prison stood 
 Beside a sultry, sullen town, 
 With iron eyes and stony frown ; 
 And in a dark and narrow cell, 
 So hot it almost took my breath, 
 And seem'd but an outpost of hell, 
 They thrust me as if I had been
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 219 
 
 A monster, in a monster's den. 
 
 I cried aloud, I courted death, 
 
 I call'd unto a strip of sky, 
 
 The only thing beyond my cell 
 
 That I could see ; but no reply 
 
 Came but the echo of my breath. 
 
 I paced how long I cannot tell 
 
 My reason fail'd, I knew no more, 
 
 And swooning fell upon the floor. 
 
 Then months went on, till deep one night| 
 
 When long thin bars of lunar light 
 
 Lay shimmering along the floor, 
 
 My senses came to me once more. 
 
 " My eyes look'd foil into her eyes 
 Into her soul so true and tried. 
 I thought myself in paradise, 
 And wonder'd when she too had died. 
 And then I saw the striped light 
 That struggled past the prison bar, 
 And in an instant, at the sight, 
 My sinking soul fell just as far 
 As could a star loosed by a jar 
 From out the setting in the ring,
 
 230 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 The purpled, semi-circled ring 
 That seems to circle us at night. 
 
 " She saw my senses had return'd, 
 Then swift to press my pallid face 
 Then, as if spurn'd, she sudden turn'd 
 Her sweet face to the prison wall ; 
 Her bosom rose, her hot tears fell 
 Fast, as drip moss-stones in a well, 
 And then, as if subduing all 
 In one strong struggle of the soul, 
 Be what they were of vows or fears, 
 With kisses and hot scalding tears, 
 There in that deadly, loathsome place, 
 She bathed my bleach'd and bloodless face. 
 
 " I was so weak T could not speak 
 Or press my pale lips to her cheek ; 
 I only look'd my wish to share 
 The secret of her presence there. 
 Then looking through her falling hair, 
 Still sadder so that face appears, 
 Seen through the tears and blood of years 
 Than Pocahontas bathed in tears,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 23i 
 
 She press'd her finger to her lips, 
 
 More sweet than sweets the brown bee sips. 
 
 More sad than any grief untold, 
 
 More silent than the milk-white moon, 
 
 She turn'd away. I heard unfold 
 
 An iron door, and she was gone. 
 
 " At last, one midnight, I was free ; 
 Again I felt the liquid air 
 Around my hot brow like a sea, 
 Sweet as my dear Madonna's prayer, 
 Or benedictions on the soul ; 
 Pure air, which God gives free to all, 
 Again I breathed without control 
 Pure air, that man would fain enthral ; 
 God's air, which man hath seized and sold 
 Unto his fellow-man for gold. 
 
 " I bow'd down to the bended sky, 
 I toss'd my two thin hands on high, 
 I call'd unto the crooked moon, 
 I shouted to the shining stars, 
 With breath and rapture uncontroll'd, 
 Like some wild school-boy loosed at noon,
 
 222 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 Or comrade coming from the ware, 
 Hailing his companeers of old. 
 
 " Short time for shouting or delay, 
 The cock is shrill, the east is gray, 
 Pursuit is made, I must away. 
 They cast me on a sinewy steed, 
 And bid me look to girth and guide 
 A caution of but little need, 
 For I on Sacramento's plain, 
 When mounted warriors thunder'd by 
 And train'd their barbs to face or fly, 
 Once sprang upon the stoutest steed 
 That swept unmaster'd through the band, 
 Fierce and unbridled, wild and bare 
 As fabled wing'd steed of the air, 
 And, clutching to his tossing mane, 
 Swept onward like a hurricane, 
 And, guiding him with heel and hand, 
 Lay like a shadow to his side, 
 And hurl'd the lance at topmost speed 
 Beneath the arch'd neck of my steed, 
 And pierced the cactus targe that stood 
 An imaged foe against the wood,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 223 
 
 And heard the shouts of savage pride 
 
 I dash the iron in his side, 
 
 Swift as the shooting stars I ride ; 
 
 I turn, I see, to ray dismay, 
 
 A silent rider red as they ; 
 
 I glance again it is my bride, 
 
 My love, my life, rides at my side. 
 
 " By gulch and gorge and brake and all, 
 Swift as the shining meteors fall, 
 We fly, and never sound nor word 
 But ringing mustang-hoofs is heard, 
 And limbs of steel and lungs of steam 
 Could not be stronger than theirs seem. 
 Grandly as some joyous dream, 
 League on league, and hour on hour, 
 Far from keen pursuit, or power 
 Of sheriff or bailiff, high or low, 
 Into the bristling hills we go. 
 
 " Into the snowy-hair'd McCloud, 
 White as the foldings of a shroud ; 
 We dash into the dashing stream, 
 We breast the tide, we drop the rein,
 
 324 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 We clutch the streaming, tangled mane 
 And yet the rider at my side 
 Has never look nor word replied. 
 
 " Out in its foam, its rush, its roar, 
 Breasting away to the farther shore ; 
 Steadily, bravely, gain'd at last, 
 Gain'd, where never a dastard foe 
 Has dared to come, or friend to go. 
 Pursuit is baffled and danger pass'd. 
 
 " Under an oak whose wide arms were 
 Lifting aloft, as if in prayer, 
 Under an oak, where the shining moon 
 Like feather'd snow in a winter noon 
 QuiverM, sifted, and drifted down 
 In spars and bars on her shoulders brown . 
 And yet she was as silent still 
 As black stones toppled from the hill 
 Great basalt blocks that near us lay, 
 Deep nestled in the grass untrod 
 By aught save wild beasts of the wood 
 Great, massive, squared, and chisell'd stone> 
 Like columns that had toppled down
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 22? 
 
 From temple dome or tower crown, 
 
 Along some drifted, silent way 
 
 Of desolate and desert town 
 
 Built by the children of the sun. 
 
 And I in silence sat on one, 
 
 And she stood gazing far away 
 
 To where her childhood forests lay, 
 
 Still as the stone I sat upon. 
 
 And through the leaves the silver moon 
 
 Fell sifting down in silver bars 
 
 And play'd upon her raven hair, 
 
 And darted through like dimpled stars 
 
 That dance through all the night's sweet noon 
 
 To echoes of an unseen choir. 
 
 " I sought to catch her to my breast 
 And charm her from her silent mood ; 
 She shrank as if a beam, a breath, 
 Then silently before me stood, 
 Still, coldly, as the kiss of death. 
 Her face was darker than a pall, 
 Her presence was so proudly tall, 
 I would have started from the stone 
 Where I sat gazing up at her, 
 16
 
 226 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 As from a form to earth unknown, 
 Had I possess'd the power to stir. 
 
 " ' O touch me not, no more, no more ; 
 'Tis past, and my sweet dream is o'er. 
 Impure ! Impure ! Impure ! ' she cried, 
 In words as sweetly, weirdly wild 
 As mingling of a rippled tide, 
 And music on the waters spill'd. 
 ' Pollution loul is on my limbs, 
 And poison lingers on my lips ; 
 My red heart sickens, hot head swims, 
 1 burn unto my finger-tips. 
 But you are free. Fly ! Fly alone. 
 Yes, you will win another bride 
 In some far clime where naught is known 
 Oi all that you have won or lost, 
 Or what your life this night has cost ; 
 Will win you name, and place, and power, 
 And ne'er recall this face, this hour, 
 Save in some secret, deep regret, 
 Which I forgive and you '11 forget. 
 Your destiny will lead you on 
 Where, open'd wide to welcome you,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 227 
 
 Rich, gushing hearts and bosoms are, 
 
 And snowy arms, more purely fair, 
 
 And breasts who dare say breasts more true 
 
 When all this dear night's deeds are done ? 
 
 " ' They said you had deserted me, 
 Had rued you of your wood and wild. 
 I knew, I knew it could not be, 
 I trusted as a trusting child. 
 I cross'd the bristled mountain high 
 That curves its rough back to the sky, 
 I rode the white-maned mountain flood, 
 And track'd for weeks the trackless wood. 
 The good God led me. as before, 
 And brought me to your prison-door. 
 
 "'That madden'd call! that fev'er'd moan! 
 I heard you in the midnight call 
 My own name through the massive wall, 
 In my sweet mountain-tongue and tone 
 And yet you call'd so feebly wild, 
 I near mistook you for a child. 
 The keeper with his clinking keys 
 I sought, implored upon ray knees
 
 28 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 That I might see you, feel your breath, 
 Your brow, or breathe you low replies 
 Of comfort in your lonely death. 
 His red face shone, his redder eyes 
 Were like the fire of the skies, 
 And all his face was as a fire, 
 As he said, " Yield to my desire." 
 Again I heard your feeble moan, 
 I cried, " And must he die alone ? n 
 I cried unto a heart of stone. 
 Ah ! why the hateful horrors tell ? 
 Enough ! I crept into your cell 
 Polluted, loathed, a wretched thing, 
 An ashen fruit, a poison' d spring. 
 
 " * I nursed you, lured you back to life, 
 And when you woke and call'd me wife 
 And love, with pale lips rife 
 With love and 'feeble loveliness, 
 I turn'd away, I hid my face, 
 In mad reproach and deep distress, 
 In dust down in that loathsome place. 
 
 " * And then I vow'd a solemn vow 
 That you should live, live and be free.
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 229 
 
 And you have lived are free ; and now 
 
 Too slow yon red sun comes to see 
 
 My life or death, or me again. 
 
 Oh the peril and the pain 
 
 I have endured ! the dark stain 
 
 That I did take on my fair soul, 
 
 All, all to save you, make you free, 
 
 Are more than mortal can endure : 
 
 But fire makes the foulest pure. 
 
 "'Behold this finished funeral pyre, 
 All ready for the form and fire, 
 Which these, my own hands, did prepare 
 For this last night ; then lay me there. 
 I would not hide me from my God 
 Beneath the cold and sullen sod, 
 And ever from the cii'cled sun, 
 As if in shame for evil done, 
 But, wrapped in fiery, shining shroud, 
 Ascend to Him, a wreathing cloud.' 
 
 " She paused, she turn'd, she lean'd apaco 
 Her glance and half-regretting face, 
 As if to yield herself to me ;
 
 230 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 And then she cried, ' It cannot be, 
 For I have vow'd a solemn vow, 
 And God help me to keep it now ! ' 
 
 " I sprang with arms extended wide 
 To catch her to my burning breast ; 
 She caught a dagger from her side 
 And plunged it to its silver hilt 
 Into her hot and bursting heart, 
 And fell into my arms and died 
 Died as my soul to hers was press'd, 
 Died as I held her to my breast, 
 Died without one word or moan, 
 And left me with my dead alone. 
 
 "But why the dreary tale prolong? 
 And deem you I Confess'd me wrong, 
 That I did bend a patient knee 
 To all the deep wrongs done to me ? 
 That I, because the prison-mould 
 Was on my brow, and all its chill 
 Was in my heart as chill as night, 
 Till soul and body both were cold, 
 Did curb my free-born mountain will 
 And sacrifice my sense of right ?
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 
 
 " No ! no ! and had they come that day 
 While I with hands and garments red 
 Stood by her pleading, gory clay, 
 The one lone watcher by my dead, 
 With cross-hilt dagger in my hand, 
 The every white lord of the land 
 Who wore a badge or claim'd command, 
 And offer'd me my life and all 
 Of titles, power, or of place, 
 I should have spat them in the face, 
 And spurn'd them every one. 
 I live as God gave me to live, 
 I see as God gave me to see. 
 'Tis not my nature to forgive, 
 Or cringe and plead, and bend the knee 
 To God or man in woe or weal, 
 In penitence I cannot feel. 
 
 " I do not question school nor creed 
 Of Christian, Protestant, or Priest; 
 I only know that creeds to me 
 Are but new names for mystery, 
 That God is good from east to east, 
 And more I do not know nor need
 
 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 To know, to love my neighbor well. 
 I take their dogmas, as they tell, 
 Their pictures of their Godly good, 
 In garments thick with heathen blood ; 
 Their heaven with its harps of gold, 
 Their horrid pictures of their hell, 
 Take hell and heaven undenied. 
 Yet were the two placed side by side, 
 Placed full before me for my choice, 
 As they are pictured, best and worst, 
 As they are peopled, tame and bold, 
 The canonized, and the accursed 
 Who dared to think, and thinking speak, 
 And speaking act, bold cheek to cheek, 
 I would in transports choose the first, 
 And enter hell with lifted voice. 
 
 " I laid my dead upon the pile, 
 And underneath the lisping oak 
 I watch' d the columns of dark smoke 
 Embrace her red lips, with a smile 
 Of frenzied fierceness. Then there came 
 A gleaming column of red flame, 
 That grew a grander monument
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 233 
 
 Above her nameless noble mould, 
 Than ever bronze or marble lent 
 To king or conqueror of old. 
 
 " It seized her in its hot embrace, 
 And leapt as if to reach the stars. 
 Then looking up I saw a face 
 So saintly and so sweetly fair, 
 So sad, so pitying, and so pure, 
 I nigh forgot the prison bars, 
 And for one instant, one alone, 
 I felt I could forgive, endure. 
 
 " I laid a circlet of white stone, 
 And left her ashes there alone. 
 But after many a white moon-wane 
 I sought that sacred ground again, 
 And saw the circle of white stone 
 With tall wild grasses overgrown. 
 I did expect, I know not why, 
 From out her sacred dust to find 
 Wild pinks and daisies blooming fair ; 
 And when I did not find them there 
 I almost deem'd her God unkind, 
 Less careful of her dust than I.
 
 234 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 a Then when the red shafts of the sun 
 , Came tipping down to where I stood, 
 I hail'd them with a redder one, 
 A lifted dagger red with blood, 
 And vow'd to dedicate my breath 
 To vengeance, for disgrace and death. 
 
 Go read the annals of the North, 
 And records there of many a wail, 
 Of marshalling and going forth 
 For missing sheriffs, and for men 
 Who fell, and none knew where nor when, 
 Who disappeared on mountain trail, 
 Or in some dense and narrow vale. 
 Go, traverse Trinity and Scott, 
 That curve their dark backs to the sun : 
 Go, court them all. Lo ! have they not 
 The chronicles of my wild life ? 
 My secrets on their lips of stone, 
 My archives built of human bone ? 
 Go, cross their wilds as I have done, 
 From snowy crest to sleeping vales,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 235 
 
 And you will find on every one 
 Enough to swell a thousand tales. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 " The soul cannot survive alone, 
 And hate will die, like other things ; 
 I felt an ebbing in my rage, 
 I hunger'd for the sound of one, 
 Just one familiar word, 
 Yearn'd but to hear my fellow speak, 
 Or sound of woman's mellow tone, 
 As beats the wild, imprison'd bird, 
 That long nor kind nor mate has heard, 
 With bleeding wings 
 And panting beak 
 Against its iron cage. 
 
 " I saw a low-roof 'd rancho lie, 
 Far, far below, at set of sun, 
 Along the foot-hills crisp and dun 
 A lone sweet star in lower sky ; 
 Saw children sporting to and fro, 
 The busy housewife come and go, 
 And white cows come at her command, 
 And none look'd larger than my hand.
 
 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 Then worn and torn, and tann'd and brown, 
 And heedless all, I hasten'd down ; 
 A wanderer wandering long and late, 
 I stood before the rustic gate. 
 
 " Two little girls, with brown feet bare, 
 And tangled, tossing, yellow hair, 
 Play'd on the green, fantastic dress'd, 
 Around a great Newfoundland brute 
 That lay half-resting on his breast, 
 And with his red mouth open'd wide 
 Would make believe that he would bite, 
 As they assail'd him left and right, 
 And then sprang to the other side, 
 And fill'd with shouts the willing air. 
 Oh sweeter far than lyre or lute 
 To my then hot and thirsty heart, 
 And better self so wholly mute, 
 Were those sweet voices calling there. 
 
 " Though some sweet scenes my eyes have seen, 
 Some melody my soul has heard, 
 No song of any maid, or bird, 
 Or splendid wealth of tropic scene,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 337 
 
 Or scene or song of anywhere, 
 Has my impulsive soul so stirrM, 
 Or touch 'd and thrill'd my every part, 
 Or fill'd me with such sweet delight, 
 As those young angels sporting there. 
 
 " The dog at sight of me arose, 
 And nobly stood, with lifted nose, 
 Afront the children, now so still, 
 And staring at me with a will. 
 ' Come in, come in,' the rancher cried, 
 As here and there the housewife hied; 
 ' Sit down, sit down, you travel late. 
 What news of politics or war ? 
 And are you tired ? Go you far ? 
 And where you from ? Be quick, my Kate, 
 This boy is sure in need of food.' 
 The little children close by stood, 
 And watch'd and gazed inquiringly, 
 Then came and climb'd upon my knee. 
 
 " That there 's my ma,' the eldest said, 
 And laugh'd and toss'd her pretty head ; 
 And then, half bating of her joy,
 
 238 FHE TALE OF THE 
 
 1 Have you a ma, you stranger boy ? 
 And there hangs Carlo on the wall 
 As large as life ; that mother drew 
 With berry stains upon a shred 
 Of tattered tent ; but hardly you 
 Would know the picture his at all, 
 For Carlo 's black, and this is red.' 
 Again she laughed, and shook her head, 
 And showered curls all out of place ; 
 Then sudden sad, she raised her face 
 To mine, and tenderly she said, 
 * Have you, like us, a pretty home ? 
 Have you, like me, a dog and toy ? 
 Where do you li ve, and whither roam ? 
 And where's your pa, poor stranger boy ? ' 
 
 "It seem'd so sweetly out of place 
 Again to meet my fellow-man; 
 I gazed and gazed upon his face 
 As something I had never seen. 
 The melody of woman's voice 
 Fell on my ear as falls the rain 
 Upon the weary, waiting plain. 
 I heard, and drank and drank again,
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 
 
 As earth with crack'd lips drinks the rain, 
 
 In green to revel and rejoice. 
 
 I ate with thanks my frugal food, 
 
 The first return' d for many a day. 
 
 I had met kindness by the way ! 
 
 I had at last encounter'd good ! 
 
 " I sought my couch, but not to sleep ; 
 New thoughts were coursing strong and deep 
 My wild impulsive passion-heart ; 
 I could not rest, my heart was moved, 
 My iron will forgot its part, 
 And I wept like a child reproved. 
 Never was Christian more devout, 
 Never was lowlier heart than mine, 
 Never has pious Moslem yet, 
 When bearded Muezzin's holy shout 
 Has echoed afar from minaret, 
 Knelt lowlier down to saint or shrine, 
 Than knelt that penitent soul of mine. 
 
 " I lay and pictured me a life 
 Afar from cold reproach or stain, 
 Or annals dark of blood and strife,
 
 240 THE TALE OF THE 
 
 From deadly perils or heart-pain ; 
 And at the breaking of the morn 
 I swung my arms from off the horn, 
 And turned to other scenes and lands 
 With lighten'd heart and whiten'd hands. 
 
 " Where orange-blossoms never die, 
 Where red fruits ripen all the year 
 Beneath a sweet and balmy sky, 
 Far from my language or my land, 
 Reproach, regret, or shame or fear, 
 I came in hope, I wander'd here 
 Yes, here ; and this red, bony hand 
 That holds this glass of ruddy cheer " 
 
 " 'Tis he ! " hissed the crafty advocate. 
 He sprang to his feet, and hot with hate 
 He reached his hands, and he called aloud, 
 " 'Tis the renegade of the red McCloud ! " 
 
 Then slow the Alcalde rose and spoke, 
 And the lightning flash'd from a cloud of hair, 
 " Hand me, touch me, him who dare ! " 
 And his heavy glass on the board of oak
 
 TALL ALCALDE. 
 
 241 
 
 He smote with such savage and mighty stroke, 
 
 It ground to dust in his bony hand, 
 
 And heavy bottles did clink and tip 
 
 As if an earthquake were in the land. 
 
 He tower'd up, and in his ire 
 
 Seem'd taller than any church's spire. 
 
 He gazed a moment and then, the while 
 
 An icy cold and defiant smile 
 
 Did curve his thin and his livid lip, 
 
 He turn'd on his heel, he strode through the hall 
 
 Grand as a god, so grandly tall, 
 
 And white and cold as a chisell'd stone. 
 
 He pass'd him out the adobe door 
 
 Into the night, and he pass'd alone, 
 
 And never was known nor heard of more.
 
 KIT CARSON'S RIDE.
 
 Boom! Room to turn round in, to breathe and be free, 
 And to grow to be giant, to sail as at sea 
 With the speed of the wind on a steed with his mane 
 To the wind, without pathway or route or a rein. 
 Boom ! Boom to be free where the white-bordered sea 
 Slows a kiss to a brother as boundless as he ; 
 And to east and to west, to the north and the sun, 
 Slue skies and brown grasses are welded as one, 
 And the buffalo come like a cloud on the plain, 
 Pouring on like the tide of a storm-driven main, 
 And the lodge of the hunter to friend or to foe 
 Offers rest ; and unquestioned you come or you go. 
 My plains of America ! Seas of wild lands ! 
 From a land in the seas in a raiment of foam, 
 That has reached to a stranger the welcome of home, 
 I turn to you, lean to you, lift you my hands. 
 
 LONDON. 1871.
 
 KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 
 
 T? ^"^ ** ^ ow vou ket y u 5 ^ rather guess so ! 
 
 But he's blind as a badger. Whoa, Faclie*, boy, 
 whoa. 
 
 No, you wouldn't believe it to look at his eyes, 
 But he is, badger blind, and it happened this wise, 
 
 " We lay in the grasses and the sun-burnt clover 
 That spread on the ground like a great brown cover 
 Northward and southward, and west and away 
 To the Brazos, to where our lodges lay, 
 One broad and unbroken sea of brown, 
 Awaiting the curtains of night to come down 
 To cover us over and conceal our flight 
 With ray brown bride, won from an Indian town 
 That lay in the rear the full ride of a night. 
 
 " We lounged in the grasses her eyes were in mine, 
 And her hands on my knee, and her hair was as wine
 
 246 KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 
 
 In its wealth and its flood, pouring on and all over 
 Her bosom wine-red, and pressed never by one ; 
 And her touch was as warm as the tinge of the clover 
 Burnt brown as it reached to the kiss of the sun, 
 And her words were as low as the lute-throated dove, 
 And as laden with love as the heart when it beats 
 In its hot eager answer to earliest love, 
 Or the bee hurried home by its burthen of sweets. 
 
 "We lay low in the grass on the broad plain levels, 
 Old Revels and I, and my stolen brown bride ; 
 And the heavens of blue and the harvest of brown 
 And beautiful clover were welded as one, 
 To the right and the left, in the light of the sun. 
 * Forty full miles if a foot to ride, 
 Forty full miles if a foot, and the devils 
 Of red Camanches are hot on the track 
 When once they strike it. Let the sun go down 
 Soon, very soon,' muttered bearded old Revels 
 As he peered at the sun, lying low on his back, 
 Holding fast to his lasso. Then he jerked at his steed 
 And he sprang to his feet, and glanced swiftly around, 
 And then dropped, as if shot, with his ear to the 
 ground :
 
 KIT CARSOWS RIDE. 247 
 
 Then again to his feet, and to me, to my bride, 
 While his eyes were like fire, his face like a shroud, 
 His form like a king, and his beard like a cloud, 
 And his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a reed, 
 ' Pull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed, 
 And speed you if ever for life you would speed, 
 And ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride ! 
 For the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire, 
 And feet of wild horses hard flying before 
 I hear like a sea breaking high on the shore, 
 "While the buffalo come like a surge of the sea, 
 Driven far by the flame, driving fast on us three 
 As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire.' 
 
 " We drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein, 
 Threw them on, sinched them on, sinched them over 
 
 again, 
 
 And again drew the girth, cast aside the macheers, 
 Cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash from its fold, 
 Cast aside the catenas red-spangled with gold, 
 And gold-mounted Colt's, the companions of years, 
 Cast the silken scrapes to the wind in a breath, 
 And so bared to the skin sprang all haste to the 
 
 horse
 
 248 KIT CARSOWS RIDE. 
 
 As bare as when born, as when new from the hand 
 Of God without word, or one word of command. 
 Turned head to the Brazos in a red race with death, 
 Turned head to the Brazos with a breath in the hair 
 Blowing hot from a king leaving death in his course ; 
 Turned head to the Brazos with a sound in the air 
 Like the rush of an army, and a flash in the eye 
 Of a red wall of fire reaching up to the sky, 
 Stretching fierce in pursuit of a black rolling sea 
 Rushing fast upon us, as the wind sweeping free 
 And afar from the desert blew hollow and hoarse. 
 
 " Not a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall, 
 Not a kiss from my bride, not a look nor low call 
 Of love-note or courage ; but on o'er the plain 
 So steady and still, leaning low to the mane, 
 With the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein, 
 Rode we on, rode we three, rode we nose and gray 
 
 nose, 
 Reaching long, breathing loud, as a creviced wind 
 
 blows : 
 
 Yet we broke not a whisper, we breathed not a prayer, 
 There was work to be done, there was death in the air, 
 And the chance was as one to a thousand for all
 
 KIT CARSOJVS RIDE. 249 
 
 '-/ " Gray nose to gray nose, and each steady mustang 
 Stretched neck and stretched nerve till the arid earth 
 
 rang, 
 And the foam from the flank and the croup and the 
 
 neck 
 
 Flew around like the spray on a storm-driven deck. 
 Twenty miles I ... thirty miles ! . . . a dim distant 
 
 speck . . . 
 
 Then a lang reaching line, and the Brazos in sight, 
 And I rose in my seat with a shout of delight. 
 I stood in my stirrup and looked to my right 
 But Revels was gone ; I glanced by my shoulder 
 And saw his horse stagger ; I saw his head drooping 
 Hard down on his breast, and his naked breast stoop- 
 ing 
 
 Low down to the mane, as so swifter and bolder 
 Ran reaching out for us the red-footed fire. 
 To right and to left the black buffalo came, 
 A terrible surf on a red sea of flame 
 Rushing on in the rear, reaching high, reaching higher. 
 And he rode neck to neck to a buffalo bull, 
 The monarch of millions, with shaggy mane full 
 Of smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire 
 Of battle, with rnge and with bellowings loud
 
 250 KIT CARSOATS RIDE. 
 
 And unearthly, and up through its lowering cloud 
 Came the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden fire, 
 While his keen crooked horns, through the storm of his 
 
 mane, 
 
 Like black lances lifted and lifted again ; 
 And I looked but this once, for the fire licked through, 
 And he fell and was lost, as we rode two and two. 
 
 ' "I looked to my left then and nose, neck, and 
 
 shoulder 
 
 Sank slowly, sank surely, till back to my thighs ; 
 And up through the black blowing veil of her hair 
 Did beam full in mine her two marvellous eyes, 
 With a longing and love, yet a look of despair 
 And of pity for me, as she felt the smoke fold her, 
 And flames reaching far for her glorious hair. 
 Her sinking steed faltered, his eager ears fell 
 To and fro and unsteady, and all the neck's swell 
 Did subside and recede, and the nerves fall as dead. 
 Then she saw sturdy Pache still lorded his head, 
 With a look of delight ; for nor courage nor bribe, 
 Nor naught but my bride, could have brought him 
 
 to me. 
 For he was her father's, and at South Santafee
 
 KIT CARSOWS RIDE. 251 
 
 Had once won a whole herd, sweeping every thing 
 
 down 
 
 In a race where the world came to run for the crown. 
 And so when I won the true heart of my bride 
 My neighbor's and deadliest enemy's child, 
 And child of the kingly war-chief of his tribe 
 She brought me this steed to the border the night 
 She met Revels and me in her perilous flight 
 From the lodge of the chief to the North Brazos side ; 
 And said, so half guessing of ill as she smiled, 
 As if jesting, that I, and I only, should ride 
 The fleet-footed Pache, so if kin should pursue 
 I should surely escape without other ado 
 Than to ride, without blood, to the North Brazos side, 
 And await her and wait till the next hollow moon 
 Hung her horn in the palms, when surely and soon 
 And swift she would join me, and all would be well 
 Without bloodshed or word. And now as she fell 
 From the front, and went down in the ocean of fire, 
 The last that I saw was a look of delight 
 That I should escape a love a desire 
 Yet never a word, not one look of appeal, 
 Lest I should reach hand, should stay hand or stay heel 
 One instant for her in my terrible flight.
 
 252 KIT CARSOWS RIDE. 
 
 I 3 " Then the rushing of fire around me and under, 
 And the howling of beasts and a sound as of thunder 
 Beasts burning and blind and forced onward and over, 
 As the passionate flame reached around them, and wove 
 
 her 
 
 Red hands in their hair, and kissed hot till they died 
 Till they died with a wild and a desolate moan, 
 As a sea heart-broken on the hard brown stone . . . 
 And into the Brazos ... I rode all alone 
 All alone, save only a horse long-limbed, 
 And blind and bare and burnt to the skin. 
 Then just as the terrible sea, came in 
 And tumbled its thousands hot into the tide, 
 Till the tide blocked up and the swift stream brimmed 
 In eddies, we struck on the opposite side. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Sell Pacha* blind Pach6 ? Now, mister, look here, 
 You have slept in my tent and partook of my cheer 
 Many days, many days, on this rugged frontier, 
 For the ways they were rough and Camanches were 
 
 near 
 
 But you 'd better pack up, sir ! That tent is too small 
 For us two after this ! Has an old mountaineer, 
 Do you book-men believe, got no turn-turn at all ?
 
 KIT CARSOWS RIDE. 253 
 
 Sell Pach<5 ! You buy him ! A bag fall of gold ! 
 You show him ! Tell of him the tale I have told ! 
 Why, he bore me through fire, and is blind, and is old ! 
 . . . Now pack up your papers, and get up and spin 
 To them cities you tell of ... Blast you and your tin ! "
 
 BURNS AND BYRON.
 
 Eld Druid oaks of Ayr! 
 Precepts! Poems! Pages! 
 Lessons ! Leaves, and Volume* I 
 Arches! Pillars I Columns 
 In corridors of ages ! 
 Grand patriarchal sages 
 Lifting palms in prayer ! 
 
 The Druid beards are drifting 
 And shifting to and fro, 
 In gentle breezes lifting, 
 That bat-like come and go, 
 The while the moon is sifting 
 A sheen of shining snow 
 On all these blossoms lifting 
 Their blue eyes from below. 
 
 No, 'tis not phantoms walking 
 That you hear rustling there, 
 But bearded Druids talking, 
 And turning leaves in prayer. 
 No, not a night-bird singing, 
 Nor breeze the broad bough swinging, 
 But that bough holds a censer, 
 And swings it to and fro. 
 'Tis Sunday eve remember, 
 That 's why they chant so low. 
 
 ATR, 1870.
 
 BURNS AND BYRON. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 THB day before my departure for Europe last summer, a small party 
 sailed out to the beautiful sea-front of Sauce"lito, lying in the great Bay 
 of San Francisco, forever green in its crown of California laurel; and 
 there the fairest hands of the youngest and fairest city of the N:W World 
 wove a wreath of bay for the tomb of Byron. I brought it over the 
 Rocky Mountains, and the seas, and placed it above the c ust of the 
 soldier-poet, as desired. The wreath hangs now on the dark and dusty 
 wall of the church at Hucknall Tokard above the tattered coat-of-arms 
 of the Byrons, and the small stained tablet placed there by the Poet's 
 sister. 
 
 Having come directly from Dumfries, I am bound to say that the con- 
 trast between the tombs of the two immortal poets was at least remark- 
 able. 
 
 But in my pilgrimage to places sacred to the memory of Bums, I found 
 none equal in interest to Ayr, the Doon, and their environs ; perhaps it 
 was because these places witnessed his birth, and his hard life's battles. 
 
 T LINGER in the autumn noon, 
 I listen to the partridge call, 
 I watch the yellow leaflets fall 
 And drift adown the dimpled Doon. 
 I lean me o'er the ivy-grown 
 Old brig, where Vandal tourists' tools 
 17
 
 358 BURNS AND BYRON. 
 
 Have ribb'd out names that would be known, 
 Are known known as a herd of fools. 
 
 Down Ailsa Craig the sun declines, 
 
 With lances levell'd here and there 
 The tinted thorns ! the trailing vines ! 
 
 braes of Boon! so fond, so fair! 
 So passing fair, so more than fond ! 
 The Poet's place of birth beyond, 
 
 Beyond the mellow bells of Ayr ! 
 
 1 hear the milk-maid's twilight song 
 Come bravely through the storm-bent oaks; 
 Beyond, the white surf's sullen strokes 
 
 Beat in a chorus deep and strong ; 
 I hear the sounding forge afar, 
 And rush and rumble of the car, 
 
 The steady tinkle of the bell 
 Of lazy, laden, home-bound cows 
 That stop to bellow and to browse ; 
 
 I breathe the soft sea- wind as well, 
 And now would fain arouse, arise ; 
 I count the red lights in the skies ; 
 
 I yield as to a fairy spell.
 
 BURNS AND BYRON. 
 
 Heard ye the feet of flying horse? 
 Heard ye the bogles in the air 
 That clutch at Tarn O'Shanter's mare, 
 
 That flies this mossy brig across ? 
 
 O Burns ! where bid ? where bide you now ? 
 Where are you in this night's full noon, 
 Great master of the pen and plough ? 
 Might you not on yon slanting beam 
 Of moonlight, kneeling to the Doon, 
 Descend once to this hallow'd stream ? 
 Sure yon stars yield enough of light 
 For heaven to spare your face one night. 
 
 O Burns ! another name for song, 
 Another name for passion pride ; 
 For love and poesy allied ; 
 For strangely blended right and wrong. 
 
 I picture you as one who kneel'd 
 A stranger at his own hearthstone ; 
 One knowing all, yet all unknown, 
 
 259
 
 a6o BURNS AND BYRON. 
 
 One seeing all, yet all conceal'd ; 
 
 The fitful years you linger'd here, 
 
 A lease of peril and of pain ; 
 
 And I am thankful yet again 
 
 The gods did love you, ploughman ! peer ! 
 
 In all your own and other lands, 
 I hear your touching songs of cheer ; 
 The peasant and the lordly peer 
 Above your honor'd dust strike hands. 
 
 A touch of tenderness is shown 
 In this unselfish love of Ayr, 
 And it is well, you earn'd it fair ; 
 For all unhelmeted, alone, 
 5Tou proved a ploughman's honest claim 
 To battle in the lists of fame ; 
 You earn'd it as a warrior earns 
 His laurels fighting for his land, 
 And died it was your right to go. 
 O eloquence of silent woe 1 
 The Master leaning reach'd a hand, 
 And whisper' d, " It is finish'd, Burns 1 "
 
 BURNS AND BYRON. 261 
 
 O sad, sweet singer of a Spring ! 
 Yours was a chill uncheerful May, 
 And you knew no full days of June ; 
 You ran too swiftly up the way, 
 And wearied soon, so over-soon ! 
 You sang in weariness and woe ; 
 You falter'd, and God heard you sing, 
 Then touch'd your hand and led you so, 
 You found life's hill-top low, so low, 
 You cross'd its summit long ere noon. 
 Thus sooner than one would suppose 
 Some weary feet will find repose. 
 
 O cold and cruel Nottingham! 
 In disappointment and in tears, 
 Sad, lost, and lonely, here I am 
 To question, " Is this Nottingham, 
 Of which I dream' d for years and years ? 
 I seek in vain for name or sign 
 Of him who made this mould a shrine, 
 A Mecca to the fair and fond 
 Beyond the seas, and still beyond.
 
 BURNS AND BYRON. 
 
 Where white clouds crush their drooping wing 
 Against the snow-crown 'd battlements, 
 And peaks that flash like silver tents ; 
 Where Sacramento's fountain springs, 
 And proud Columbia frets his shore 
 Of sombre, boundless wood and wold, 
 And lifts his yellow sands of gold 
 In plaintive murmurs evermore ; 
 Where snowy dimpled Tahoe smiles, 
 And where white breakers from the sea, 
 In solid phalanx knee to knee, 
 Surround the calm Pacific Isles, 
 Then run and reach unto the land 
 And spread their thin palms on the sand, 
 Is he supreme there understood : 
 The free can understand the free, 
 The brave and good the brave and good. 
 
 Yea, he did sin ; who hath reveal'd 
 That he was more than man, or less ? 
 Yet sinn'd no more, but less conceal'd 
 Than they who cloak'd their follies o'er, 
 And then cast stones in his distress. 
 He scorn'd to make the good seem more,
 
 BURNS AND BYRON. 263 
 
 Or make the bitter sin seem less. 
 And so his very manliness 
 The seeds of persecution bore. 
 
 When all his fervid wayward love 
 Brought back no olive-branch or dove, 
 Or love or trust from any one, 
 Proud, all unpitied and alone 
 He lived to make himself unknown, 
 Disdaining love and yielding none. 
 Like some high-lifted sea-girt stone 
 That could not stoop, but all the days, 
 With proud brow turning to the breeze, 
 Felt seas blown from the south, and seas 
 Blown from the north, and many ways, 
 He stood a solitary light 
 In stormy seas and settled night 
 Then fell, but stirr'd the seas as far 
 As winds and waves and waters are. 
 
 The meek-eyed stars are cold and white 
 And steady, fix'd for all the years ; 
 The comet burns the wings of night, 
 And dazzles elements and spheres.
 
 264 BURNS AND BYRON. 
 
 Then dies in beauty and a blaze 
 
 Of light, blown far through other days. 
 
 The poet's passion, sense of pride, 
 His sentiment, the wooing throng 
 Of sweet temptations that betide 
 The wild and wayward child of song, 
 The world knows not: I lift a hand 
 To ye who know, who understand. 
 
 In men whom men condemn as ill 
 I find so much of goodness still, 
 In men whom men pronounce divine 
 I find so much of sin and blot, 
 I hesitate to draw a line 
 Between the two, where God has not. 
 ***** 
 
 In sad but beautiful decay 
 Gray Hucknall kneels into the dust, 
 And, cherishing her sacred trust, 
 Does blend her clay with lordly clay. 
 
 The ancient Abbey's breast is broad, 
 And stout her massive walls of stone ;
 
 BURNS AND BYRON. 265 
 
 But let him lie, repose alone 
 Ungather'd with the great of God, 
 In dust, by his fierce fellow-man. 
 Some one, some day, loud-voiced will speak 
 And say the broad breast was not broad, 
 The walls of stone were all too weak 
 To hold the proud dust, in their plan ; 
 The hollow of God's great right hand 
 Receives it ; let it rest with God. 
 
 No sign or cryptic stone or cross 
 Unto the passing world has said, 
 " He died, and we deplore his loss." 
 No sound of sandall'd pilgrim's tread 
 Disturbs the pilgrim's peaceful rest, 
 Or frets the proud impatient breast. 
 The bat flits through the broken pane, 
 The black swift swallow gathers moss, 
 And builds in peace above his head, 
 Then goes, then comes, and builds again. 
 And it is well ; not otherwise 
 Would he, the grand sad singer, will. 
 The serene peace of paradise 
 He sought 'tis his the storm is still.
 
 266 BURNS AND BYRON. 
 
 Secure in his eternal fame, 
 And blended pity and respect, 
 He does not feel the cold neglect, 
 And England does not fear the shame. 
 
 NOTTINGHAM, 1870.
 
 MYRRH.
 
 Life, knows no dead so beautiful 
 As is the white cold coffirfd past; 
 This I may love nor be betraifd : 
 The dead are faithful to the last. 
 I am not spouseless / have wed 
 A memory a life that 's dead.
 
 MYRRH. 
 
 "PAREWELL ! for here the ways at last 
 
 Divide diverge, like delta'd Nile, 
 Which after desert dangers pass'd 
 Of many and many a thousand mile, 
 As constant as a column stone, 
 Seeks out the sea, divorced alone. 
 
 And you and I have buried Love, 
 A red seal on the coffin's lid ; 
 The clerk below, the Court above, 
 Pronounced it dead : the corpse is hid. 
 And I who never crossed your will 
 Consent . . . that you may have it stilL 
 
 Farewell ! a sad word easy said 
 And easy sung, I think, by some . . . 
 ... I clutched my hands, I turned my head 
 In my endeavor, and was dumb;
 
 270 MYRRH. 
 
 And when I should have said, Farewell, 
 I only munnur'd, " This is hell." 
 
 What recks it now whose was the blame ? 
 But call it mine ; for better used 
 Am I to wrong and cold disdain, 
 Can better bear to be accused 
 Of all that wears the shape of shame, 
 Than have you bear one touch of blame. 
 
 I know yours was the lighter heart, 
 And yours the hope of grander meed ; 
 Yet did I falter in my part '; 
 But there is weakness in defeat, 
 And I had felt its iron stride 
 While your young feet were yet untried. 
 
 I set my face for power and place, 
 My soul is toned to sullenness, 
 My heart holds not one sign nor trace 
 Of love, or trust, or tenderness. 
 But you your years of happiness 
 God knows I would not make them less.
 
 MYRRH. 271 
 
 And yet it were a bootless strife ; 
 Too soon and sudden up the way 
 I hurried in the spring of life, 
 And wearied ere the noon of day. 
 I did not reach was it a crime 
 That my life knew no summer-time ? 
 
 And you will come some summer eve, 
 When wheels the white moon on her track, 
 And hear the plaintive night-bird grieve, 
 And heed the crickets clad in black ; 
 Alone not far a little spell, 
 And say, " Well, yes, he loved me well ; " 
 
 And sigh, " Well, yes, 1 mind me now 
 None were so bravely true as he ; 
 And yet his love was tame somehow, 
 It was so truly true to me ; 
 I wished his patient love had less 
 Of worship and of tenderness : 
 
 " I wish it still, for thus alone 
 There comes a keen reproach or pain 
 A feeling I dislike to own ;
 
 373 MYRRH. 
 
 Half yearnings for his voice again, 
 Half longings for his earnest gaze, 
 To know him mine always always." 
 
 I make no murmur : steady, calm, 
 Sphinx-like I gaze on days ahead. 
 No wooing word, no pressing palm, 
 No sealing love with lips seal-red, 
 No waiting for some dusk or dawn, 
 Or sacred hour ... all are gone. 
 
 I go alone : no little hands 
 To lead me from forbidden ways, 
 No little voice in other lands 
 Shall cheer through all the weary days ; 
 Yet these are yours, and that to me 
 Is much indeed ... So let it be ... 
 
 ... A last look from my mountain wall 
 I watch the red sun wed the sea 
 Beside your home . . . the tides will fall 
 And rise, but nevermore shall we 
 Stand hand in hand and watch them flow, 
 As we once stood . . . Christ ! this is so 1
 
 MYRRH-. 273 
 
 But, when the stately sea comes in 
 With measured tread and mouth afoam, 
 My darlings cry above the din, 
 And ask, " Has father yet come home ? " 
 Then look into the peaceful sky, 
 And answer, gently, " By and by." 
 ***** 
 
 One deep spring in a desert sand, 
 One mossed and mystic pyramid, 
 A lonely palm on either hand, 
 A fountain in a forest hid, 
 Are all my life has realized 
 Of all I cherish'd, all I prized : 
 
 Of all I dream'd in early youth 
 Of love by streams and love-lit ways, 
 While my heart held its type of truth 
 Through all the tropic golden days, 
 And I the oak, and you the vine, 
 Clung palm in palm through cloud or shine. 
 
 Some time when clouds hang overhead, 
 (What weary skies without one cloud ! ) 
 You may muse on this love that *s dead, 
 18
 
 874 MYRRH. 
 
 Muse calm when not so young or proud, 
 And say, " At last it comes to me, 
 That none was ever true as he." 
 
 My sin was that I loved so much 
 But I enlisted for the war, 
 Till we the deep-sea shore should touch, 
 Beyond Atlanta near or far 
 And truer soldier never yet 
 Bore shining sword or bayonet. 
 
 I did not blame you do not blame. 
 The stormy elements of soul 
 That I did scorn to tone or tame, 
 Or bind down unto dull control 
 In rail fierce youth, they all are yours, 
 With all their folly and their force. 
 
 God keep you pure, oh, very pure, 
 God give you grace to dare and do ; 
 God give you courage to endure 
 The all He may demand of you, 
 Keep time-frosts from your raven hair, 
 And your young heart without a care.
 
 MYRRH. 275 
 
 I make no murmur nor complain ; 
 Above me are the stars and blue 
 Alluring far to grand refrain ; 
 Before, the beautiful and true, 
 To love or hate, to win or lose ; 
 Lo! I will now arise, and choose. 
 
 But should you sometime read a sign, 
 A name among the princely few, 
 In isles of song beyond the brine, 
 Then you will think a time, and you 
 "Will turn and say, " He once was mine, 
 Was all my own ; his smiles, his tears 
 Were mine were mine for years and years." 
 
 Blue Mountains, Oregon, 1870.
 
 EVEN SO.
 
 Bierras, and eternal tents 
 Of snow that flash o'er battlements 
 Of mountains ! My land of the sun. 
 Am I not true ? have I not done 
 All things for thine, for thee alone, 
 sun-land, sea-land, thou mine o\cn f 
 From other loves anJ other lands. 
 As true, perhaps, as strong of hands. 
 Have I not turned to thee and thine, 
 sun-land of the palm and pine, 
 And sung thy scenes, surpassing skies, 
 Till Europe lifted up her face 
 And marvelled at thy matchless grace, 
 With eager and inquiring eyes ? 
 Be my reward some little place 
 To pitch my tent, some tree and vine 
 Where I may sit above the sea, 
 And drink the sun as drinking wine t 
 And dream, or sing some songs of thee; 
 Or days to climb to Shasta's dome 
 Again, and be with gods at home, 
 Salute my mountains, clouded Hood, 
 Saint Helens in its sea of wood, 
 Where sweeps the Oregon, and where 
 White storms are in the feathered fir. 
 
 AIIIKXS, 1870.
 
 EVEN SO. 
 
 OHE was not full tall, was not fairer than others, 
 
 But there was in her eyes, so proud and glorious, 
 A dream, a wonder, a dangerous witchery ; 
 And when into yours they did look steadfastly 
 With a longing and trust as if asking sympathy, 
 As in talk, low-voiced, with your soul in confidence, 
 While her rich rail lips, red-pouting and luscious, 
 Kept forth sweet-blended their mirth and sentiment, 
 A battery shelter'd by a brown flood of tresses, 
 That lay or lifted in the warm winds fretted 
 About a brow of most marvellous beauty 
 You were less of a man than I should desire 
 To know much of, to have been unmoved. 
 
 Where pine-tops toss curly clouds to heaven 
 And shake them far like to downs of thistle, 
 In a rift of canon cleft so asunder 
 That it seem'd as 'twere earth's lips half open'd 
 Where men wrought gold from the rock-ribb'd ruoua- 
 tain,
 
 *8o EVEN SO. 
 
 She patient abode with her faithful mother. 
 And brawny giants, men brown'd and bearded, 
 Did bless the brown earth as she walk'd upon it, 
 And call her more pure than their yellow gold treasures, 
 
 By the trails sometimes that wound round the moun- 
 tain 
 
 Above brave men toiling long at the sluices, 
 The cheery girl passing would kind and playful 
 Call to them all kind words of encouragement, 
 Then awake the echoes of the frowning mountains 
 With gushing laugh at their honest answers, 
 And pass then on in a blaze of glory. 
 They, blessing her heart, would then put from them 
 Their coarser thoughts, and, bent to the boulders, 
 Would recall fair faces far over the water, 
 And be, for her, the happier and better 
 For many and many a day thereafter. 
 
 In the shadows a-west of the sunset mountains, 
 Where old-time giants had dwelt and peopled, 
 And built up cities and castled battlements, 
 And rear'd up pillars that pierced the heavens, 
 A poet dwelt, of the book of Nature
 
 EVEN SO. - 281 
 
 An ardent lovei of the pure and beautiful, 
 Devoutest lover of the true and beautiful, 
 Profoundest lover of the grand and beautiful 
 With a heart all impulse, intensest passion, 
 Who believed in love as in God Eternal 
 A dream while the waken'd world went over, 
 An Indian summer of the sullen seasons ; 
 And he sang wild songs like the wind in cedars, 
 Was tempest-toss'd as the pines, yet ever 
 As fix'd in truth as they in the mountains. 
 
 He had heard her name as one hears of a princess, 
 Her glory had come unto him in stories ; 
 From afar he had look'd as entranced upon her ; 
 He gave her name to the wind in measures, 
 And he heard her name in the deep-voiced cedars, 
 And afar in the winds rolling on like the billows. 
 Her name in the name of another for ever 
 Gave all his numbers their grandest strophes ; 
 He enshrined her image in his heart's high temple, 
 And saint-like held her, too sacred for mortaL 
 ****** 
 
 He came to fall like a king of the forest 
 Caught in the strong stormy arms of the wrestler;
 
 282 EVEN SO. 
 
 Forgetting his songs, his crags and his mountains, 
 
 And nearly his God, in his wild deep passion ; 
 
 And when he had won her and turn'd him homeward, 
 
 With the holiest pledges love gives its lover, 
 
 The mountain route was as strewn with roses. 
 
 Can a high love then be a thing unholy, 
 
 To make us better and bless'd supremely ? 
 
 The day was fix'd for the feast and nuptials , 
 
 He crazed with impatience at the tardy hours ; 
 
 He flew in the face of old Time as a tyrant : 
 
 He had fought the days that stood still between them, 
 
 One by one, as you fight with a foeman, 
 
 Had they been animate and sensate beings. 
 
 At last then the hour came coldly forward. 
 When Mars was trailing his lance on the mountains 
 He rein'd his steed and look'd down in the canon 
 To where she dwelt, with a heart of fire ; 
 He kiss'd his hand to the smoke slow curling, 
 Then bow'd his head in devotitest blessing. 
 His spotted courser did plunge and fret him 
 Beneath his gay and silk-fringed carona, 
 And toss his neck in a black mane bauner'd ;
 
 EVEN SO. 283 
 
 Then all afoam, plunging iron-footed, 
 Dash'd him adown with a wild impatience. 
 
 A coldness met him, like the breath of a cavern, 
 As he joyously hasten'd across the threshold. 
 She came, and coldly she spoke and scornful, 
 In answer to warm and impulsive passion. 
 A.11 things did array them in shapes most hateful, 
 And life did seem but a jest intolerable. 
 He dared to question her why this estrangement : 
 She spoke with a strange and stiff indifference, 
 And bade him go on all alone life's journey. 
 
 Stern then and tall he did stand up before her, 
 And gaze dark-brow'd through the low narrow casement 
 For a time, as if warring in thought with a passion ; 
 Then, crushing hard down the hot welling bitterness, 
 He folded his form in a sullen silentness 
 And turn'd for ever away from her presence : 
 Bearing his sorrow like some great burden, 
 Like a black night-mare in his hot heart muffled ; 
 With his faith in the truth of woman all shatter'd 
 Like the shell of the cocoa dash'd to pieces 
 On the stones below from its stately bower.
 
 284 EVEN SO. 
 
 He heard a laughter as if in mockery, 
 
 And, vaulting his saddle, he did take his journey 
 
 Through the densest wood by the darkest windings, 
 
 As the things best fitting his fate and humor, 
 
 And hurl'd a xiurse back over his shoulder. 
 
 Another had woo'd her, one gay, of earth earthy, 
 
 Another had won her, a gay dashing soldier 
 
 With gold epaulets and a uniform polish'd, 
 
 With sword and red sash, and a tongue swift and ready 
 
 With loud talk of battles, of fine deeds of daring, 
 
 That wins so most willing the ear of all women, 
 
 He did win this jewel from the lordly mountain, 
 
 Of its wealth never counting, its worth never dreaming, 
 
 In truth not possessing one sense so accomplished 
 
 He could know its value had it all been told him. 
 
 'Mid Theban pillars, where sang the Pindar, 
 Breathing the breath of the Grecian islands, 
 Breathing in spices and olive and myrtle, 
 Counting the caravans, curl'd and snowy, 
 Slow journeying over his head to Mecca 
 Or the high Christ-land of most holy memory, 
 Counting the clouds through the boughs 'above him.
 
 EVEN SO 283 
 
 That brush'd white marbles that time had chisell'd 
 And reared as tombs on the great dead city, 
 Letter'd with solemn but unread moral 
 A poet rested in the red-hot summer. 
 He took no note of the things about him, 
 But dream'd and counted the clouds above him ; 
 His soul was troubled, and his sad heart's Mecca 
 Was a miner's home far over the ocean, 
 Banner'd by pines that did brush the heavens. 
 
 When the sun went down on the bronzed Morea, 
 He read to himself from the lines of sorrow 
 That came as a wail from the one he worshipp'd, 
 Sent over the seas by an old companion : 
 They spoke no word of him, or remembrance. 
 And he was sad, for he felt forgotten, 
 And said : " In the leaves of her fair heart's album 
 She has cover'd my face with the face of another. 
 Let the great sea lift like a wall between us, 
 High-back'd, with his mane of white storms for ever 
 I shall learn to love, I shall wed my sorrow, 
 I shall take as a spouse the days that are perish'd ; 
 I shall dwell in a land where the march of genius 
 Made tracks in marble in the days of giants ;
 
 286 EVEN SO. 
 
 I shall sit in the ruins where sat the Marius, 
 Gray with the ghosts of the great departed." 
 And then he said in the solemn twilight . . . 
 
 " Strangely wooing are the worlds above us, 
 Strangely beautiful is the Faith of Islam, 
 Strangely sweet are the songs of Solomon, 
 Strangely tender are the teachings of Jesus, 
 Strangely cold is the sun on the mountains, 
 Strangely mellow is the moon in old ruins, 
 Strangely pleasant are the stolen waters, 
 Strangely simple and unwooing is virtue, 
 Strangely lighted is the North night-region, 
 Strangely strong are the streams in the ocean, 
 Strangely true are the tales of the Orient, 
 Strangely winning is a dark-eyed widow, 
 Strangely wayward are the ways of lovers, 
 But stranger than all are the ways of women." 
 
 His head on his hands and his hands on the marble, 
 Alone in the moonlight he slept in the ruins ; 
 And a form was before him white-mantled in moonlight, 
 And bitter he said to the one he had worshipped:
 
 EVEN SO. 287 
 
 " Your hands in mine, your face, your eyes 
 Look level into mine, and mine 
 Are not abashed in anywise, 
 As eyes were in an elder syne. 
 Perhaps the pulse is colder now, 
 And blood comes tamer to the brow 
 Because of hot blood long ago . . . 
 Withdraw your hand ? . . . Well, be it so, 
 And turn your bent head slow sidewise, 
 For recollections are as seas 
 That come and go in tides, and these 
 Are flood-tides filling to the eyes. 
 
 " How strange that you above the vale 
 And I below the mountain wall 
 Should walk and meet ! . . . Why, you are pale ! . . . 
 Strange meeting on the mountain fringe 1 ... 
 . . . More strange we ever met at all ! ... 
 Tides come and go, we know their time ; 
 The moon, we know her wane or prime : 
 But who knows how the fates may hinge ? 
 
 " You stand before me here to-night,
 
 288 EVEN SO. 
 
 But not beside me, not beside 
 
 Are beautiful, but not a bride. 
 
 Some things I recollect aright, 
 
 Though full a dozen years are done 
 
 Since we two met one winter night 
 
 Since I was crush'd as by a fall ; 
 
 For I have watched and pray'd through all 
 
 The shining circles of the sun. 
 
 " I saw you where sad cedars wave ; 
 I sought you in a dewy eve 
 When shining crickets trill and grieve : 
 You smiled, and I became a slave. 
 A slave ! I worshipped you at night, 
 When all the blue field blossom'd red 
 With dewy roses overhead 
 In sweet and delicate delight. 
 I was devout. I knelt at night, 
 I knelt at noon, and tried to pray 
 To Him who doeth all things well. 
 I tried in vain to break the spell ; 
 My prison'd soul refused to rise 
 And image saints in Paradise,
 
 EVEN SO. 289 
 
 While one was here before my eyes. 
 You came between alway, alway. 
 
 " Some things are sooner marred than made 
 The moon was white, cne stars a-chill 
 A frost fell on a soul that night, 
 And lips were whiter, colder still. 
 A soul was black that erst was white. 
 And you forget the place the night ! 
 Forget that aught was done or said 
 Say this has pass'd a long decade 
 Say not a single tear was shed 
 Say you forget these little things ! 
 Js not your recollection loath ? 
 Well, little bees have bitter stings, 
 And I remember for us both. 
 
 " No, not a tear. Do men complain ? 
 The outer wound will show a stain, 
 And we may shriek at idle pain ; 
 But pierce the heart, and not a word, 
 Or wail, or sign, is seen or heard.
 
 29 o EVEN SO. 
 
 " I did not blame I do not blame. 
 My wild heart turns to you the same, 
 Such as it is ; but oh, its meed 
 Of faithfulness and trust and truth, 
 And gushing confidence of youth, 
 I caution you, is small indeed. 
 
 " I follow'd you, I worshipp'd you, 
 And I would follow, worship still ; 
 But if I felt the blight and chill 
 Of frosts in my uncheerful spring, 
 And show it now in riper years 
 In answer to this love you bring 
 In answer to this second love, 
 This wail of an unmated dove, 
 In cautious answer to your tears 
 You, you know who taught me disdain. 
 But deem you I would deal you pain ? 
 I joy to know your heart is light, 
 I journey glad to know it thus, 
 And could I dare to make it less ? 
 Yours you are day, but I am night. 
 
 " God knows I would descend to-day
 
 EVEN SO. 291 
 
 Devoutly on my knees, and pray 
 
 Your way might be one path of peace 
 
 Through bending boughs and blossom'd trees, 
 
 And perfect bliss through roses fair; 
 
 But know you, back one long decade 
 
 How fervently, how fond I pray'd ? 
 
 What was the answer to that prayer ? 
 
 The tale is old, and often told 
 And lived by more than you suppose 
 The fragrance of a summer rose 
 Press'd down beneath the stubborn lid, 
 When sun and song are hush'd and hid, 
 And summer days are gray and old. 
 
 " We parted so. Amid the bays 
 And peaceful palms and song and shade 
 Your cheerful feet in pleasure stray'd 
 Through all the swift and shining days. 
 
 " You made my way another way, 
 
 Tou bade it should not be with thine 
 
 A fierce and cheerless route was mine : 
 
 But we have met, at last, to-day. 
 
 19
 
 292 EVE A SO. 
 
 " You talk of tears of bitter tears 
 And tell of tyranny and wrong, 
 And I re-live some stinging jeers, 
 Back, far back, in the leaden years. 
 A lane without a turn is long, 
 I muse, and whistle a reply 
 Then bite my lips to crush a sigh. 
 
 " You sympathize that I am sad, 
 I sigh for you that you complain, 
 I shake my yellow hair in vain, 
 I laugh with lips, but am not glad. 
 
 ..." His was a hot love of the hours, 
 And love and lover both are flown, 
 And you walk, like a ghost, alone. 
 He sipp'd your sunny lips, and he 
 Took all their honey : now the beo 
 Bends down the heads of other flowers, 
 And other lips lift up to kiss . . . 
 ... I am not cruel, yet I find 
 A savage solace for the mind 
 And sweet delight in saying this . . .
 
 EVEN SO. 
 
 Now you are silent, white, and you 
 Lift up your hands as making sign, 
 And your rich lips lie thin and blue 
 And ashen . . . and you writhe, and you 
 Breathe quick and tremble ... is it true 
 The soul takes wounds, gives blood like wine ? 
 
 . . " No, not so lonely now I love 
 A forest maiden : she is mine ; 
 And on Sierras' slopes of pine, 
 The vines below, the snows above, 
 A solitary lodge is set 
 Within a fringe of watered firs ; 
 And there my wigwam fires burn, 
 Fed by a round brown patient hand, 
 That small brown faithful hand of hers 
 That never rests till my return. 
 The yellow smoke is rising yet ; 
 Tiptoe, and see it where you stand 
 Lift like a column from the land. 
 
 u There are no sea-gems in her hair, 
 No jewels fret her dimpled hands, 
 And half her bronzen limbs are bare 
 
 293
 
 294 EVEN SO. 
 
 But round brown arms have golden bands, 
 
 Broad, rich, and by her cunning hands 
 
 Cut from the yellow virgin ore, 
 
 And she does not desire more. 
 
 I wear the beaded wampum belt 
 
 That she has wove the sable pelt 
 
 That she has fringed red threads around j 
 
 And in the morn, when men are not, 
 
 I wake the valley with the shot 
 
 That brings the brown deer to the ground. 
 
 And she beside the lodge at noon 
 
 Sings with the wind, while baby swings 
 
 In sea-shell cradle by the bough 
 
 Sings low, so like the clover sings 
 
 With swarm of bees ; I hear her now, 
 
 I see her sad face through the moon . . . 
 
 Such songs! would earth had more of such 1 
 
 She has not much to say, and she 
 
 Lifts never voice to question me " 
 
 In aught I do ... and that is much. 
 
 I love her for her patient trust, 
 
 And my love's fortyfold return 
 
 A value I have not to learn 
 
 As you ... at least, as many must . . .
 
 EVEN SO. 295 
 
 . . . She is not over tall or fair; 
 Her breasts are curtained by her hair, 
 And sometimes, through the silken fringe, 
 I see her bosom's wealth, like wine, 
 Burst through in luscious ruddy tinge 
 And all its wealth and worth are mine. 
 I know not that one drop of blood 
 Of prince or chief is in her veins : 
 I simply say that she is good, 
 And loves me with pure womanhood. 
 . . . When that is said, why, what remains? 
 
 ..." You seem so most uncommon tall 
 Against the lonely ghostly moon, 
 That hurries homeward oversoon, 
 And hides behind you and the pines ; 
 And your two hands hang cold and small, 
 And your two thin arms lie like vines, 
 Or winter moonbeams on a wall. 
 . . . What if you be a weary ghost, 
 And I but dream, and dream I wake? 
 Then wake me not, and my mistake 
 Is not so bad : let's make the most 
 Of all we get, asleep, awake
 
 296 EVEN SO. 
 
 Take all we get with greedy cheek, 
 And waste not one sweet thing at all; 
 God knows that, at the best, life brings 
 The soul's share so exceeding small 
 That many mighty souls grow weak 
 And weary for some better things, 
 And hungered even unto death. 
 Laugh loud, be glad with ready breath, 
 For after all are joy and grief 
 Not merely matters of belief? 
 And what is certain, after all, 
 But death, delightful, patient death? 
 O cool and perfect peaceful sleep, 
 Without one tossing hand, or deep 
 Sad sigh and catching in of breath ! 
 
 "Be satisfied. The price of breath 
 Is paid in toil. But knowledge is 
 Bought only with a weary care, 
 And wisdom means a world of pain . . 
 Well, we have suffered, will again, 
 And we can work and wait and bear, 
 Strong in the certainty of bliss. 
 Death is delightful : after death
 
 EVEN SO. 297 
 
 Breaks in the dawn of perfect day. 
 Let question he who will : the may 
 Throws fragrance far beyond the wall. 
 I pass no word with such : 'tis fit 
 To pity such : therefore I say 
 Be wise and make the best of it ; 
 Content and strong against the fall. 
 
 Death is delightful. Death is dawn, 
 The waking from a weary night 
 Of fevers unto truth and light. 
 Fame is not much, love is not much, 
 Tet what else is there worth the touch 
 Of lifted hands with dagger drawn ? 
 So surely life is little worth : 
 Therefore I say, Look up ; therefore 
 I say, One little star has more 
 Bright gold than all the earth of earth. 
 
 " Yet we must labor, plant to reap 
 Life knows no folding up of hands 
 Must plough the soul, as ploughing lands, 
 In furrows fashioned strong and deep. 
 Life has its lesson. Let us learn
 
 398 EVEN SO. 
 
 The hard long lesson from the birth, 
 And be content ; stand breast to breast, 
 And bear and battle till the rest. 
 Yet I look to yon stars, and say, 
 Thank Christ, ye are so far away 
 That when I win you I can turn 
 And look, and see no sign of earth. 
 
 ..." You stand up so uncommon tall, 
 Your back against the falling moon, 
 And all your limbs are still, and all 
 Your raiment is as snow and stone. 
 What if I called you mine, my own ? 
 What if I kissed you, mouth to mouth, 
 Jn all the passion of my South, 
 And should possess you oversoon ? " . . . 
 
 He reached ... he touched the marble stone : 
 He started up, he stood alone, 
 And up against the Grecian sky 
 White-marbled desolation stood. 
 The gaunt wolf hurried to the wood, 
 Within the wall, the owlet's cry
 
 EVEN SO. 299 
 
 Was only heard ; the silent blonde, 
 The brown wife with her babe at noon 
 That blessed him in the land beyond, 
 The mountain scene, the cedar trees, 
 The stormy and uncertain seas, 
 And all that he did see or seem 
 To see, had faded as a dream, 
 And fallen with the marble moon.
 
 SONGS OF THE SUN-LANDS.

 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 PABTL
 
 Primeval forests ! virgin sod ! 
 
 That Saxon hath not ravish'd yet.' 
 Lo ! peak on peak in column set, 
 
 In stepping stairs that reach to God ! 
 
 Here we are free as sea or wind, 
 For here are set the snowy Lents 
 In everlasting battlements, 
 
 Against the march of Saxon mind.
 
 i 
 SONGS OF THE SUN-LANDS. 
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 "f T 7ELL ! who shall lay hand on my harp but me, 
 
 Or shall chide my song from the sounding trees ? 
 The passionate sun and the resolute sea, 
 These were my masters, and only these. 
 
 These were my masters, and only these, 
 And these from the first I obey'd, and they 
 Shall command me now, and I shall obey 
 
 As a dutiful child that is proud to please. 
 
 There never were measures as true as the sun, 
 The sea hath a song that is passingly sweet, 
 And yet they repeat, and repeat, and repeat, 
 
 The same old runes though the new years run. 
 
 - 4
 
 10 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 By unnamed rivers of the Oregon north, 
 That roll dark-heaved into turbulent hills, 
 I have made my home. . . . The wild heart thrills 
 
 With memories fierce, and a world storms forth. 
 
 On eminent peaks that are dark with pine, 
 And mantled in shadows and voiced in storms, 
 I have made my camps : majestic gray forms 
 
 Of the thunder-clouds, they were companions of mine ; 
 
 And face set to face, like to lords austere, 
 
 Have we talk'd, red-tongued, of the mysteries 
 Of the circling sun, of the oracled seas, 
 
 While ye who judged me had mantled in fear. 
 
 Some fragment of thought in the unfinish'd words ; 
 
 A cry of fierce freedom, and I claim no more. 
 
 What more would you have from the tender of herds 
 And of horse on an ultimate Oregon shore ? 
 
 From men unto God go forth, as alone, 
 
 Where the dark pines talk in their tones of the sea 
 
 To the unseen God in a harmony 
 Of the under seas, and know the unknown.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. II 
 
 *Mid white Sierras, that slope to the sea, 
 Lie turbulent lands. Go dwell in the skies, 
 
 And the thundering tongues of Yosemite 
 
 Shall persuade you to silence, and you shall be wise. 
 
 Yea, men may deride, and the thing it is well ; 
 Turn well and aside from the one wild note 
 To the song of the bird with the tame, sweet throat 
 
 But the sea sings on in his cave and shell. 
 
 Let the white moons ride, let the red stars fall, 
 O great, sweet sea ! O fearful and sweet 1 
 Thy songs they repeat, and repeat, and repeat: 
 
 And these, I say, shall survive us all. 
 
 I but sing for the love of song and the few 
 Who loved me first and shall love me last ; 
 And the storm shall pass as the storms have pass'd, 
 
 For never were clouds but the sun came through. 

 
 PART I. 
 
 T"j\A.R up in the hush of the Amazon River, 
 
 And mantled and hung in the tropical trees, 
 There are isles as grand as the isles of the seas ; 
 
 And the waves strike strophes, and keen reeds quiver, 
 
 As the sudden canoe shoots apast them and over 
 The strong, still tide to the opposite shore, 
 Where the blue-eyed men by the sycamore 
 
 Sit mending their nets 'neath the vine-twined cover; 
 
 Sit weaving their threads of bark and of grasses, 
 They wind and they spin, on the "clumsy wheel, 
 Into hammocks red-hued with the cochinearl, 
 
 To trade with the single black ship that passes, 
 
 With foreign old freightage of curious old store, 
 And as still and as slow as if half asleep, 
 A cunning old trader that loves to creep 
 
 Above and adown in the shade of the shore.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 13 
 
 And the blue-eyed men that are mild as the dawns 
 Oh, delicate dawns of the grand Andes ! 
 Lift np soft eyes that are deep like seas, 
 
 And mild yet wild as the red-white fawns' ; 
 
 And they gaze into yours, then weave, then listen, 
 Then look in wonder, then again weave on, 
 Then again look wonder that you are not gone, 
 
 While the keen reeds quiver and the bent waves glisten J 
 
 v. 
 
 But they say no words while they weave and wonder, 
 Though they sometimes sing, voiced low like the dove, 
 And as deep and as rich as their tropical love, 
 
 A-weaving their net threads through and under. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yea, a pure, true people you may trust are these, 
 That weave their threads where the quick leaves 
 
 quiver ; 
 And this is their tale of the Isles of the river, 
 
 And the why that their eyes are so blue like seas,
 
 14 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 And the why that the men draw water and bear 
 The wine or the water in the wild boar skin, 
 And do live in the woods, and do weave and spin, 
 
 And so bear with the women full burthen and share. 
 
 vn. 
 
 A curious old tale of a curious old time, 
 That is told you betimes by a quaint old crone, 
 Who sits on the rim of an island alone, 
 
 As ever was told you in story or rhyme. 
 
 Ylll. 
 
 Her brown, bare feet dip down to the river, 
 And dabble and plash to her comical tone ; 
 And she holds in her hands a strange green stone, 
 
 As she talks to the boat where the bent reeds quiver. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And the quaint old crone has a singular way 
 Of holding her head to the side and askew, 
 And smoothing the stone in her palms all day, 
 
 As saying, u I 've nothing at all for you," 
 
 Until you have anointed her palm, and you 
 Have touch'd on the delicate spring of a door 
 That silver has open'd perhaps before ; 
 
 For woman is woman the wide world through.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 15 
 
 x. 
 
 The old near truth on the far new shore ! 
 I bought and I paid for it ; so did you : 
 The tale may be false or the tale may be true ; 
 
 I give as I got it, and who can more ? 
 
 And if I have purchased a beautiful lie, 
 And liked it well, and believed it true, 
 I have done it before ; and so have you, 
 
 And have been contented, and so have I. 
 
 XI. 
 
 If I have made journeys to difficult shores, 
 And woven delusions in innocent verse, 
 If none be the wiser, why, who is the worse ? 
 
 The field it was mine, and the fruit it is yours. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A sudden told tale. You may read as you run. 
 A part of it hers, some part is my own, 
 Crude, and too carelessly woven and sown, 
 
 As I sail'd on the Mexican seas in the sun. 
 
 xra. 
 
 She tells in her tale of a brave young knight, 
 A singer and knight of most knightly birth, 
 Aback in the darlingest days of the earth ; 
 
 Oh, dear old davs that are lost to sight!
 
 16 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Oh, dear old days, when the hot rhymes rang 
 
 Like steel upon steel when toss'd to the sky ; 
 
 When lovers could love, when maidens could die 
 But never deceive, and the song-men sang 
 
 In passion as pure as the blush of the grape, 
 To clashing of swords, for a maiden's sweet sigh, 
 
 Nor measured for gold as men measuring tape, 
 Who turn from the counter to turning of lays 
 On degenerate deeds in degenerate days. 
 
 xv. 
 
 O carpet-knight singer ! shrewd merchant of song ! 
 Get gold and be glad, buy, sell, and be strong! 
 Sweet Cyprian, I kiss you, I pay you, we part : 
 Go ! you have my gold, but who has my heart? 
 Go, splendid made singer, so finish'd, so fair, 
 Go sing you of heaven, with never a prayer, 
 Of hearts that are aching, with never a heart, 
 Of Nature, all girded and bridled by art ; 
 
 Go sing you of battles, with never a scar, 
 Of sunlight, with never a soul for the noon ; 
 Move cold and alone like a broken, bright moon, 
 
 And shimmer and shine like a far, cold star.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. I/ 
 
 XVI. 
 
 'Twas nations ago, when the Amazons were, 
 
 That a fair young knight says the quaint old crone, 
 Wit i her head side wise, as she smoothes at the stone 
 
 Came over the seas, with his golden hair, 
 
 And a great black steed, and glittering spurs, 
 
 And a sword that had come from crusaders down, 
 And a womanly face in a manly frown, 
 
 And a heart as tender and as true as hers. 
 
 And fairest, and foremost in love as in war 
 Was the brave young knight of the brave old days. 
 Of all of the knights, with their knightly ways, 
 
 That had journey'd away to the world afar 
 
 In the name of Spain ; of the splendid few 
 Who bore her banner in the new-born world, 
 From the sea-rim, up where the clouds are curl'd, 
 
 And the condors beat their wings in the blue. 
 
 XVHI. 
 
 He was born, says the crone, where the brave are fair, 
 And blown from the banks of the Guadalquiver,
 
 1 8 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 And yet blue-eyed, with the Celt's soft hair, 
 With never a drop of the dark, deep river 
 Of Moorish blood that had swept through Spain, 
 And plash'd the world with its tawny stain. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He sat on his steed, and his sword was bloody 
 
 "With heathen blood ; the battle was done ; 
 And crown'd in fire, wreathed and ruddy 
 
 With antique temples built up to the sun, 
 Below on the plain lay the beautiful city 
 
 At the conquerors' feet ; the red street strown 
 With dead, with gold, and with gods overthrown. 
 His heart rebell'd and arose with pity, 
 He raised his head with a proud disdain, 
 And rein'd his steed on the reeking plain, 
 As the "heathen pour'd, in a helpless flood, 
 With never a wail and with never a blow, 
 At last, to even provoke a foe, 
 Through gateways, wet with the pagan's blood. 
 
 xx. 
 
 " Ho, forward ! smite ! " but the minstrel linger'd, 
 He reach'd his hand and he touch'd the rein, 
 
 He humm'd an air, and he toy'd and finger'd 
 'The arching neck and the glossy mane
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 19 
 
 XXI. 
 
 He rested the heel, he rested the hand, 
 
 Though the thing was death to the man to dare 
 To doubt, to question, to falter there, 
 
 Nor heeded at all to the hot command. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 He wiped his steel on his black steed's mane, 
 He sheathed it deep, then look'd at the sun, 
 Then counted his comrades, one by one, 
 
 With booty return'd from the plunder'd plain. 
 
 He lifted his face to the flashing snow, 
 He lifted his shield of steel as he sang, 
 And he flung it away till it clang'd and rang 
 
 On the granite rocks in the plain below, 
 
 Then cross'd his bosom. Made overbold, 
 He lifted his voice and sang, quite low 
 At first, then loud in the long-ago, 
 
 When a love endured though the days grew old. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 They heard his song, the chief on the plain 
 Stood up in his stirrups, and, sword in hand,
 
 20 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 He cursed and he call'd with a loud command 
 To the blue-eyed boy to return again ; 
 To lift his shield again to the sky, 
 And come and surrender his sword or die. 
 
 He wove his hand in the stormy mane, 
 He lean'd him forward, he lifted the rein, 
 He struck the flank, he wheel'd and sprang, 
 
 And gayly rode in the face of the sun, 
 And bared his sword and he bravely sang, 
 
 " Ho 1 come and take it ! " but there came not one. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And so he sang, with his face to the south : 
 
 " I shall go ; I shall search for the Amazon shore, 
 Where the curses of man they are heard no more, 
 
 And kisses alone shall embrace the mouth. 
 
 "I shall journey in search of the Incan Isles, 
 Go far and away to traditional land, 
 
 Where Love is a queen in a crown of smiles. 
 And battle has never imbrued a hand ;
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 21 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 " Where man has never despoiled or trod ; 
 
 Where woman's hand with a woman's heart 
 
 Has fashion'd an Eden from man apart, 
 And she walks in her garden alone with God. 
 
 " I shall seek that Eden, and all my years 
 Shall sit and repose, shall sing in the sun ; 
 And the tides may rest or the tides may run, 
 
 And men may water the world with tears ; 
 
 "And the years may come and the years may go, 
 And men make war, may slay and be slain, 
 
 But I not care, for- 1 never shall know 
 Of man, or of aught that is man's again. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 "The waves may battle, the winds may blow, 
 The mellow rich moons may ripen and fall, 
 
 The seasons of gold they may gather or go, 
 The mono may chatter, the paroquet call,
 
 22 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 " And who shall take heed, take note, or shall know 
 If the Fates befriend, or if ill befall, 
 Of worlds without, or of worlds at all, 
 
 Of heaven above, or of hell below." 
 
 xxxm. 
 
 'Twas the song of a dream and the dream of a singer, 
 Drawn fine as the delicate fibres of gold, 
 
 And broken in two by the touch of a finger, 
 And blown as the winds blow, rent and roll'd 
 In dust, and spent as a tale that is told. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 Alas ! for his dreams and the songs he sung : 
 The beasts beset him ; the serpents they hung, 
 
 Red-tongued and terrible, over his head. 
 
 He clove and he thrust with his keen, quick steel, 
 He coax'd with his hand and urged with his heel, 
 
 Till his steel was broken, and lu's steed lay dead. 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 He toil'd to the river, he lean'd intent 
 To the wave, and away through the fringe of bougus, 
 From beasts that pursued ; and breathed his vows, 
 
 For soul and body were well-nigh spent.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 23 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 His arm arch'd over, as do arms on seas, 
 For sign, or for sound ; the thin lips press'd, 
 And the two hands cross'd on the helpless breast, 
 
 For there came no sound through the sweep of the tree? 
 
 XXXVH. 
 
 Twas the king of rivers, and the Isles were near ; 
 Yet it moved so strange, so still, so strong, 
 And gave no sound, not even the song 
 
 Of a sea-bird screaming defiance or fear. 
 
 xxxvm. 
 
 It was dark and dreadful 1 Wide like an ocean, 
 
 Much like a river but more like a sea, 
 Save that there was naught of the turbulent motion 
 
 Of tides, or of winds blown back, or a-lee. 
 
 xxxix. 
 
 Yea, strangely strong was the wave and slow, 
 And half-way hid in the dark deep tide, 
 
 Great turtles they paddled them to and fro, 
 And away to the Isles and the opposite side.
 
 24 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 The nude black boa& through abundant grass 
 Stole down to the water and buried his nose, 
 And crush'd white teeth till -the bubbles rose 
 
 As white and as bright as the globes of glass. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Yea, steadily moved it, mile upon mile, 
 Above and below and as still as the air; 
 The bank made slippery here and there 
 
 By the slushing slide of the crocodile. 
 
 The great trees bent to the tide like slaves ; 
 
 They dipp'd their boughs as the stream swept on, 
 And then drew back, then dipp'd and were gone, 
 
 Away to the seas with the resolute waves. 
 
 The land was the tide's ; the shore was undone ; 
 It look'd as the lawless, unsatisfied seas 
 Had thrust up an arm through the tangle of trees, 
 
 And clutch'd at the citrons that grew in the sun ;
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 25 
 
 And clutch'd at the diamonds that hid in the sand, 
 
 And laid heavy hand on the gold, and a hand 
 
 On the redolent fruits, on the rubies-like wine, 
 
 And the stones like the stars when the stars are divine ; 
 
 Had thrust through the rocks of the ribb'd Andea ; 
 Had wrested and fled ; and had left a waste 
 And a wide way strewn in precipitate haste, 
 
 As he bore them away to the buccaneer seas. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 O, heavens, the eloquent song of the silence 1 
 Asleep lay the sun in the vines, on the sod, 
 
 And asleep in the sun lay the green-girdled islands, 
 As rock'd to their rest in the cradle of God. 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 God's poet is silence ! His song is unspoken, 
 And yet so profound, so loud, and so far, 
 
 It fills you, it thrills you with measures unbroken, 
 And as soft, and as fair, and as far as a star. 
 2
 
 26 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 The shallow seas moan. From the first they have 
 
 mutter'd 
 And mourn'd, as a child, and have wept at their 
 
 will. . . . 
 
 The poems of God are too grand to be utter'd : 
 The dreadful deep seas they are loudest when stilL 
 
 M I shall die," he said, " by the solemn deep river, 
 By the king of the rivers, and the mother of seas, 
 
 So far, and so far from my Guadalquiver, 
 Near, and so near to the dreaded Andes. 
 
 " Let me sing one song by the grand old river, 
 
 And die ; " and he reach'd and he brake him a reed 
 From the rim of the river, where they lift and quiver, 
 
 And he trimm'd it and notch'd it with all his speed 
 With his treacherous blade, in the sweep of the trees, 
 
 As he stood with his head bent low on his breast, 
 And the vines in his hair and the wave to his knees, 
 
 And bow'd like to one who would die to rest.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 2J 
 
 L. 
 u I shall fold my hands, for this is the river 
 
 Of death," he said, " and the sea-green isle 
 Is an Eden set by the gracious Giver 
 
 Wherein to rest." He listened the while, 
 Then lifted his head, then lifted a hand 
 
 Arch'd over his brow, and he lean'd and listen'd, 
 'Twas only a bird on a border of sand, 
 
 The dark stream eddy'd and gleam'd and glistenM 
 Stately and still as the march of a moon, 
 
 And the martial notes from the isle were gone, 
 
 Gone as a dream dies out with the dawn, 
 And gone as far as the night from the noon. 
 
 LI. 
 
 'Twas only a bird on a border of sand, 
 Slow piping, and diving it here and there, 
 Slim, gray, and shadowy, light as the air, 
 
 That dipp'd below from a point of the land. 
 
 Ln. 
 
 " Unto God a prayer and to love a tear, 
 And I die," he said, " in a desert here, 
 So deep that never a note is heard 
 But the listless song of that soulless bird."
 
 28 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 He moved to a burthen of blossoms rare, 
 
 And stood in the red-white sweets to his knees, 
 
 The pink and the purple that filled the air 
 With fragrance sweet as a breeze of bees. 
 LIV. 
 
 He crush'd the blooms to the sod untrod, 
 The mateless man, in an Eden, fair 
 As the one of old, in his fierce despair, 
 
 So hidden from man by the hand of God; 
 LV. 
 
 Ay, hidden above by the vines and mosses, 
 And zoned about by the tide like seas, 
 And curtain'd above by the linden-trees, 
 
 Well wove and inwove in intricate crosses ; 
 
 LVI. 
 
 The trees that lean'd in their love unto trees, 
 
 That lock'd in their loves, and were so made strong, 
 Stronger than armies ; ay, stronger than seas 
 
 That rush from their caves in a storm of song. 
 
 LVH. 
 " A miser of old his last, great treasure 
 
 Flung far in the sea, and he fell and he died ; 
 
 And so shall I give, O terrible tide, 
 To you my song and my last sad measure."
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 29 
 
 Lvrn. 
 
 He blew on his reed by the still, strong river, 
 Blew low at first, like a dream, then long, 
 
 Then loud, then loud as the keys that quiver, 
 And fret, and toss with their freight of song. 
 
 He sang and he sang with a resolute will, 
 
 Till the mono rested above on his haunche*, 
 And held his head to the side and was still, - 
 
 Till a bird blew out of the night of branch% 
 Alit on a reed, and with delicate skill 
 
 Sang sadder than love, so sweeter than sad, 
 Till the boughs did burthen and the reeds did <il/ 
 
 With beautiful birds, and the boy was glad. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Our loves they are told by the myriad-eyed stars, 
 Yet love it is well in a reasonable way, 
 And fame it is fair in its way for a day, 
 Borne dusty from books and bloody from wars , 
 And death, I say, is an absolute need, 
 
 And a calm delight, and an ultimate good j
 
 30 fSLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 But a song that is blown from a watery reed 
 By a soundless deep from a boundless wood, 
 
 With never a hearer to heed or to prize 
 But God and the birds and the hairy wild beasts, 
 Is sweeter than love, than fame, or than feasts, 
 
 Or any thing else that is under the skies. 
 
 LZI. 
 
 The quick leaves quiver'd, and the sunlight danced ; 
 
 As the boy sang sweet, and the birds said, " Sweet; 
 
 And the tiger crept close, and lay low at his feet, 
 And he sheath'd his claws in the sun, entranced. 
 
 LXII. 
 The serpent that hung from the sycamore bough, 
 
 And sway'd his head in a crescent above, 
 Had folded his neck to the white limb now, 
 
 And fondled it close like a great black love. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 But the hands grew weary, the heart wax'd faint, 
 The loud notes fell to a far-off plaint, 
 The sweet birds echo'd no more, " Oh, sweet," 
 
 The tiger arose and unsheath'd his claws, 
 
 The serpent extended his iron jaws, 
 And the frail reed shiver'd and fell at his feet
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 3' 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 A. sound on the tide, and he turned and cried, 
 " Oh, give God thanks, for they come; they come!" 
 He look'd out afar on the opaline tide, 
 
 Then clasp'd his hands, and his lips were dumb. 
 
 A sweeping swift crescent of sudden canoes ! 
 As light as the sun of the south and as soon, 
 And true and as still as a sweet half-moon 
 
 That leans from the heavens, and loves and wooes 1 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 The Amazons came in their martial pride, 
 As full on the stream as a studding of stars, 
 All girded in armor as girded in wars, 
 
 In foamy white furrows dividing the tide. 
 
 W ith a face as brown as the boatmen's are, 
 Or the brave, brown hand of a harvester ; 
 And girdled in gold, and crown'd in hair 
 In a storm of night, all studded with rare
 
 32 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Rich stones, that fretted the full of a noon, 
 The Queen on a prow stood splendid and tall, 
 As petulant waters would lift, and fall, 
 
 And beat, and bubble a watery rune : 
 
 Stood forth for the song, half lean'd in surprise, 
 Stood fair to behold, and yet grand to behold, 
 And austere in her face, and saturnine-soul'd, 
 
 And sad and subdued, in her eloquent eyes. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 And sad were they all ; yet tall and serene 
 Of presence, but silent, and brow'd severe 
 
 As for some things lost, or for some fair, green, 
 And beautiful place, to the memory dear. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 u O Mother of God ! Thrice merciful saint ! 
 
 I am saved!" he said, and he wept outright; 
 
 Ay, wept as even a woman might, 
 For the soul was full and the heart was faint.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 33 
 
 " Stay ! stay ! " cried the Queen, and she leapt to the 
 land, 
 
 And she lifted her hand, and she lower'd their spears, 
 A woman ! a woman ! ho ! help ! give a hand ! 
 
 " A woman ! a woman ! we know by the tears." 
 
 LXXEL 
 
 Then gently as touch of the truest of woman, 
 They lifted him up from the earth as he fell, 
 And into the boat, with a half-hidden swell 
 
 Of the heart that was holy and tenderly human. 
 
 Lxxm. 
 
 They spoke low-voiced as a vesper prayer ; - 
 They pillowed his head as only the hand 
 Of woman can pillow, and push'd from the land, 
 
 And the Queen she sat threading the gold of his hair. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Then away with the wave, and away to the Isles, 
 In a song of the oars of the crescented fleet 
 
 That timed together in musical wiles 
 In bubbles of melodies swift and sweet. 
 2* c
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 PAET H.
 
 Forsake the city. Follow me 
 To where the white caps of a sea 
 Of mountains break and break again, 
 
 As blown in foam against a star 
 As breaks the fury of a main 
 
 And there remains, as fix* 'd, as far. 
 
 Forsake the people. What are they 
 
 That laugh, that live, that love, by rulet 
 Forsake the Saxon. What are these 
 That shun the shadows of the trees : 
 The Druid-forests t . . . Go thy way, 
 We are not one. 1 will not please 
 You : fare you well, wiser fool ! 
 
 But you who love me ; Ye who love 
 The shaggy forests, fierce delights 
 Of sounding waterfalls, of heights 
 That hang like broken moons above, 
 With brows of pine that brush the sun, 
 Believe and follow. We are one; 
 The wild man shall to us be tame ; 
 
 The woods shall yield their mysterif* 
 The stars shall answer to a name, 
 And be as birds above the trees.
 
 Los A.u 
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 TN the days when ray mother, the Earth, was young, 
 
 And you all were not, nor the likeness of you, 
 She walk'd in her maidenly prime among 
 The moonlit stars in the boundless blue. 
 
 Then the great sun lifted his shining shield, 
 And he flash'd his sword as the soldiers do, 
 
 And he moved like a king full over the field, 
 And he look'd, and he loved her brave and true. 
 
 And looking afar from" the ultimate rim, 
 
 As he lay at rest in a reach of light, 
 
 He beheld her walking alone at night, 
 Where the buttercup stars in their beauty swim. 
 
 So he rose up flush'd in his love, and he ran, 
 And he re:u-h'd his arms, and around her waist 
 
 He wound them strong like a love-struck man, 
 And he kiss'd and embraced her, brave and chaste.
 
 38 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 So he nursed his love like a babe at its birth, 
 And he warm'd in his love as the long years ran, 
 
 Then embraced her again, and sweet mother Earth 
 Was a mother indeed, and her child was man. 
 
 The sun is the sire, the mother is earth ! 
 
 What more do you know ? what more do I need ? 
 The one he begot, and the one gave birth, 
 
 And I love them both, and let laugh at your creed. 
 
 And who shall pronounce that the child of the sun. 
 With his rich sun-worship, was utterly wrong 
 In the far, new years when the stare kept song? 
 
 But judge, and be judged; condemn, and have done. 
 
 And who shall proclaim they were all unwise 
 
 In their great, warm faith ? Time answers us not : 
 
 The quick fool questions ; but who replies ? 
 The wise man hesitates, hush'd in thought.
 
 PAKT II. 
 
 *HEY swept to the Isles through the furrows of foam, 
 
 They alit on the land as love hastening home, 
 And below the banana, with leaf like a tent, 
 
 They tenderly laid him, they bade him take rest ; 
 They ttrought him strange fishes and fruits of the best, 
 And he ate and took rest with a patient content. 
 
 They watch'd with him well, and he rose up strong ; 
 He stood in their midst, and they said, " How fair ! " 
 And they said, " How tall ! " And they toy'd with 
 his hair, 
 
 And they touch'd his limbs, and they said, " How long ! 
 
 And how strong they are ; and how brave she is, 
 That she made her way through the wiles of man, 
 That she braved his wrath, that she broke the ban 
 
 Of his desolate life for the loves of this ! "
 
 40 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 ra. 
 
 They wove for him garments with womanly pride, 
 But he held his head with a sense of shame 
 
 In his strange deceit and his sex denied, 
 
 Then pursed his brow with a touch of blame. 
 
 TV. 
 
 They wrought for him armor of cunning attire, 
 They brought him a sword and a great shell shield, 
 And implored him to shiver the lance on the field, 
 
 And to follow their beautiful Queen in her ire.* 
 
 v. 
 
 But he took him apart; then the Amazons came 
 And entreated of him with their eloquent eyes 
 And their earnest and passionate souls of flame, 
 
 And the soft, sweet words that are broken of sighs, 
 To be one of their own, but he still denied, 
 
 And he wnrr'd with himself, and his chivalrous heart 
 Arose and rebell'd at the treacherous part 
 He play'd for his life ; and he grew to despise 
 The thought of himself with a shudder of shame, 
 And bow'd and abash'd he stole farther aside.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He stood by the palms and he lean'd in unrest, 
 And standing alone, look'd out and afar, 
 For his own fair land where the castles are, 
 
 With irresolute arms on a restless breast. 
 
 vn. 
 
 He relived his loves, and recall'd his wars, 
 He gazed and he gazed with a soul distressed, 
 Like a far sweet star that is lost in the west, 
 
 Till the day was broken to a dust of stars. 
 
 vm. 
 
 They sigh'd, and they left him alone in the care 
 Of faith fullest matron ; they moved to the field 
 With the lifted sword and the sounding shield 
 
 High fretting magnificent storms of hair. 
 
 And, true as the moon in her march of stars, 
 The Queen stood forth in her fierce attire 
 
 Worn as they train'd, or worn in the wars, 
 As bright and as chaste as a flash of fire.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 With girdles of gold and of silver cross'd, 
 And plaited, and chased, and bound together 
 Broader and stronger than belts of leather, 
 
 Cunningly fashion'd and blazon'd and boss'd 
 
 With diamonds circling her, stone upon stone, 
 Above the breast where the borders fail, 
 
 Below the breast where the fringes zone, 
 She moved in a glittering garment of mail 
 
 The form made hardy and the waist made spare 
 From athlete sports and adventures bold. 
 The breastplate, fasten'd with clasps of gold, 
 
 Was clasp'd, as close as the breasts could bear. 
 
 And bound and drawn to a delicate span, 
 It flash'd in the red front ranks of the field 
 
 Was fashion'd full trim in its intricate plan 
 And gleam'd as a sign, as well as a shield, 
 
 That the virgin Queen was unyielding still, 
 And pure as the tides that around her ran ; 
 
 True to her trust, and strong in her will 
 Of war, and hatred to -the touch of man.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 43 
 
 xn. 
 
 The field it was theirs in storm or in shine, 
 
 So fairly they stood that the foe came not 
 
 To the battle again, and the fair forgot 
 The rage of battle ; and they trimm'd the vine, 
 They tended the fields of the tall green corn, 
 
 They crush'd the grape, and they drew the wine 
 In great round gourds or the bended horn, 
 
 And seem'd as souls that are half divine. 
 
 xm. 
 
 They bathed in the wave in the amber morn, 
 They took repose in the peaceful shade 
 Of eternal palms, and were never afraid ; 
 
 Yet still did they sigh, and look far and forlorn. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then down where waves by the white sands ran 
 And left them laved with kisses, and these 
 
 They journey'd away with the caravan 
 
 Of the grand old tide to the grander seas. 
 
 Where the rim of the wave was weaving a spell, 
 And the grass grew soft where it hid from the sun, 
 Would the Amazons gather them every one 
 
 At the call of the Queen or the sound of her shell :
 
 44 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Would come in strides through the kingly trees, 
 
 And train and marshal them brave and well 
 In the golden noon, in the hush of peace 
 
 Where the shifting shades of the fan-palms fell; 
 Would lean on their long quick quivering swords ; 
 
 Would rest on their shields in a line at the side ; 
 Would lift their brows to the front and tow'rds 
 
 Their Queen as she moved in her matchless pride 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Would train till flush'd and as warm as wine, 
 
 Would reach with their limbs, would thrust with the 
 
 lance, 
 
 Attack, retire, retreat and advance, 
 Then wheel in column, then fall in line ; 
 Stand thigh and thigh with the limbs made hard 
 And rich and round as the swift-limb'd pard, 
 Or a racer train'd, or a white bull caught 
 In the lasso's toils, where the tame are not. 
 i 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Would curve as the waves curve, swerve in line ; 
 Would dash through the trees, would train with the 
 
 bow.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 45 
 
 Then back to the lines, now sudden, then slow, 
 Then flash their swords in the sun at a sign ; 
 Would settle the foot right firm afront, 
 
 Then sound the shield till the sound was heard* 
 Afar, as the horn in the black boar hunt ; 
 
 Yet, stranger than all, say never a word. 
 
 xvm. 
 When shadows fell far from the westward, and when 
 
 The sun had kiss'd hands and made sail for the east, 
 They would kindle the fires and gather them then, 
 
 Well-worn and most merry with song, to the feast. 
 
 There feasting in circles, they sang of the sun, 
 Their prowess or valor, in peril or pain ; 
 
 Till the Isles were awake and the birds were outdone j 
 And long ere the dawn were up singing again. 
 
 xx. 
 
 They sang of all things, but the one, sacred one, 
 
 That could make them most glad, as they lifted the 
 
 gourd 
 And pass'd it around, with its rich purple hoard, 
 
 From the Island that lay with its front to the sun.
 
 46 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Though lips were made luscious, and eyes as divine 
 As the eyes of the skies that bend down from above 
 Though hearts were made glad and most mellow 
 
 with love, 
 
 As dripping gourds drain'd of their burthens of wine ; 
 Though brimming, and dripping, and bent of their 
 
 shape 
 
 Were the generous gourds from the juice of the grape, 
 They could sing not of love, they could breathe not a 
 
 thought 
 Of the savor of life ; love sought, or unsought. 
 
 xxn. 
 Their loves they were not ; they had banish'd the name 
 
 Of man, and the uttermost mention of love, 
 
 The moonbeams about them, the quick stars abovo, 
 The mellow-voiced waves, they were ever the same, 
 In sign, and in saying, of the old true lies ; 
 
 But they took no heed ; no answering sign, 
 Save glances averted and half-hush'd sighs, 
 
 Went back from the breasts with their loves divine. 
 
 xxnr. 
 
 They sang of their freedom with a will, and well, 
 They paid for it well when the price was bl.ou ,
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 47 
 
 They beat on the shield, and they blew on the shell, 
 
 When their wars were not, for they held it good 
 To be glad and to sing till the flush of the day, 
 
 In an annual feast, when the broad leaves fell ; 
 
 Yet some sang not, and some sigh'd, " Ah, well 1 " 
 For there 's far less left you to sing or to say, 
 When mettlesome love is banish'd, I ween, 
 
 To hint at as hidden, or to half disclose 
 In the swift sword-cuts of the tongue, made keen 
 
 With wine at a feast, than one would suppose. 
 
 xxrv. 
 
 So the days wore by, but they brought no rest 
 To the minstrel knight, though the sun was as gold, 
 
 And the Isles were green, and the Amazons blest 
 In the splendor of arms, and as pure as bold. 
 
 He now would resolve to reveal to her all, 
 His sex and his race in a well-timed song ; 
 And his love of peace, his hatred of wrong, 
 
 And his own deceit, though the sun should fall.
 
 48 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Then again he would linger, and knew not how 
 He could best proceed, and deferr'd him now 
 Till a favorite day, then the fair day came, 
 And still he delayed, and reproach'd him the same. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Then again he did vow to reveal full soon, 
 Then deeply he blush'd, then upbraided sore 
 The winds that had blown from .the Castile shore, 
 
 And walk'd by the waves in the great white moon. 
 
 xxvm. 
 He still said nought, but, subduing his head, 
 
 He wander'd by day in a dubious spell 
 Of unutterable thought of the truth unsaid, 
 
 To the indolent shore ; and he gather'd a shell, 
 "And he shaped its point to his passionate mouth, 
 
 And he turn'd to a bank and began to blow, 
 
 While the Amazons train'd in a troop below, 
 And as soft, and as sweet as a kiss of the South. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 It stirr'd their souls, and they ceased to train 
 In troop by the shore, as the tremulous strain
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 49 
 
 Fell down from the hill through the tasselling trees; 
 And a murmur of song, like the sound of bees 
 In the clover crown of a queenly spring, 
 
 Came back unto him, and he laid the shell 
 Aside on the bank, and began to sing 
 
 Of eloquent love ; and the ancient spell 
 Of passionate song was his, and the Isle, 
 
 As waked to delight from its slumber long, 
 Came back in echoes ; yet all this while 
 
 He knew not at all the sin of his song. 
 
 Then the Amazons lifted with glad surprise, 
 Stood splendid at first and look'd far and fair, 
 Set forward a foot, and shook back their hair, 
 
 Like clouds push'd back from the sun-lit skies.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 PABT III.
 
 / know upon this earth a spot 
 
 Where clinking coins, that clink as chain* 
 
 Upon the souls of men, are not; 
 Nor man is measured for his gains 
 Of gold that stream with crimson stains. 
 
 The rivers run unmaster'd yet, 
 
 Unmeasured sweep their sable bredes : 
 
 The pampas unpossessed is set 
 
 With stormy banners of her steeds. 
 That rival man in martial deeds. 
 
 The snow-topped towers crush the cloudt 
 And break the still abode of stars, 
 
 Like sudden ghosts in snowy shrouds, 
 New broken through their earthly bar 
 
 And condors whet with crooked beaks 
 
 The lofty limits of the peaks. 
 
 men that fret as frets the main ! 
 
 You irk one with your eager gaze 
 Down in the earth for fat increase 
 
 Eternal talks of gold and gain, 
 Your shallow wit, your shallow ways . . . 
 
 And breaks my soul across the shoal 
 As breakers break on shallow seas.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 T O, Isles of the Incas ! Amazon Isles, 
 
 The sun hath loved you, clothed and crown'd, 
 And touch'd you tenderly, girt you round 
 With a sunset wave in a wealth of smiles. 
 
 O Isles of a wave in an ocean of wood ! 
 O white waves lost in the wilds I love 1 
 Let the red stars rest on your breast from above, 
 
 And sing to the sun, for his love it is good. 
 
 He has made you his heirs, he has given you gold, 
 And wrought for you garments of limitless green, 
 With beautiful bars of the scarlet between, 
 
 And of silver seams fretting you fold on fold. , 
 
 He has kiss'd and caress'd you, loved you true, 
 Yea, loved as a God loves, loved as I 
 Shall learn to love when the stars shall lie 
 
 Like blooms at my feet in a field of blue.
 
 PART ILL 
 
 '"THHEY bared their brows to the palms above, 
 But some look'd level into comrade's eyes, 
 And they then remember'd that the thought of love 
 Was the thing forbidden, and they sank in sighs. 
 
 ii. 
 They turn'd from the training, to heed in throng 
 
 To the old, old tale ; and they train'd no more, 
 
 As he sang of love ; and some on the shore, 
 And full in the sound of the eloquent song, 
 With a womanly air and irresolute will 
 
 Went listlessly onward as gathering shells ; 
 
 Then gazed in the waters, as women in spells ; 
 Then turned to the song and sigh'd, and were still. 
 
 in. 
 
 And they said no word. Some tapp'd on the sand 
 With the sandall'd foot, keeping' time to the sound, 
 
 In a sort of dream ; some timed with the hand, 
 And one held eyes full of tears to the ground.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 55 
 
 IV. 
 
 She thought of the days when their wars were not, 
 
 As she lean'd and listened to the old, old song, 
 When they sang of their loves, and she well forgot 
 
 The hard oppressions and a world of wrong. 
 Like a pure true woman, with her trust in tears 
 
 And the things that are true, she relived them in 
 
 thought, 
 Though hush'd and crush'd in the fall of the years 
 
 She lived but the fair, and the false she forgot 
 As a tale long told, or as things that are dreams ; 
 
 And th'e quivering curve of the lip confest 
 The silent regrets, and a soul that teems 
 
 With a world of love in a brave true breast. 
 
 Then this one younger, who had known no love, 
 Nor look'd upon man but in blood on the field, 
 She bow'd her head, and she lean'd on her shield, 
 
 And her heart beat quick as the wings of a dove 
 
 That is blown from the sea, where the rests are not 
 In the time of storms ; and by instinct taught 
 Grew pensive, and sigh'd ; and she thought and she 
 thought 
 
 Of some wonderful things, and she knew not of what.
 
 $6 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Then this one thought of a love forsaken, 
 
 She thought of a brown sweet babe, and she thought 
 Of the bread-fruits gather'd, of the swift fish taken 
 
 In intricate nets, like a love well sought. 
 
 vn. 
 
 She thought of the moons of her maiden dawn, 
 Mellow'd and fair with the forms of man ; 
 
 So dearer indeed to dwell upon 
 Than the beautiful waves that around her ran ; 
 
 vm. 
 So fairer indeed than the fringes of light 
 
 That lie at rest on the west of the sea 
 In furrows jof foam on the borders of night, 
 
 And dearer indeed than the songs to be 
 Than calling of dreams from the opposite land, 
 
 To the land of life, and of journeys dreary 
 
 When the soul goes over from the form grown weary, 
 And walks in the cool of the trees on the strand. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But the Queen was enraged and would smite him at first 
 With the sword unto death, yet it seeni'd that she durst
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 57 
 
 Not touch him at all ; and she moved as to chide, 
 And she lifted her face, and she frown'd at his side, 
 Then touch'd on his arm ; then she look'd in his eyes 
 And right full in his soul, but she saw no fear 
 In the pale fair face, and with frown severe 
 She press'd her lips as suppressing her sighs. 
 
 She banish'd her wrath, she unbended her face, 
 She lifted her hand and put back his hair 
 From his fair sad brow, with a penitent air, 
 
 And forgave him all with an unutter'd grace ; 
 
 For she said no word. Yet no more was severe ; 
 She stood as subdued by the side of him still, 
 Then averted her face with a resolute will, 
 
 As to hush a regret, or to hide back a tear. 
 
 She sigh'd to herself: " A stranger is this, 
 And ill and alone, that knows not at all 
 That a throne shall totter and the strong shall fall, 
 
 At the mention of love and its banefullest bliss. 
 
 O life that is lost in bewildering love 
 But a stranger is sacred ! " She lifted a hand 
 3*
 
 58 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 And she laid it as soft as the breast of a dove 
 
 On the minstrel's mouth. It was more than the wand 
 
 Of the tamer of serpents ; for she did no more 
 
 Than to bid with her eyes and to beck with her hand. 
 
 And the song drew away to the waves of the shore ; 
 Took wings, as it were, to the verge of the land. 
 
 xn. 
 
 But her heart was oppress'd. With penitent head 
 She turn'd to her troop, and, retiring, she said : 
 " Alas ! and alas ! shall it come to pass 
 Thatthe^panther shall die from a blade of grass? 
 That the tiger shall yield at the bent-horn blast ? 
 That we, who have conquered a world and all 
 Of men and of beasts in the world, must fall 
 Ourselves, at the mention of love, at last ? " 
 
 xm. 
 
 The singer was fretted, and farther apart 
 He wander'd, perplex'd ; and he felt his heart 
 Beat quick and troubled, and all untamed, 
 As he saw her move with marvellous grace 
 To her troop below ; he turn'd from his place,
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 59 
 
 Oppress'd and humbled, and sore ashamed 
 That he lived in the land in the shield of a lie ; 
 That he dared not stand forth face to face 
 To the truth, and die as a knight should die. 
 
 xrv. 
 The tall brown Queen, when turn'd to her troop, 
 
 Led minstrel and all to the innermost part 
 Of the palm-crown'd Isle, where great trees group 
 
 In armies, to battle when black storms start, 
 And made her retreat from the sun by the trees 
 
 That are topped like tents, where the fire-flies 
 
 Are a light to the feet, and a fair lake lies 
 As cool as the coral-set centres of seas. 
 
 xv. 
 
 And here the carpets of Nature were spread, 
 
 Made pink with blossoms and fragrant bloom ; 
 Her soft couch, canopied overhead, 
 
 Allured to sleep with the deep perfume. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The sarsaparilla had woven its thread 
 
 So through and through, like the threads of gold; 
 
 'Twas stronger than thongs in its thousandfold, 
 And on every hand and up overhead
 
 60 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Ran thick as threads on the rim of a reel, 
 Through red leaf and dead leaf, bough and vine, 
 The green and the gray leaf, coarse and fine, 
 
 And the cactus tinted with cochineal. 
 
 And every color that the Master Sun 
 
 Has painted and hung in the halls of God, 
 Blush'd in the boughs or spread on the sod, 
 
 Pictured and woven and wound as one. 
 
 The tamarind and the cocoa-tree, 
 
 The quick cinchona, the red sangre, 
 
 The keen caressa, the sycamore, 
 
 Were woof and warp as wide as the shore. 
 
 The palm-trees lorded the copse like kings, 
 Their tall tops tossing the indolent clouds 
 That folded the Isle in the dawn, like shrouds, 
 
 Then fled from the sun like to living things. 
 
 The cockatoo swung in the vines below, 
 And muttering hung on a golden thread, 
 
 Or moved on the moss'd bough to and fro, 
 In plumes of gold and array'd in red.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 6 1 
 
 xx. 
 
 The lake lay hidden away from the light, 
 As asleep in the Isle from the tropical noon, 
 And narrow and bent like a new-born moon, 
 
 And fair as a moon in the noon of the night. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 'Twas shadow'd by forests, and fringed by ferns, 
 And fretted anon by the fishes that leapt 
 At indolent flies that slept or kept 
 
 Their drowsy tones on the tide by turns. 
 
 xxrr. 
 And here in the dawn when the day was strong 
 
 And newly aroused from leafy repose, 
 
 With dews on his feet and tints of the rose 
 In his great flush'd face, was a sense and song 
 That the tame old world has nor known nor heard 
 
 The soul was filFd with the soft perfumes, 
 The eloquent wings of the humming bird 
 Beguiled the heart, they purpled the air 
 And allured the eye, as so everywhere 
 On the rim of the wave, or across it in swings, 
 
 They swept or they sank in a sea of blooms, 
 And wove and wound in a song of wings.
 
 62 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 The senses drank of the fragrance deep, 
 -The glad soul question'd it whether or no 
 It had risen above or yet dwelt below, 
 
 Or whether to laugh for love or to weep. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A bird in scarlet and gold, made mad 
 With sweet delights, through the branches slid 
 And kiss'd the lake on a drowsy lid 
 
 Till the ripples ran and the face was glad : 
 
 Was glad and lovely as lights that sweep 
 The face of heaven when stars are forth 
 In autumn time through the awful north, 
 
 Or the face of a child when it smiles in sleep. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And here was the Queen, in the tropical noon. 
 When the wave and the world and all were asleep, 
 And nothing look'd forth to betray or to peep 
 
 Through glories of jungle in garments of June,
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 63 
 
 To bathe with her court in the waters that bent 
 In the beautiful lake through tasselling trees, 
 And the tangle of blooms in a burden of bees, 
 As bold and as sharp as a bow unspent. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And strangely still, and more strangely sweet, 
 Was the lake that lay in its cradle of fern, 
 As still as a moon with her horns that turn 
 
 In the night, like lamps to some delicate feet. 
 
 They came and they stood by the brink of the tide, 
 
 They hung their shields on the boughs of the trees, 
 They lean'd their lances against the side, 
 
 Unloosed their sandals, and busy as bees 
 That ply with industrious wing perfumes, 
 
 Ungather'd their robes in the rustle of leaves 
 And nodding of reeds and the beautiful blooms 
 
 That wound them as close as the wine- vine weaves. 
 
 The minstrel had falter'd, and farther aside 
 Than ever before he averted his head ; 
 
 He pick'd up a pebble and fretted the tide, 
 Then turn'd with a countenance flush'd and red,
 
 64 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 He feign'd him ill, he wandered away, 
 He sat him down by the waters alone, 
 
 And prayed for pardon, as a knight should pray, 
 And rued an error not all his own. 
 
 The Amazons press'd to the girdle of reeds, 
 Two and by two they advanced to the wave, 
 They challenged each other, and bade be brave, 
 
 And banter'd, and vaunted of valorous deeds. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 They push'd and they parted the curtains of green, 
 All timid at first ; then look'd at the wave 
 And laugh'd ; retreated, then came up brave 
 
 To the brink of the water, led on by their Queen. 
 
 Again they retreated, again advanced, 
 
 And parted the boughs in a proud disdain, 
 
 Then bent their heads to the waters, and glanced 
 Below, then blush'd, and then laugh'd again ;
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 65 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 A bird awaken'd, then all dismay'd 
 
 With a womanly sense of a beautiful shame 
 That strife and changes had left the same, 
 
 They shrank to the leaves and the sombre shade. 
 
 At last, press'd forward a beautiful pair 
 And bent to the wave, and bending they blush'd 
 As rich as the wines, when the waters rush'd 
 
 To the dimpled limbs, and laugh'd in their hair. 
 
 xxxvi. 
 
 The fair troop follow'd with shouts and cheers, 
 They cleft the wave, and the friendly ferns 
 Came down in curtains and curves and turns, 
 
 And a brave palm lifted a thousand spears. 
 
 XXXVTI. 
 
 From under the ferns and away from the land, 
 And out in the wave until lost below, 
 There lay, as white as a bank of snow, 
 
 A long and a beautiful border of sand. 
 K
 
 66 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Here clothed alone in their clouds of hair 
 And curtain'd about by the palm and fern, 
 
 And made as their Maker had made them, fair, 
 And splendid of natural grace and turn ; 
 
 xxxix. 
 Untrammell'd by art and untroubled by man 
 
 They tested their strength, or tried their speed, 
 And here they wrestled, and there they ran, 
 
 As supple and lithe as the watery reed. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The great trees shadow'd the bow-tipp'd tide, 
 And nodded their plumes from the opposite side, 
 As if to whisper, Take care 1 take care ! 
 But the meddlesome sunshine here and there, 
 Kept pointing a finger right under the trees, 
 Kept shifting the branches and wagging a hand 
 At the round brown limbs on the border of sand, 
 And seem'd to whisper, Ho ! what are these ? 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The gold-barr'd butterflies to and fro 
 
 And over the waterside wander'd and wove 
 As heedless and idle as clouds that rove 
 
 And drift by the peaks of perpetual snow
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 A monkey swung out from a bough in the skies, 
 White-whisker'd and ancient, and wisest of all 
 Of his populous race, and he heard them call 
 
 And he watch'd them long, with his head sidewise, 
 
 From under his brows of amber and brown, 
 All patient and silent and never once stirr'd ; 
 
 Then he shook his head and he hasten'd him down 
 To his army below and said never a word.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 PAST IV.
 
 There is many a love in the land, my love t 
 
 But never a love like this is ; 
 Then kill me dead with your love, my love. 
 
 And cover me up with kisses 
 
 So kill me dead and coj^r me deep 
 Where never a soul discovers ; 
 
 Deep in your heart to sleep, to sleep 
 In the darlingest tomb of lovers.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 TT seems to me that Mother Earth 
 
 Is weary from eternal toil 
 And bringing forth by fretted soil 
 In all the agonies of birth. 
 Sit down ! sit down ! Lo, it were best 
 That we should rest, that she should rest 
 
 Let buffalo possess the land, 
 
 Let foxes populate the towns, 
 
 And wild deer wander through the downs. 
 
 Here we will laugh, nor lift a hand ; 
 
 And laugh that man should ever care 
 
 For flock or field or mansion fair ! 
 
 No ship shall founder in the seas, 
 Nor soldier fall in martial line, 
 Nor miner perish in the mine. 
 Here we shall tent beneath the trees,
 
 72 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Where wife nor maid shall wait or weep, 
 For Earth shall sleep, and all shall sleep. 
 
 I think we then shall all be glad, 
 At least I know we are not now ; 
 Not one. And even Earth somehow 
 Seems growing old and over sad. 
 Then fold your hands, for it were best 
 That we should rest, that she should rest
 
 PART IY. 
 
 T^HE wanderer took him apart from the place ; 
 
 He look'd up in the boughs at the gold birds 
 
 there, 
 
 He counted the humming-birds fretting the air, 
 And brush'd at the butterflies fanning his face. 
 
 n. 
 
 He sat him down in a crook of the wave 
 
 And away from the Amazons, under the skies 
 
 Where great trees curved to a leaf-lined cave, 
 And lifted his hands and shaded his eyes ; 
 
 And he held his head to the north when they came 
 To run on the reaches of sand from the south, 
 And he pull'd at his chin, and he pursed his mouth, 
 
 And he shut his eyes with a shudder of shame. 
 4
 
 74 ISLES OF THE AMAZON*. 
 
 He reach'd from the bank and he brake him a reed 
 A bamboo reed from the brink below ; 
 
 And he notched it and trimm'd it with all his speed, 
 And lifted it up and began to blow 
 
 As if to himself; as the sea sometimes 
 
 Does soothe and soothe in a low, sweet song, 
 When his rage is spent, and the beach swells strong 
 
 With sweet repetitions of alliterate rhymes. 
 
 The echoes blew back from the indolent land; 
 Silent and still sat the tropical bird,. 
 And only the sound of the reed was heard, 
 
 As the Amazons ceased from their sports on the sand. 
 
 They rose from the wave, and inclining the head, 
 They listen'd intent, with the delicate tip 
 Of the finger touch'd to the pouting lip, 
 
 Till the brown Queen turn'd in the tide, and led 
 
 Through the opaline lake, and under the shade, 
 And along the shore, and below the ferns 
 Where the bent boughs reach'd and return' d by turns, 
 
 To the shore where the chivalrous singer played.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. ?$ 
 
 He bended his head and he shaded his eyes 
 As well as he might with his lifted fingers, 
 
 And ceased to sing. But in mute surprise, 
 He saw them linger as a child that lingers 
 Allured by a song thrown down to the street, 
 
 And looks bewilder'd about from its play, 
 For the last loved notes^ that fall at its feet ; 
 
 And he heard them whisper, he saw them sway 
 Aside and before and silent and sweet. 
 
 The soft notes swell'd, and the air swept loud, 
 They drew to the sound as if borne in a dream ; 
 
 As blown in the purple and gold of a cloud, 
 Or borne on the breast of a crystalline stream. 
 
 viii. 
 
 But the singer was vexed ; he averted his head ; 
 He lifted his eyes to the mosses aside 
 For a brief, little time, but they turn'd to the tide 
 
 In spite of his will, or of prayers well said.
 
 76 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 He press'd four fingers against each lid, 
 Till the light was gone ; yet for all that he did 
 It seem'd that the lithe forms lay and beat 
 Afloat in his face and full under his feet. 
 
 x. 
 
 He seem'd to behold the billowy breasts, 
 And the rounded limbs in their pure unrests 
 To see them swim as the mermaid swims, 
 With the drifting dimpled, delicate limbs, 
 Folded and hidden in robes of hair ; 
 While fishes of gold shot here and there 
 Below their breasts and above their feet, 
 Like birds in a beautiful garden of sweet. 
 
 XI. 
 
 It seems to me there is more that sees 
 Than the eyes in man; you may close your eyes, 
 You may turn your back, and may still be wise 
 
 In sacred and marvellous mysteries. 
 
 xn. 
 
 He saw as one sees the sun of a noon 
 In the sun-kiss'd south, when the eyes are closed -
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 77 
 
 He saw as one sees the bars of a moon 
 
 That fall through the boughs of the tropical trees, 
 
 When he lies at length, and is all composed, 
 And asleep in his hammock by the sundown seas. 
 
 He heard the waters beat, bubble and fret ; 
 He lifted his eyes, yet forever they lay 
 Afloat in the tide ; and he turn'd him away 
 
 And resolved to fly and for aye to forget. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He rose up strong, and he cross'd him twice, 
 He nerved his heart and he lifted his head, 
 
 He crush'd the treacherous reed in a trice, 
 With an angry foot, and he turn'd and fled ; 
 
 xv. 
 
 And flying, confused like a pitiful slave, 
 He question'd himself most sore as he fled, 
 
 If he most was a knight, or most was a knave, 
 And flying he hurriedly turn'd his head 
 
 Back over his shoulder, and sudden aside, 
 With an eager glance, Avith meddlesome eyes, 
 As a woman will turn : and he saw arise 
 
 The beautiful Queen from the silvery tide.
 
 78 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 She toss'd her hair, and she turn'd her eyes 
 With all of their splendor to his as he fled, 
 
 And all their glory, and a strange surprise, 
 And a sad "reproach and a world unsaid. 
 
 xvn. 
 He beat on their shields, they rose in array, 
 
 As aroused from a trance, and hurriedly came 
 From out of the wave and he wander'd away, 
 
 Wild-fretting his sensitive soul with blame, 
 Until all array'd ; then ill and opprest, 
 
 And bitterly cursing the treacherous reed, 
 Return'd with his hand on his turbulent breast, 
 
 And struck to the heart, and most ill indeed. 
 
 xvm. 
 Alone he would sit in the shadows at noon, 
 
 Alone he would sit by the waters at night ; 
 
 Would sing sad-voiced, as a woman might, 
 With pale, kind face to the cold, pale moon. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He would here advance, and would there retreat, 
 As a petulant child that has lost its way 
 In the redolent walks of a sultry day, 
 
 And wanders around with irresolute feet.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 79 
 
 xx. 
 
 He would press his hand in pain to his heart, 
 He would fold his hands, he would toss his hair 
 
 From his brow, then turn to the palms, and apart 
 From eyes that pursued, with a pitiful air. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 He made him a harp of mahogany wood, 
 He strung it well with the sounding strings 
 Of the ostrich thews, from the ostrich wings, 
 
 And play'd and sang in a sad sweet rune. 
 He hang'd his harp in the vines, and stood 
 
 By the tide at night, in the palms at noon, 
 And lone as a ghost in the shadowy wood. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then two grew sad, and alone sat she 
 
 By the great, strong stream, and she bow'd her head, 
 
 Then lifted her face to the tide and said, 
 " O, pure as a tear and as strong as a sea, 
 
 Yet tender to me as the touch of a dove, 
 I had rather sit sad and alone by thee, 
 
 Than to go and be glad, with a legion in love."
 
 80 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 xxm. 
 She sat sometime at the wanderer's side 
 
 As the kingly water went wandering by ; 
 
 And the two once look'd, and they knew not why, 
 Full sad in each other's eyes, and they sigh'd. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 She courted the solitude under the rim 
 
 Of the trees that reach'd to the resolute stream, 
 And gazed in the waters as one in a dream, 
 
 Till her soul grew heavy and her eyes grew dim 
 
 To the fair delights of her own fair Isles. 
 She turn'd her face to the stranger again, 
 
 He cheer'd with song and allured with smiles, 
 But cheer'd, and allured, and soothed in vain. 
 
 She bow'd her head with a beautiful grief 
 That grew from her pity ; she forgot her arms, 
 And she made neglect of the battle alarms 
 
 That threaten'd the land ; the banana's leaf 
 
 Made shelter; he lifted his harp again, 
 She sat, she listen'd intent and long, 
 
 Forgetting her care and forgetting her pain 
 Made sad for the singer, made glad from his song.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 8 1 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But the braves waxed cold ; the white moons waned, 
 And the brown Queen marshall'd them never cnce 
 
 more, 
 
 With sword and with shield, in the palms by the 
 shore ; 
 
 But they sat them down to repose, or remained 
 
 Apart and scatter'd in the tropic-leaFd trees, 
 As sadden'd by song, or for loves delay'd, 
 Or away in the Isle in couples they stray'd, 
 
 Not at all content in their Isles of peace. 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 They wander'd away to the lakes once more, 
 Or walk'd in the moon, or they sigh'd, or slept, 
 
 Or they sat in pairs by the shadowy shore, 
 And silent song with the waters kept. 
 
 There was one who stood by the waters one eve, 
 "With the stars on her hair, and the bars of the moon 
 Broken up at her feet by the bountiful boon 
 
 Of extending old trees, who did questioning grieve:
 
 82 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 " The birds they go over us two and by two ; 
 The mono is mated ; his bride in the boughs 
 Sits nursing his babe, and his passionate vows 
 
 Of love, you may hear them the whole day through. 
 
 " The lizard, the cayman, the white-toothed boar, 
 The serpents that glide in the sword-leaf'd grass, 
 The beasts that abide or the birds that pass, 
 
 They are glad in their loves as the green-leaf 'd shore. 
 
 " There is nothing that is that can yield one bliss 
 Like an innocent love; the leaves have tongue 
 And the tides talk low in the reeds, and the young 
 
 And the quick buds open their lips but for this. 
 
 M In the steep and the starry silences, 
 
 On the stormy levels of the limitless seas, 
 Or here in the deeps of the dark-brow'd trees, 
 
 There is nothing so much as a brave man's kiss. 
 
 "There is nothing so strong, in the stream, on the land, 
 In the valley of palms, on the pinnacled snow, 
 In the clouds of the gods, on the grasses below, 
 
 As the silk-soft touch of a baby's brown hand.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 83 
 
 " It were better to sit and to spin on a stone 
 
 The whole year through with a babe at the knee, 
 With its brown hands reaching caressingly, 
 
 Than to sit in a girdle of gold and alone. 
 
 ' O barren dull days, where never the brown 
 Sweet hand of a babe hides back in the hair 
 When a mother comes home with her burthen of care, 
 
 And over the life of her life bends down. 
 
 " It were better perhaps to be mothers of men, 
 
 And to murmur not much ; there are clouds in the 
 
 sun. . . . 
 Can a woman undo what the gods have done ? 
 
 Nay, the things must be as the things have been." 
 
 They wander'd well forth, some here and some there, 
 
 Unsatisfied some and irresolute all. 
 
 The sun was the same, the moonlight' did fall 
 Rich-barr'd and refulgent ; the stars were as fair 
 As ever were stars ; the fruitful clouds cross' d 
 
 And the harvest fail'd not ; yet the fair Isle grew 
 
 As a prison to all, and they search'd on through 
 The magnificent shades as for things that were lost.
 
 84 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The minstrel, more pensive, went deep in the wood, 
 And oft-time delay'd him the whole day through, 
 As charm'd by the deeps, or the sad heart drew 
 
 Some solaces sweet from the solitude. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The singer forsook them at last, and the Queen 
 Came seldom then forth from the fierce deep wood, 
 And her warriors, dark-brow'd and bewildering stood 
 
 In bands by the wave in the complicate screen 
 
 Of overbent boughs. They would lean on their spears 
 And would talk sometimes low-voiced and by twos, 
 As allured by longings they could not refuse, 
 
 And would sidewise look, as beset by their fears. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 They wander'd and watched as the days waxed full, 
 All listless and slow, and spurning the shells 
 With brown sandall'd feet, to the whimsical swell 
 
 Of the wine-dark wave with its foam like wool. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Once, wearied and sad, by the shadowy trees 
 In the flush of the sun they sank to their rests, 
 The dark hair veiling the beautiful breasts 
 
 That arose in billows, as mists veil seas.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 85 
 
 Then away to the dream-world one and by one ; 
 The great red sun in his purple was roll'd, 
 And red-wing'd birds and the birds of gold 
 
 Were above in the trees like the beams of the sun. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Then the sun came down, with his ladders of gold 
 Built up of his beams, and the souls arose 
 And ascended on these, and the fair repose 
 
 Of the negligent forms was a feast to behold. 
 
 The round brown limbs they were reached or drawn, 
 The grass made dark with the fervor of hair ; 
 And here were the rose-red lips, and there 
 
 A flushed breast rose like a sun at a dawn. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The copper-bound shields lay silent beside, 
 
 Their lances were lean'd to the leaning old trees, 
 While away in the sun an irresolute breeze 
 
 With a rippled quick step stole over the tide.
 
 86 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Then black-wingM birds blew over in pair, 
 Listless and slow, as they call'd of the seas, 
 And sounds came down through the tangle of trees 
 
 As lost, and nestled and hid in their hair. 
 
 XXXIX, 
 
 They started disturbed, they sprang as at war 
 To lance and to shield ; but the dolorous sound 
 Was gone from the wood ; they gazed around 
 
 And saw but the birds, black- winged and afar. 
 
 XL. 
 
 They gazed,at each other, then turn'd them unheard, 
 Slow trailing their lances in long single line ; 
 They moved through the forest, all dark as the sign 
 
 Of death that fell down from the ominous bird. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Then the great sun died, and a rose-red bloom 
 Grew over his grave in a border of gold, 
 And a cloud with a silver-white rim was roll'd 
 
 Like a cold gray stone at the door of a tomb.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 87 
 
 Then away on the wave the invisible night, 
 With her eyes of stars and her storms of hair 
 Sail'd on in her wonderful ships of air, 
 
 And the Isle lay dimpled in calm delight. 
 
 XLIH. 
 
 Strange voices were heard, sad visions were seen, 
 By sentries, betimes, on the opposite shore, 
 
 Where broad boughs bended their curtains of green 
 Far over the wave with their tropical store. 
 
 A sentry bent low on her palms and she peerM 
 Suspiciously through ; and, heavens ! a man, 
 
 Low-brow'd and wicked, look'd backward, and jeer'd 
 And taunted right full in her face as he ran : 
 
 XLV. 
 
 A low crooked man, with eyes like a bird, 
 As round and as cunning, who came from the land 
 Of lakes, where the clouds lie low and at hand, 
 
 And the songs of the bent black swans are heard ;
 
 88 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Where men are most cunning and cruel withal, 
 And are famous as spies, and are supple and fleet, 
 And are webb'd like the water-fowl under the feet, 
 
 And they swim like the swans, andlike pelicans call. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 And again, on a night when the moon she was not, 
 A sentry saw stealing i as still as a dream, 
 A sudden canoe down the mid of the stream, 
 
 Like gleamings of light, and as swift as a thought. 
 
 And lo ! as it pass'd, from the prow there arose 
 A dreadful and gibbering, hairy old man, 
 Loud laughing, as only a maniac can, 
 
 And shaking a lance qt the land of his foes ; 
 
 XL1X. 
 
 Then sudden it vanish'd, as swift as it came, 
 
 Far down through the walls of the shadowy wood, 
 
 And the great moon rose like a forest aflame, 
 All threat'ning, sullen, and red like blood.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 PABT V.
 
 Well, we have threaded through and through 
 The gloaming forests. Fairy Isles, 
 Afloat in sun and summer smiles, 
 
 As fallen stars infields of blue; 
 Some futile wars with subtile love 
 
 That mortal never vanquished yet, 
 
 Some symphonies by angels set 
 In wave below, in bough above, 
 
 Were yours and mine; but here adieu. 
 
 And if it come to pass some days 
 
 That you grow weary, sad, and you 
 Lift up deep eyes from dusty ways 
 
 Of mart and moneys, to the blue 
 And pure cool waters, isle and vine, 
 
 And bathe you there, and then arise 
 Refreshed by one fresh thought of mine, 
 
 / rest content ; I kiss your eyes, 
 I kiss your hair, in my delight : 
 I kiss my hand, and say, " Good-night.' 
 
 May love be thine by sun or moon, 
 May peace be thine by peaceful way 
 Through all the darling days of May, 
 
 Through all the genial days of June, 
 To golden days' that die in smiles 
 Of sunset on the blessed Isles.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 "\ T 7HEN spires shall shine on the Amazon's shore, 
 
 From temples of God, and time shall have roll'd 
 Like a scroll from the border the limitless wold ; 
 When the tiger is tamed, and the mono no more 
 
 Swings over the waters to chatter and call 
 To the crocodile sleeping in rushes and fern ; 
 When cities shall gleam, and their battlements burn 
 
 In the sunsets of gold, where the cocoa-nuts fall ; 
 
 'Twill be something to lean from the stars and to know 
 That the engine?, red-mouthing with turbulent tongue, 
 
 The white ships that come, and the cargoes that go, 
 We invoked them of old when the nations were 
 young :
 
 92 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 Twill be something to know that we named them of 
 
 old, 
 
 That we said to the nations, Lo ! here is the fleece 
 That allures to the rest, and the perfectest peace, 
 
 With its foldings of sunlight shed mellow like gold; 
 
 That we were the Carsons in kingdoms untrod, 
 And follow'd the trail through the rustle of leaves, 
 And stood by the wave where solitude weaves 
 
 Her garments of mosses, and lonely as God : 
 
 That we did make venture when singers were young, 
 Inviting from Europe, from long-trodden lands 
 That are easy of journeys, and holy from hands 
 
 Laid upon by the Masters when giants had tongue : 
 
 The prophet should lead us, and lifting a hand 
 To the world on the way, like a white guiding star, 
 Point out and allure to the fair and unknown, 
 
 And the far, and the hidden delights of a land. 
 
 Behold my Sierras 1 there singers shall throng ; 
 The Andes shall break through 'the wings of the 
 
 night 
 As the fierce condor breaks through the clouds in his 
 
 flight ; 
 And I here plant the cross and possess them with song.
 
 PART Y. 
 
 T TELL you that love is the bitterest sweet 
 
 That ever laid hold on the heart of a man ; 
 A chain to the soul, and to cheer as a ban, 
 And a bane to the brain, and a snare to the feet. 
 
 Ay ! who shall ascend on the hollow white wings 
 Of love but to fall ; to fall and to learn, 
 Like a moth, and a man, that the lights lure to burn, 
 
 That the roses have thorns, and the honey-bee stings ? 
 
 m. 
 
 I say to you surely that grief shall befall ; 
 I lift you my finger, I caution you true, 
 And yet you go forward, laugh gayly, and you 
 
 Must learn for yourself, then mourn for us all.
 
 94 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 You had better be drown' d than to love and to dream, 
 It were better to sit on a moss-grown stone, 
 And away from the sun, and forever alone, 
 
 Slow pitching white pebbles at trout in the stream. 
 
 Alas for a heart that is left forlorn ! 
 
 If you live you must love ; if you love, regret, 
 It were better, perhaps, we had never been born, 
 
 Or better, at least, we could well forget. 
 
 The clouds are above us, and snowy and cold, 
 And what is beyond but the steel-gray sky, 
 And the still far stars that twinkle and lie 
 
 Like the eyes of a love or delusions of gold ! 
 
 Ah ! who would ascend ? The clouds are above. 
 
 Ay 1 all things perish ; to rise is to fall. 
 And alack for lovers, and alas for love, 
 
 And alas that we ever were born at all.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 95 
 
 vrrr. 
 The minstrel now stood by the border of wood, 
 
 But not as alone ; with a resolute heart ; 
 He reach'd his hand, like to one made strong, 
 Forgot his silence and resumed his song, 
 
 And aroused his soul, and assumed his part 
 With a passionate will, in the palms where he stood. 
 
 IX. 
 
 ** She is sweet as the breath of the Castile rose, 
 She is warm to the heart as a world of wine, 
 
 And as rich to behold as the rose that grows 
 With its red heart bent to the tide of the Rhine. 
 
 " O hot blood born of the heavens above ! 
 
 I shall drain her soul, I shall drink her up ; 
 I shall IOVQ with a searching and merciless love, 
 
 I shall sip her lips as the brown bees sup, 
 
 " From the great gold heart of the buttercup I 
 I shall live and love ! I shall have my day, 
 
 Let the suns fall down or the moons rise up, 
 And die in my time, and who shall gainsay ?
 
 96 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 What boots me the battles that I have fought 
 With self for honor ? My brave resolves ; 
 And who takes note ? The soul dissolves 
 
 In a sea of love, and the land is forgot. 
 
 tt The march of men, and the drift of ships, 
 The dreams of fame, and desires for gold, 
 Shall go for aye, as a tale that is told. 
 
 Nor divide for a day my lips from her lips. 
 
 * And a knight shall rest, and none shall say nay, 
 In a green Isle wash'd by an arm of the seas, 
 And wall'd from the world by the white Andes, 
 
 For the years are of age and can go their way." 
 
 x. 
 
 The sentinel stood on the farthermost land, 
 And shouted aloud to the shadowy forms : 
 " He comes, he comes, in the strength of storms,* 
 
 And struck her shield, and, her sword in hand, 
 
 XI. 
 
 She cried, " He comes with his silver spears, 
 With flint-tipp'd arrows and bended bows, 
 
 To take our blood, though we give him tears, 
 And to flood our Isle in a world of woes."
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 xn. 
 
 " He comes, O Queen of the sun-kiss'd Isle, 
 
 He comes as a wind comes, blown from the seas, 
 In a cloud of canoes, on the curling breeze, 
 
 With his shields of tortoise and of crocodile." 
 
 Xlll. 
 
 She dared them come like a storm of seas, 
 
 To come as the winds come, fierce and frantic ; 
 As sounding down to the far Atlantic, 
 
 And sounding away to the deep Andes. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 She rush'd her down where the white tide ran, 
 She breasted away where the breakers reel'd, 
 
 She shook her sword in the foeman's van, 
 And beat, as the waves beat, sword on shield. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Sweeter than swans are a maiden's graces ! 
 Sweeter than fruits are the kisses of morn 1 
 Sweeter than babes is a love new-born, 
 
 But sweeter than all are a love's embraces. 
 6 o
 
 98 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 She slept at peace, and the sentries' warning 
 Could hardly awaken the splendid Queen ; 
 She slept in peace in the opaline 
 
 Hush and blush of the tropic morning ; 
 
 xvn. 
 
 And bound about by the twining glory, 
 Vine and trellis in the vernal morn, 
 As still and sweet as a babe new-born, 
 
 The brown Queen dream'd of the old new story 
 
 Xvlii. 
 
 % 
 
 .But hark ! her sentry's passionate words, 
 The sound of shields, and the clash of swords ! 
 And slow she comes, her head on her breast, 
 And her two hands held as to plead for rest. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Where, O where, are the Juno graces ? 
 
 Where, O where, is the glance of Jove, 
 When the Queen comes forth from the sacred places, 
 
 Hidden away in the heart of the grove ?
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 99 
 
 Too deep, too deep, of the waters of love, 
 The beautiful woman had drunk in the wood : 
 The dangerous, wonderful waters that fill 
 The soul with wine that subdues the will. 
 She doubled her hands and she helpless stood, 
 With her head held down and her hands above. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 They rallied around as of old, they besought her, 
 With swords to the sun and the sounding shield, 
 To lead them again to the glorious field, 
 
 So sacred to Freedom; and, breathless, they brought 
 her 
 
 Her buckler and sword, and her armor all bright 
 With a thousand gems enjewell'd in gold. 
 She lifted her head with the look of old, ; 
 
 An instant only ; with all of her might 
 
 She sought to be strong and majestic again : 
 
 She bared them her arms and her ample brown 
 
 breast ; 
 They luted her armor, they strove' to invest 
 
 Her form in armor, but they strove in vain ;
 
 100 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 It closed no more, but clanged on the ground, 
 Like the fall of a knight, with an ominous sound, 
 And she shook her hair and she cried, " Alas ! 
 That love should come and that life should pass ; " 
 And she cried, " Alas ! to be cursed . . . and bless'd, 
 For the nights of love and the noons of rest." 
 
 xxm. 
 
 Her warriors wonder'd ; they wandered apart, 
 And trail'd their swords, and subdued their eyes 
 To earth in sorrow and in hush'd surprise, 
 
 And forgot themselves in their pity of heart. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " O Isles of the sun," cried the blue-eyed youth, 
 " O Edens new-made and let down from above ! 
 Be sacred to peace and to passionate love, 
 
 Made happy in peace and made holy with truth. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 ".O gardens of God, new-planted below ! 
 
 Shall rivers be red ? Shall day be night ? " 
 He stood in the wdod with his face to the foe, 
 
 Apart with his buckler and sword for the fight.
 
 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 10 1 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But the fair Isle fill'd with the fierce invader ; 
 
 They form'd on the strand, they lifted their spears, 
 Where never was man for years and for years, 
 
 And moved on the Queen. She lifted and laid her 
 
 Finger-tip to her lips. For O sweet 
 
 Was the song of love, and the song new-born, 
 That the minstrel blew in the virgin morn, 
 
 Away where the trees and the soft sands meet. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The strong men lean'd and their shields let fall, 
 And slowly they moved with their trailing spears, 
 And heads bow'd down as if bent with years, 
 
 And an air of gentleness over them all. 
 
 xxvm. 
 
 The men grew glad as the song ascended, 
 They lean'd their lances against the palms, 
 They reach'd their arms as to reach for alms, 
 
 And the Amazons came and their reign was ended. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 They reach'd their arms to the arms extended, 
 Put by their swords, and no more seem'd sad, 
 
 But moved as the men moved, tall and splendid, 
 Mingled together, and were all made glad-
 
 102 ISLES OF THE AMAZONS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Then the Queen stood tall, as of old she had stood, 
 With her face to the sun and her breast to the foe ; 
 Then moved like a king, unheeding and slow, 
 
 And aside to the singer in the fringe of the wood. 
 
 She led him forth, and she bade him sing : 
 
 Then bade him cease ; and the gold of his hair 
 She touch'd with her hands ; she embraced him 
 there, 
 
 Then lifted her voice and proclaim'd him King. 
 
 And the men made fair in their new-found loves, 
 They all cried, " King ! " and again and again, 
 Cried, "Long may they live, and long may they 
 reign, 
 
 As true in their loves as the red-bill'd doves : 
 
 " Ay, long may they live, and long may they love, 
 And their blue-eyed babes with the years increase, 
 And we all have love, and we all have peace, 
 
 While the seas are below or the sun is above.
 
 ISLES Of THE AMAZONS. 103 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 " Let the winds blow fair and the fruits be gold, 
 And the gods be gracious to King and to Queen, 
 While the tides are gray or the Isles are green, 
 
 Or the moons wax new, or the moons wane old 1 " 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The tawny old crone here lays her stone 
 On the leaning grass and reaches a hand ; 
 The day like a beautiful dream has flown, 
 The curtains of night come down on the land, 
 And I dip to the oars ; but ere I go, 
 I tip her an extra bright pesos or so, 
 And I smile my thanks, for I think them due 
 But, fairest of readers, now what think you ?
 
 FROM SEA TO SEA.
 
 We glide through golden seas of grain; 
 We shoot, a shining comet, through 
 The mountain range against the blue 
 And then below the walls of snow. 
 We blow the desert dust amain ; 
 We brush the gay madrona tree, 
 We greet the orange groves below, 
 We rest beneath the oaks ; and toe 
 Have cleft a continent in twain.
 
 FROM SEA TO SEA. 
 
 O H AKE hands ! kiss hands in haste to the sea, 
 
 Where the sun comes in, and mount with me 
 The matchless steed of the strong New World, 
 That champs and chafes with a strength untold, 
 And away to the West, where the waves are curl'd, 
 As they kiss white palms to the capes of gold ! 
 A girth of brass and a breast of steel, 
 A breath of fire and a flaming mane, 
 An iron hoof and a steel-clad heel, 
 A Mexican bit and a massive chain 
 Well tried and wrought in an iron rein ; 
 And away ! away ! with a shout and yell 
 That had stricken a legion of old with fear, 
 That had started the dead from their graves whilere, 
 And startled the damn'd in hell as well. 
 
 Stand up ! stand out ! where the wind comes in, 
 And the wealth of the seas pours over you, 
 As its health floods up to the face like wine, 
 And a breath blows up from the Delaware
 
 108 FROM SEA TO SEA. 
 
 And the Susquehanna. We feel the might 
 
 Of armies in us ; the blood leaps through 
 
 The frame with a fresh and a keen delight 
 
 As the Alleghanies have kiss'd the hair, 
 
 With a kiss blown far through the rush and din, 
 
 By the chestnut burs and through boughs of pine. 
 
 n. 
 
 O seas in a land ! O lakes of mine ! 
 By the love I bear and the songs I bring 
 Be glad with me ! lift your waves and sing 
 A song in the reeds that surround your isles ! 
 A song of joy for this sun that smiles, 
 For this land I love and this age and sign ; 
 For the peace that is and the perils pass'd ; 
 For the hope that is and the rest at last ! 
 
 O heart of the world's heart ! West ! my West 1 
 Look up ! look out ! There are fields of kine, 
 There are clover-fields that are red as wine ; 
 And a world of kine in the fields take rest, 
 And ruminate in the shade of trees 
 That are white with blossoms or brown with bees.
 
 FROM SEA TO SEA. IOQ 
 
 There are emerald seas of corn and cane ; 
 There are cotton-fields like a foamy main, 
 To the far-off South where the sun was born, 
 Where the fair have birth and the loves knew morn. 
 There are isles of oak and a harvest plain, 
 Where brown men bend to the bending grain ; 
 There are temples of God and towns new-born, 
 And beautiful homes of beautiful brides ; 
 And the hearts of oak and the hands of horn 
 Have fashion'd them all and a world besides. . . 
 ... A yell like the yell of the Iroquois, 
 And out of Eden, and Illinois 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 A rush of rivers and a brush of trees, 
 A breath blown far from the Mexican seas, 
 And over the great heart-vein of earth ! 
 ... By the South-Sun-land of the Cherokee, 
 By the scalp-lock-lodge of the tall Pawnee, 
 And up the La Platte. What a weary dearth 
 Of the homes of men ! What a wild delight 
 Of space ! of room ! What a sense of seas, 
 Where the seas are not ! What a salt-like breeze ! 
 What dust and taste of quick alkali !
 
 HO FROM SEA TO SEA. 
 
 . . . Then hills ! green, brown, then black like night, 
 All fierce and defiant against the sky ! 
 
 By night and by day ! The deeps of the night 
 Are rolling upon us, yet fiercer the flight. 
 Lo ! darkness bends down like a mother of grief 
 On the limitless plain, and the fall of her hair 
 It has mantled a world. The stars are in sheaf, 
 Yet onward we plunge like a beast in despair 
 Through the thick of the night ; and the thundering 
 
 cars! 
 
 They have crush'd and have broken the beautiful day ; 
 Have crumbled it, scatter'd it far away, 
 And blown it above to a dust of stars. 
 
 At last ! at last ! O steed new-born, 
 Born strong of the will of the strong New World, 
 We shoot to the summit, with the shafts of morn, 
 Of the mount of Thunder, where clouds are curl'd, 
 Below in a splendor of the sun-clad seas. 
 A kiss of welcome on the warm west breeze
 
 - 
 
 FROM SEA TO SEA. Ill 
 
 Blows up with a smell of the fragrant pine, 
 
 And a faint, sweet fragrance from the far-off seas 
 
 Comes in through the gates of the great South Pass 
 
 And thrills the soul like a flow of wine. 
 
 The hare leaps low in the storm-bent grass, 
 
 JThe mountain ram from his cliff looks back, 
 
 The brown deer hies to the tamarack ; 
 
 And afar to the South with a sound of the main, 
 
 Roll buffalo herds to the limitless plain. . . . 
 
 On, on, o'er the summit ; and onward again, 
 And down like the sea-dove the billow enshrouds, 
 And down like the swallow that dips to the sea, 
 We dart and we dash and we quiver and we 
 Are blowing to heaven white billows of clouds. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thou " City of Saints ! " O antique men, 
 And men of the Desert as the men of old ! 
 Stand up ! be glad ! When the truths are told, 
 When Time has utter'd his truths and when 
 His hand has lifted the things to fame 
 From the mass of things to be known no more ; 
 When creeds have perish'd and have pass'd away
 
 112 FROM SEA TO SEA. 
 
 Opinions that lorded their little day, 
 
 A monument set in the desert sand, 
 
 A pyramid rear'd on an inland shore, 
 
 And their architects, shall have place and name. 
 
 O sea, land-lost ! O desolate land, 
 Made brown with grain", and made green with bay ; 
 Let mock who will, gainsay it who may, 
 No little thing has it been to rear 
 A resting-place in the desert here, 
 For Fathers bound to a farther land ; 
 No little thing with a foe at hand 
 That has known no peace, save with these strong men, 
 And the peace unbroken with the blameless Penn. 
 
 vn. 
 
 The Humboldt desert and the alkaline land, 
 And the seas of sage and of arid sand, 
 That stretch away till the strain' d eye carries 
 The soul where the infinite spaces fill, 
 Are far in the rear, and the fair Sierras 
 Are under our feet, and the heart beats high, 
 And the blood comes quick ; but the lips are still 
 With awe and wonder, and all the will 
 Is bow'd with a grandeur that frets the sky.
 
 FROM SEA TO SEA. 113 
 
 A flash of lakes through the fragrant trees, 
 A song of birds and a sound of bees 
 Above in the boughs of the sugar-pine. 
 The pick-axe stroke in the placer mine, 
 Th boom of blasts in the gold-ribb'd hills, 
 The grizzly's growl in the gorge below 
 Are dying away, and the sound of rills 
 From the far-off shinimering crest of snow, 
 The laurel green and the ivied oak, 
 A yellow stream and a cabin's smoke, 
 The brown bent hills and the shepherd's call, 
 The hills of vine and of fruits, and all 
 The sweets of Eden are here, and we 
 Look out and afar to a limitless sea. 
 
 We have lived in age in a half-moon-wane ! 
 We have seen a world ! We have chased the sun 
 From sea to sea ; but the task is done. 
 We here descend to the great white main, 
 To the King of Seas, with the temples bare 
 And a tropic breath on the brow and hair. 
 
 We are hush'd with wonder, and all apart 
 We stand in silence till the heaving heart
 
 114 FROM SEA TO SEA. 
 
 Fills full of heaven, and then the knees 
 Go down in worship, on the golden sands. 
 With faces seaward, and with folded hands 
 We gaze on the beautiful Balboa seas.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS.
 
 BY THE STO-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 PABT I. 
 
 i. 
 T IKE fragments of an uncompleted world, 
 
 From bleak Alaska, bound in ice and spray, 
 To where the peaks of Darien lie curl'd 
 In clouds, the broken lands loom bold and gray. 
 The seamen nearing San Francisco Bay 
 Forget the compass here ; with sturdy hand 
 They seize the wheel, look up, then bravely lay 
 The ship to shore by rugged peaks that stand 
 The stern and proud patrician fathers of the land. 
 
 n. 
 
 They stand white stairs of heaven, ' stand a line 
 Of lifting, endless, and eternal white. 
 They look upon the far and flashing biine, 
 Upon the boundless plains, the broken height 
 Of Kamiakin's battlements. The flight 
 Of time is underneath their untopp'd towers. 
 They seem to push aside the moon at night, 
 To jostle and to loose the stars. The flowers 
 Of heaven fall about their brows in shining showers.
 
 Il8 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 They stand a line of lifted snowy isles 
 High held above a toss'd and tumbled sea, 
 A sea of wood in wild unmeasured miles : 
 White pyramids of Faith where man is free ; 
 White monuments of Hope that yet shall be 
 The mounts of matchless and immortal song. . . . 
 I look far down the hollow days ; I see 
 The bearded prophets, simple-soul'd and strong, 
 That strike the sounding harp and thrill the heeding 
 throng. 
 
 Serene and satisfied ! supreme ! as lone 
 As God, they loom like God's archangels churl'd : 
 They look as cold as kings upon a throne : 
 The mantling wings of night are crush'd and carl'd 
 As feathers curl. The elements are hurl'd 
 From off their bosoms, and are bidden go, 
 Like evil spirits, to an under-world. 
 They stretch from Cariboo to Mexico, 
 A line of battle-tents in everlasting snow.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 119 
 
 See once Columbia's scenes, then roam no more ; 
 No more remains on earth to cultured eyes ; 
 The cataract comes down, a broken roar, 
 The palisades defy approach, and rise 
 Green moss'd and dripping to the clouded skies. 
 The canon thunders with its full of foam, 
 And calls loud-mouth'd, and all the land defies ; 
 The mounts make fellowship and dwell at home 
 In snowy brotherhood beneath their purpled dome. 
 
 The rainbows swim in circles round, and rise 
 Against the hanging granite walls till lost 
 In drifting dreamy clouds and. dappled skies, 
 A grand mosaic intertwined and toss'd 
 Along the mighty canon, bound and cross'd 
 By storms of screaming birds of sea and land ; 
 The salmon rush below, bright red and boss'd 
 In silver. Tawny, tall, on either hand 
 You see the savage spearman nude and silent stand, 
 
 vn. 
 
 Here sweep the wide wild waters cold and wliite 
 And blue in their far depths ; divided now
 
 120 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 By sudden swift canoe as still and light 
 As feathers nodding from the painted brow 
 That lifts and looks from out the imaged prow. 
 Ashore you hear the papoose shout at play ; 
 The curl'd smoke comes from underneath the bough 
 Of leaning fir : the wife looks far away 
 And sees a swift sweet bark divide the dashing spray. 
 
 Slow drift adown the river's levell'd deep, 
 And look above ; lo, columns ! woods ! the snow I 
 The rivers rush upon the brink and leap 
 From out the clouds three thousand feet below, 
 And land afoam in top's of firs that grow 
 Against your river's rim : they plash, they play, 
 In clouds, now loud and now subdued and slow, 
 A thousand thunder tones ; they swing and sway 
 In idle winds, long leaning shafts of shining spray. 
 
 An Indian summer-time it was, long past, 
 We lay on this Columbia, far below 
 The. stormy water-falls, and God had cast 
 Us heaven's stillness. Dreamily and slow 
 We drifted as the light bark chose to go.
 
 BY THE S 'UN-DOWN SEAS. 121 
 
 An Indian girl with ornaments of shell 
 Began to sing. . . . The stars may hold such flow 
 Of hair, such eyes, but rarely earth. There fell 
 A sweet enchantment that possess'd me as a spell : 
 
 We saw the elk forsake the sable wood, 
 Step quick across the rim of shining sand, 
 Breast out in troop against the flashing flood, 
 Then brisket deep with lifted antlers stand, 
 And ears alert, look sharp on either hand, 
 Then whistle shrill to dam and doubting fawri 
 To follow, lead with black nose to the land. 
 They cross'd, they climb'd the heaving hills; were gone, 
 A sturdy charging line with crooked sabres drawn : 
 
 ^ 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then black swans cross'd us slowly low and still; 
 Then other swans, wide-wing'd and white as snow, 
 Flew overhead and topp'd the timber'd hill, 
 And call'd and sang afar coarse-voiced and slow, 
 Till sounds roam'd lost in sombre firs below. . . . 
 Then clouds blew in, and all the sky was cast 
 With tumbled and tumultuous clouds that grow 
 6
 
 122 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 Red thunderbolts. ... A flash ! A thunder-blast ! 
 The clouds were rent, and lo ! Mount Hood hung white 
 and vast. 
 
 Once, morn by morn, when snowy mountains flamed 
 With sudden shafts of light that shot a flood 
 Into the vale like fiery arrows aim'd 
 At night from mighty battlements, there stood 
 Upon a cliff high-limn'd against Mount Hood, 
 A matchless bull fresh forth from sable wold, 
 And standing so seem'd grander 'gainst the wood 
 Than winged bull that stood with tips of gold 
 Beside the brazen gates of Nineveh of old. 
 
 xra. 
 
 A time he toss'd the dewy tur and then 
 
 Stretch'd forth his wrinkled neck, and long and loud 
 
 He call'd above the far abodes of men 
 
 Until his breath became a curling cloud 
 
 And wreathed about his neck a misty shroud.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 123 
 
 He then as sudden as he came pass'd on 
 With lifted head, majestic and most proud, 
 And lone as night in deepest wood withdrawn 
 He roam'd in silent rage until another dawn. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 What drove the hermit from the valley herd, 
 What cross of love, what cold neglect of kind, 
 Or scorn of unpretending worth had stirrM 
 The stubborn blood and drove him forth to find 
 A fellowship in mountain cloud and wind, 
 I ofttime wonder'd much ; and ofttime thought 
 The beast betray'd a royal monarch's mind, 
 To lift above the low herd's common lot, 
 And make them hear him still when they had fain 
 v forgot. 
 
 XV. 
 
 His broad-brimmM hat push'd back with careless air, 
 
 The proud vaquero sits his steed as free 
 
 As winds that toss his black abundant hair. 
 
 No rover ever swept a lawless sea 
 
 With such a haught and heedless air as he
 
 124 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 Who scorns the path, and bounds with swift disdain 
 Away : a peon born, yet born to be 
 A splendid king ; behold him ride, and reign, 
 The only perfect monarch of the mottled plain. 
 
 How brave he takes his herds in branding days, 
 On timber'd hills that belt about the plain ; 
 He climbs, he wheels, he shouts through winding ways 
 Of hiding ferns and hanging fir ; the rein 
 Is loose, the rattling spur drives swift ; the mane 
 Blows, free ; the bullocks rush in storms before ; 
 They turn with lifted heads, they rush again, 
 Then sudden plunge from out the wood, and pour 
 A cloud upon the plain with one terrific roar. 
 
 Now sweeps the tawny man on- stormy steed, 
 His gaudy trappings toss'd about and blown 
 Above the limbs as lithe as any reed ; 
 The swift long lasso twirl'd above is thrown 
 From flying hand ; the fall, the fearful groan 
 Of bullock toil'd and tumbled in the dust 
 The black herds onward sweep, and all disown
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 125 
 
 The fallen struggling monarch that has thrust 
 His tongue in rage and roll'd his red eyes in disgust. 
 
 A morn in Oregon ! The kindled camp 
 Upon the mountain brow that broke below 
 In steep and grassy stairway to the damp 
 And dewy valley, snapp'd and flamed aglow 
 
 , With knots of pine. Above, the peaks of snow, 
 With under-belts of sable forests, rose 
 And flash'd in sudden sunlight; ' To and fro 
 And far below, in lines and winding rows, 
 
 The herders drove their bands, and broke the deep 
 repose. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 I heard their shouts like sounding hunter's horn, 
 - The lowing herds made echoes far away ; 
 
 When lo ! the clouds came driving in with morn 
 Toward the sea, as fleeing from the day. 
 The valleys fill'd- with curly clouds. They lay 
 Below, a levell'd sea that reach'd and roll'd 
 And broke like breakers of a stormy bay 
 Against the grassy shingle fold on fold, 
 So like a splendid ocean, snowy white and cold.
 
 126 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 The peopled valley lay a hidderi world, 
 The shouts were shouts of drowning men that died, 
 The broken clouds along the border curl'd, 
 And bent the grass .with weighty freight of tide. 
 A savage stood in silence at my side, 
 Then sudden threw aback his beaded strouds 
 And stretch' d his hand above the scene, and cried, 
 As all the land lay dead in snowy shrouds : 
 " Behold ! the sun upon a silver sea of clouds." 
 
 Here lifts the land of clouds ! The mantled forms, 
 Made white with everlasting snow, look down 
 Through mists of many canons, and the storms 
 That stretch from Autumn time until they drown 
 The yellow hem of Spring. The cedars frown, 
 Dark-brow'd, through banner'd clouds that streteli 
 
 and stream 
 
 Above the sea from snowy mountain crown. 
 The heavens roll, and all things drift or seem 
 To drift about and drive like some majestic dream.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 12? 
 
 xxn. 
 
 ID waning Autumn time, when purpled skies 
 Begin to haze in indolence below 
 
 The snowy peaks, you see black forms arise 
 In rolling thunder banks above, and throw 
 Quick barricades about the gleaming snow. 
 The strife begins ! The battling seasons stand 
 Broad breast to breast. A flash ! Contentions grow 
 Terrific. Thunders crash, and lightnings brand 
 The battlements. The clouds possess the stormy land. 
 
 Then clouds blow by, the swans take loftier flight, 
 The yellow blooms burst out upon the hill, 
 The purple camas comes as in a night, 
 Tall spiked and dripping of the dews that fill 
 
 The misty valley Sunbeams break and spill 
 
 Their glory till the vale is full of noon. 
 The roses belt the streams, no bird is still. . . . 
 The stars, as large as lilies, meet the moon 
 And sing of summer, born thus sudden full and soon.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 P A B T II. 
 
 A TALE half told and hardly understood ; 
 
 The talk of bearded men that chanced to meet, 
 That lean'd on long quaint rifles in the wood, 
 That look'd in fellow faces, spoke discreet 
 And low, as half in doubt and in defeat 
 Of hope ; a tale it was of lands of gold 
 That lay toward the sun. Wild wing'd and fleet 
 It spread among the swift Missouri's bold 
 Unbridled men, and reach'd to where Ohio roll'd. 
 
 The long chain'd lines of yoked and patient steers ; 
 The long white trains that pointed to the west, 
 Beyond the savage west ; the hopes and fears 
 Of blunt untutor'd men, who hardly guess'd
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 129 
 
 Their course ; the brave and silent women, dress'd 
 In homely spun attire, the boys in bands, 
 The cheery babes that laugh'd at all, and bless'd 
 The doubting hearts with laughing lifted hands, 
 Proclaim'd an exodus for far untraversed lands. 
 
 * " ; 
 
 % m. 
 
 The Plains! The shouting drivers at the wheel; 
 The crash of leather whips ; the crush and roll 
 Of wheels ; the groan of yokes and grinding steel 
 And iron chain, and lo ! at last the whole 
 Vast line, that reach'd as if to touch the goal, 
 Began to stretch and stream away and wind 
 Toward the west, as if with one control; 
 Then hope loom'd fair, and home lay far behind; 
 Before, the boundless plain, and fiercest of their kind. 
 
 The way lay wide and green and fresh as seas 
 And far away as any reach of wave ; 
 The sunny streams went by in belt of trees ; 
 And here and there the tassell'd, tawny brave 
 Swept by on horse, look'd back, stretch'd forth and 
 
 gave 
 6 i
 
 130 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 A yell of hell, and then did wheel and rein 
 Awhile, and point away, dark-brow'd and grave, 
 Into the far and dim and distant plain 
 With signs and prophecies, and then plunged on again. 
 
 Some hills at last began to lift and break ; 
 Some streams began to fail of wood and tide, 
 The sombre plain began betime to take 
 A hue of weary brown, and wild and wide 
 It stretch'd its naked breast on every side. . . . 
 A babe was heard at last to cry for bread 
 Amid the deserts ; cattle low'd and died, 
 And dying men went by with broken tread, 
 And left a long black serpent line of wreck and dead. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Strange hungerM birds, black-wing'd and still as 
 
 death, 
 
 And crown'd of red with hooked beaks, blew lew 
 And. close about, till we could touch their breath 
 Strange unnamed birds, that seem'd to come and go 
 In circles now, and now direct and slow,
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 131 
 
 Continual, yet never touch the earth ; 
 Slim foxes shied and shuttled to and fro 
 At limes across the dusty weary dearth 
 Of life, look'd back, then sank like crickets in a hearth. 
 
 vn. 
 
 The dust arose, a long dim line like smoke 
 From out a riven earth. The wheels went by, 
 The thousand feet in harness and in yoke, 
 They tore the ways of ashen alkali, 
 And desert winds blew sudden, swift and dry. 
 The dust ! it sat upon and fill'd the train ! 
 It seem'd to fret and fill the very sky. 
 Lo ! dust upon the beasts, the tent, the plain, 
 And dust, alas! on breasts that rose not up again. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 N They sat in desolation and in dust 
 
 By dried-up desert streams ; the mother's handa 
 Hid all her bended face ; the cattle^ thrust 
 .Their tongues and faintly call'd across the lands. . 
 The babes, that knew not what the way through sands 
 Gould mean, would ask if it would end to-day. . . . 
 The panting wolves slid by, red-eyed, in bands 
 To streams beyond. The men look'd far away, 
 
 And silent saw that alJ a boundless desert lay.
 
 132 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS, 
 
 They rose by night ; they struggled on and on 
 As thin and still as ghosts ; then here and there 
 Beside the dusty way before the dawn, 
 Men silent laid them down in their despair, 
 And died. But woman ! Woman, frail as fair 1 
 May man have strength to give to you your due ; 
 You falter'd not, nor munnur'd anywhere, 
 You held your babes, held, to your course, and you 
 Bore on through burning hell your double burthens 
 through. 
 
 They stood at last, the decimated few, 
 Above a land of running streams, and they . . . ? 
 They push'd aside the boughs, and peering through 
 Beheld afar the cool, refreshing bay ; 
 Then some did curse, and some bend hands to pray; 
 But some look'd back upon the desert, wide 
 And desolate with death, then all the day 
 They wept. But one, with nothing left beside 
 His dog to love, crept down among the ferns and died.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 133 
 
 I stand upon the green Sierra's wall ; 
 Toward the east, beyond the yellow -grass, 
 I see the broken hill-tops lift and 'fall, 
 Then sands that shimmer like a sea of glass, 
 In all the shining summer days that pass. 
 There lies the nation's great high road of dead. 
 Forgotten aye, unnumber'd, and, alas! 
 Unchronicled in deed or death ; instead, 
 The stiff aristocrat lifts high a lordly head. 
 
 XII. 
 
 My brave and unremember'd heroes, rest ; 
 You fell in silence, silent lie and sleep. 
 Sleep on unsung, for this, I say, were best ; 
 The world to-day has hardly time to weep ; 
 The world to-day will hardly care to keep 
 In heart her plain and unpretending brave. 
 The desert winds, they whistle by and sweep 
 About you ; brown'd and russet grasses wave 
 Along a thousand leagues that lie one common grave. 
 
 xm. 
 
 The proud and careless pass in palace car 
 Along the line you blazon'd white with bones ;
 
 134 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 Pass swift to people, and possess and mar 
 Your lands with monuments and letter'd stones 
 Unto themselves. Thank God ! this waste disowns 
 Their touch. His everlasting hand has drawn 
 A shining line around you. Wealth bemoans 
 The waste your splendid grave employs. Sleep on, 
 No hand shall touch your dust this side of God and 
 dawn. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 There came another, far less noble race ; 
 They shot across the iron grooves, a host 
 Of school'd and cunning men ; they push'd from place 
 The simple pioneer, and mock'd, and most 
 Of all set strife along the peaceful coast. 
 The rude unletter'd settler, bound and coil'd 
 In controversy, then before the boast 
 Of bold contentious men, confused and foiled, 
 Turn'd mute to wilder lands, and left his home despoil'd. 
 
 xv. 
 
 I let them stride across with grasping hands 
 And strive for brief possession ; mark and line 
 With lifted walls the new divided lands, 
 And gather growing herds of lowing kine.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 135 
 
 I could not covet these, could not confine 
 My heart to one ; all seom'd to me the same, 
 And all below my mountain home, divine 
 And beautiful held in another's name, 
 As if the herds and lands were mine, subdued and tame. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 I have not been, shall not be, understood ; 
 I have not wit, nor will, to well explain, 
 But that which men call good I find not good. 
 The lands the savage held, shall hold again, 
 The gold the savage spurn'd in proud disdain 
 For centuries ; go, take them all ; build high 
 Your gilded temples; strive and strike and strain 
 And crowd and controvert and curse and lie 
 In church and state, in town and citadel, and die. 
 
 And who shall grow the nobler from it all? 
 The mute and unsung savage loved as true, 
 He felt, as grateful felt, God's blessings fall 
 About his lodge and tawny babes as you 
 In temples, Moslem, Christian monk, or Jew.
 
 136 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 . . . The sea, the great white, braided, bounding sea, 
 Is laughing in your face ; the arching blue 
 Remains to God ; the mountains still are free, 
 A refuge for the few remaining tribes and me. 
 
 Your cities ! from the first the hand of God 
 Has been against them ; sword and flood and flame, 
 The earthquake's march, and pestilence, have trod 
 To undiscerning dust the very name 
 Of antique capitals ; and still the same 
 Sad destiny besets the battlefields 
 Of Mammon and the harlot's house of shame. 
 Lo ! man with monuments and lifted shields 
 Against his city's fate. A flame ! his city yields. 
 
 Whose ill had I devised, what evil done, 
 That I was bidden to arise and go ? ... 
 I hear the clear Columbian waters run, 
 I see the white Pacific flash and flow 
 Below the swaying cedar-trees that grow
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 137 
 
 On peaks pre-eminent ; but never mine 
 Again the wooded way on steed of snow, 
 The freeman's mountain camp in cloud or shine, 
 Or pure companionship of meek-eyed mottled kine. 
 
 What wonder that I swore a prophet's oath 
 Of after days. ... I push'd the boughs apart, 
 I stood, look'd forth, and then look'd back, all loath 
 To leave my shadow'd wood. I gather'd heart f 
 From very fearfulness ; with sudden start 
 I plunged in the arena ; stood a wild 
 Uncertain thing, and artless all in art. ... 
 The brave approved, the fair lean'd fair and smiled, 
 The lions touch with velvet-touch a timid child. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But now enough of men. Enough, brief day 
 Of tamer life. The court, the castle gate 
 That open'd wide along a pleasant way, 
 The gracious convorse of the kingly great 
 Had made another glad and well elate 
 With hope. A world of thanks; but I am grown 
 Aweary. ... I am not of this estate; 
 The poor, the plain brave border-men alone 
 Were my first love, and these I will not now disown.
 
 138 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Who loves the least may oft lament most loud : 
 I stand mute-mouth'd upon a far gray shore; 
 The soul lifts up, a lone and white-wing'd cloud, 
 And like some sea-bird back and then before 
 The storm of seas, it seeks my land once more ; 
 And here about the peaceful peaks, as white 
 As steps of God, until the fates restore 
 My feet, shall it abide : the sea at night 
 Has flash'd reflections back from foamy fields of light 
 
 xxni. 
 
 I know a grassy slope above the sea, 
 The utmost limit of the westmost land. 
 In savage, gnarl'd, and antique majesty 
 The great trees belt about the place, and stand 
 In guard, with mailed limb and lifted head 
 Against the cold approaching civic pride. 
 The foamy brooklets seaward leap ; the bland 
 Still air is fresh with touch of wood and tide, 
 And peace, eternal peace, possesses wild and wide. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Here I return, here I abide and rest ; 
 
 Some flocks and herds shall feed along the stream;
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 139 
 
 Some corn and climbing vines shall make us blest 
 With bread and luscious fruit. . . . The sunny dream 
 Of savage men in moccasins that seem 
 To oome and go in silence, girt in shell, 
 Before a sun-clad cabin-door, I deem 
 The harbinger of peace. Hope weaves her spell 
 Again about the wearied heart, and all is well. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Here I shall sit in sunlit life's decline 
 Beneath my vine and sombre verdant tree. 
 Some tawny maids in other tongues than mine 
 Shall minister. Some memories shall be 
 Before me. I shall sit and I shall see, 
 That last vast day that dawn shall re-inspire, 
 The sun fall down upon the farther sea, 
 Fall wearied down to rest, and so retire, 
 A splendid sinking isle of far-off fading fire.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS 
 
 PAET III. 
 
 *T*HE stormy Isles of story and of song, 
 
 Lo ! yonder lie, white lifting from the sea, 
 The head is bow'd a time, then loud and long 
 The shouts go up ; men lean tiptoed, to be 
 One instant nearer ; turn, catch high and free 
 Their little babes above the leaning band, 
 And lift and point and bid them look and see 
 And laugh with them and shout with lifted hand 
 To see at last the land ; their sires' sires' darling land 
 
 Thou, mother of brave men, of nations ! Thou, 
 
 The white-brow'd Queen of bold white-bearded Sea! 
 
 Thou wert of old even the same as now, 
 
 So strong, so tame yet fierce, so bound yet free, 
 
 A contradiction and a mystery ; 
 
 Serene, yet passionate, in ways thine own.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 141 
 
 Thy white ships wind and weave all time for thee 
 The zones of earth, aye thou hast set and sown 
 
 The seas in bed of blossom'd sail, white-spread and 
 blown. 
 
 m. 
 
 Above yon inland populace the skies 
 Are pink and mellow'd soft in rosy light. 
 The crown of earth ! A halo seems to rise 
 And hang perpetual above by night, 
 And dash by day the heavens, till the sight 
 Betrays the city's presence to the wave. . . . 
 You hear a hollow sound as of the might 
 Of seas; you see the march of fair and brave 
 
 In millions ; moving, moving, moving toward a grave 
 
 IV. 
 
 I see above a crowded world a cross 
 Of gold. - It grows like some great cedar-tree 
 Upon a peak in shroud of cloud and moss, 
 Made bare and bronzed in far antiquity. 
 Stupendous pile ! The grim Yosemite* 
 Has rent apart his granite wall, and thrown 
 Its rugged front before us. ... Here I see 
 The strides of giant men in cryptic stone, 
 And turn, and slow descend where sleep the great alone.
 
 142 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS, 
 
 The mighty captains have come home to rest ; 
 The brave return'd to sleep amid the brave. 
 The sentinel that stood with steely breast 
 Before the fiery hosts of France, and gave 
 The battle-cry that roll'd, receding wave 
 On wave, the foeman flying back and far, 
 Is here. How still ! Yet louder now the grave 
 Than ever-crushing Belgian battle-car 
 Or blue and battle-shaken seas of Trafalgar. 
 
 VT. 
 
 The verger stalks in stiff importance o'er 
 The hollow, deep, and strange responding stones ; 
 He stands with lifted staff unchid before 
 The forms that once had crush'd or fashicm'd thrones, 
 And coldly points you out the coffin' d bones : 
 He stands composed where armies could not stand 
 A little time before. . . . The hand disowns 
 The idle sword, and now instead the grand 
 And golden cross makes sign and takes austere com- 
 mand.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 143 
 
 The Abbey broods beside the turbid Thames ; 
 Her mother heart is fill'd with memories ; 
 Her every niche is stored with storied names; 
 They move before me like a mist of seas. 
 I am confused, am made abash'd by these 
 Most kingly souls, grand, silent, and severe. 
 I am not equal, I should sore displease 
 The living . . . dead. I dare not enter; drear 
 And stain'd in storms of grander days all things appear 
 
 vni. 
 
 I go ! but shall I not return again 
 When Art has taught me gentler, kindlier skill, 
 
 * 
 
 And time has given force and strength of strain ? 
 I go ! O ye that dignify and fill 
 The chronicles of earth ! I would instil 
 Into my soul somehow the atmosphere 
 Of sanctity that here usurps the will ; 
 But go ; I seek the tomb of one a peer 
 Of peers whose dust a fool refused to cherish here. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O master, here I bow before a shrine ; 
 Before the lordliest dust that ever yet
 
 144 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 Moved animate in human form divine. 
 Lo ! dust indeed to dust. The mould is set 
 Above thee and the ancient walls are wet, 
 And drip all day in dank and silent gloom, 
 As if the cold gray stones could not forget 
 Thy great estate shrunk to this sombre room, 
 But learn to weep perpetual tears above thy tomb. 
 
 Through broken panes I hear the schoolboys shout, 
 T see the black-wing'd engines sweep and pass, 
 And from the peopled narrow plot without, 
 Well grown with brier, moss, and heaving grass, 
 I g^e the Abbey loom an ivied mass, 
 Made eloquent of faiths, of fates to be, 
 Of creeds, and perish'd kings ; and still, alas, 
 O soldier-childe ! most eloquent of thee, 
 Of thy sad life, and all the unseaPd mystery. 
 
 Before me lie the oak-crown'd Annesley hills, 
 Before me lifts the ancient Annesley Hall 
 Above the mossy oaks. ... A picture fills 
 With forms of other days. A maiden tall
 
 B v THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 145 
 
 And fair ; a fiery restless boy, with all 
 
 The force of man ; a steed that frets without ; 
 
 A long thin sword that rusts upon the wall 
 
 The generations pass. . . . Behold ! about 
 The ivied hall the fair-hair'd children sport and shout. 
 
 xn. 
 
 A line of elms along the hill-top run ; 
 The diadem of oaks is torn away ; 
 Discrown'd the promontory meets the sun, 
 And here is set the record of a day, 
 Of meaning full and memories ; and gray 
 With annals dear to Annesley Hall, it stands, 
 A stone, with but this single word to say 
 But " Inkerman ! " and lifts its unseen hands, 
 And beckons far to battle-fields of other lands. 
 
 I look into the dread, forbidding tomb ; 
 
 Lo ! darkness death. The soul on shifting sand 
 
 That belts Eternity gropes in the gloom. . . .. 
 
 The black-wing'd bird goes forth in search of land, 
 
 But turns no more to reach my reaching hand. . . .
 
 146 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 
 
 O land beyond the land ! I lean me o'er 
 Thy dust in prayer devout. ... I rise, I stand 
 Erect ; the stormy seas are thine no more ; 
 A weary white-wing'd dove has touch'd the olive shore. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A bay wreath woven by the sun-down west 
 Hangs damp and stain'd upon the dank gray wall, 
 Above thy time-soil'd tomb and tatter'd crest ; 
 A bay-wreath gather'd by the seas that call 
 To orient Cathay, that break and fall 
 On shell-lined shores before Tahiti's breeze. . . . 
 A slab, a crest, a wreath, and these are all 
 Neglected, tatter'd, torn ; yet only these 
 The world bestows for song that rivall'd singing seas. 
 
 xv. 
 
 A bay-wreath wound by one more truly brave 
 Than Shastan ; fair as thy eternal fame, 
 She sat and wove above the sunset wave, 
 And wound and sang thy measures and thy name. 
 'Twas wound by one, yet sent with one acclaim 
 By many, fair and warm as flowing wine, 
 And purely true, and tall as growing flame, 
 That list and lean in moonlight's mellow shine 
 To tropic tales of love in other tongues than thine.
 
 BY THE SUN-DOWN SEAS. 147 
 
 I bring this idle reflex of thy task, 
 And my few loves, to thy forgotten tomb : 
 I leave them here ; and here all pardon ask 
 Of thee, and patience ask of singers whom 
 Thy majesty hath silenced. I resume 
 My staff, and now my face is to the West ; 
 My feet are worn ; the sun is gone, a gloom 
 Has mantled Hucknall, and the minstrel's zest 
 For fame is broken here, and here he pleads for rest.
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER.
 
 Sing songs, and give love in oblationt , 
 Be glad, and forget in a rhyme 
 Mutations of time, and mutations 
 Of thought, that is fiercer than time.
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 HE sunlight lay in gathered sheaves 
 
 Along the ground, the golden leaves 
 Possessed the land and lay in bars 
 Above the lifted lawn of green 
 Beneath the feet, or fell, as stars 
 Fall, slantwise, shimmering and still 
 Upon the plain, upon the hill, 
 And heaving hill and plain between. 
 
 Some steeds in panoply were seen, 
 Strong, martial trained, with manes in air, 
 And tasselled reins and mountings rare; 
 Some silent people here and there, 
 That gathered leaves with listless will, 
 Or moved adown the dappled green, 
 Or looked away with idle gaze 
 Against the gold and purple haze. 
 You might have heard red apples fall,
 
 152 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 The pheasant on the farther hill, 
 A single, lonely, locust trill, 
 Or sliding sable cricket call 
 From out the grass, but that was all. 
 
 A wanderer of many lands 
 Was I, a weary Ishmaelite 
 That knew the sign of lifted hands ; 
 Had seen the Crescent-mosques, had s 
 The Druid oaks of Aberdeen ; 
 Then crossed the hilly seas, and saw 
 The sable pines of Mackinaw, 
 And lakes that lifted cold and white. 
 
 I saw the sweet Miami, saw 
 The swift Ohio bent and rolled 
 Between his gleaming walls of gold, 
 The Wabash banks of gray papaw, 
 The Mississippi's ash ; at mom 
 Of autumn, when the oak is red, 
 Saw slanting pyramids of corn, 
 The level fields of spotted swine, 
 The crooked lanes of lowing kine, 
 And in the burning bushes saw 
 The face of God, with bended head.
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 153 
 
 But when I saw her face, I said, 
 " Earth has no fruits so fairly red 
 As these that swing above my head ; 
 No purpled leaf, no poppied land, 
 Like this that lies in reach of hand." 
 
 Some maple leaves hung overhead, 
 In scarlet hues and many kind ; 
 Some danced about upon the sand, 
 As dancers dancing hand in-hand, 
 Begirt in gold, arrayed in red, 
 To soft songs whistled in the wind. 
 
 Her image seemed a spirit's then ; 
 She filled the lawn whereon she stood, 
 And, soft, unto myself I said : 
 " O soul, inured to rue and rime, 
 To barren toil and bitter bread, 
 To biting rime, to bitter rue, 
 Earth is not Nazareth ; be good, 
 O sacred Indian-summer time 
 Of scarlet fruits, of fragrant wood, 
 Of purpled clouds, of curling haze 
 O days of golden dreams and days 
 Of banished, vanished tawny men, 
 7*
 
 154 TN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 Of martial songs and manly deeds 
 Be fair to-day, and bear me true." 
 We mounted, turned the sudden steeds 
 Toward the yellow hills, and flew. 
 
 My faith ! but she rode fair, and she 
 Had scarlet berries in her hair, 
 And on her hands white starry stones. 
 The satellites of many thrones 
 Fall down before her gracious air 
 In that full season. Fair to see 
 Are pearly shells, red virgin gold, 
 And yellow fruits, and sun-down seas, 
 And babes sun-brown ; but all of these, 
 And all fair things of sea besides, 
 Before the matchless, manifold 
 Accomplishments of her who rides 
 With autumn summer in her hair, 
 And knows her steed and holds her fair 
 And stately in her stormy seat, 
 They lie like playthings at her feet. 
 
 By heaven ! she was more than fair, 
 And more than good, and matchless wise, 
 With all the lovelight in her eyes, 
 And all the midnight in her hair.
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER, 155 
 
 The blowing hair ! the bannered manes ! 
 The rustling leaves in whispers blown ! 
 The sounding feet made melody, 
 And earth was filled and I was glad 
 With sweet delight ; ay, even sad 
 From pure excess of joy, that fills 
 The soul sometimes too eager grown. . . . 
 
 Through leafy avenues and lanes, 
 And" lo ! we climbed the yellow hills, 
 With russet leaves about the brows 
 That reached from over-reaching trees. 
 With purpled briers to the knees 
 Of steeds that fretted foamy thews, 
 We turned to look a time below 
 Beneath the ancient arch of boughs, 
 That bent above us as a bow 
 Of promise, bound in many hues. 
 
 I reached my hand. I could refuse 
 All fruits but this, the touch of her 
 At such a time. But lo ! she leaned 
 With lifted face and soul, and leant 
 As leans devoutest worshipper, 
 Beyond the branches scarlet screened
 
 1 56 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 And looked above me and beyond, 
 
 So fixed and silent, still and fond, 
 
 She seemed the while she looked to lose 
 
 Her very soul in such intent. 
 
 She looked on other things, but I, 
 
 I saw nor scarlet leaf nor sky ; 
 
 I looked on her, and only her. 
 
 Afar the city lay in smokes 
 Of battle, and the martial strokes 
 Of Progress thundered through the land 
 And struck against the yellow trees, 
 And rolled in hollow echoes on 
 Like sounding limits of the seas 
 That smite the shelly shores at dawn. 
 
 Beyond, below, on either hand 
 There reached a lake in belt of pine, 
 A very dream ; a distant dawn 
 Asleep in all the autumn shine, 
 Some like one of another land 
 That I once laid a hand upon, 
 And loved too well, and named as mine. 
 
 She sometimes touched with dimpled hand 
 The drifting mane with dreamy air,
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 157 
 
 She sometimes pushed aback her hair ; 
 But still she leaned and looked afar, 
 As silent as the statues stand, 
 For what? For falling leaf ? For star, 
 That runs before the bride of death ? . . . 
 The elements were still ; a breath 
 Stirred not, the level western sun 
 Poured in his arrows every one ; 
 Spilled all his wealth of purpled red 
 On velvet poplar leaf below, 
 On arching chestnut overhead 
 In all the hues of heaven's bow. 
 
 She sat the upper hill, and high. 
 I spurred my black steed to her side ; 
 " The bow of promise, lo ! " I cried, 
 And lifted up my eyes to hers 
 With all the fervid love that stirs 
 The blood of men beneath the sun, 
 And reached my hand, as one undone, 
 In suppliance to hers above : 
 " The bow of promise ! give me love ! 
 I reach a hand, I rise or fall, 
 Henceforth from this : put forth a hand 
 From your high place and let me stand
 
 158 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER 
 
 Stand soul and body, white and tall 1 
 Why, I would live for you, would die 
 To-morrow, but to live to-day. 
 Give me but love, and let me live 
 To die before you. I can pray 
 To only you, because I know, 
 If you but give what I bestow, 
 That God has nothing left to give." 
 
 Christ ! still her stately head was raised, 
 And still she silent sat and gazed 
 Beyond the trees, beyond the town, 
 To where the dimpled waters slept, 
 Nor splendid eyes once bended down 
 To eyes that lifted up and wept. 
 
 She spake not, nor subdued her head 
 To note a hand or heed a word ; 
 And then I questioned if she heard 
 My life-tale on that leafy hill, 
 Or any fervid word I said, 
 And spoke with bold, vehement will. 
 
 She moved, and from her bridled hand 
 She sudden drew the dainty glove,
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 159 
 
 Then gazed again upon the land. 
 The dimpled hand, a snowy dove, 
 Alit, and moved along the mane 
 Of glossy skeins ; then, overbold, 
 It fell across the mane, and lay 
 Before my eyes a sweet bouquet 
 Of clustered kisses, white as snow. 
 I should have seized it reaching so, 
 But something bade me back, a ban ; 
 Around the third fair finger ran 
 A shining, hateful hoop of gold. 
 
 Ay, then I turned, I looked away, 
 I sudden felt forlorn and chill ; 
 [ whistled, like, for want to say, 
 And then I said, with bended head, 
 " Another's ship from other shores, 
 With richer freight, with fairer stores, 
 Shall come to her some day instead ; " 
 Then turned about, and all was still. 
 
 Yea, you had chafed at this, and cried, 
 And laughed with bloodiess lips, and said 
 Some bitter things to sate your pride, 
 And tossed aloft a lordly head,
 
 160 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 And acted well some wilful lie, 
 And, most like, cursed yourself but I 
 Well, you be crucified, and you 
 Be broken up with lances through 
 The soul, then you may turn to find 
 Some ladder-rounds in keenest rods, 
 Some solace in the bitter rind, 
 Some favor with the gods irate 
 The everlasting angered gods 
 And ask not overmuch of fate. 
 
 I was not born, was never blessed, 
 With cunning ways, nor wit, nor skill 
 In woman's ways, nor words of love, 
 Nor fashioned suppliance of will. 
 A very clown, I think, had guessed 
 How out of place and plain I seemed ; 
 I, I, the idol-worshipper, 
 Who saw nor maple-leaves nor sky 
 But took some touch and hue of her. 
 Then, after all, what right had I 
 To lift, my eyes to eyes that beamed 
 So far beyond, so fir above ?
 
 IN THE INDIAN SUMMER. l6l 
 
 I am a pagan, heathen, lo ! 
 A savage man, of savage lands ; 
 Too quick to love, too slow to know 
 The sign that tame love understands, 
 Or cold approaches pride demands. 
 
 Some heedless hoofs went sounding down 
 The broken way. The woods were brown, 
 And homely now ; some idle talk 
 Of folk and town ; a broken walk ; 
 But sounding feet made song no more 
 For me along that leafy shore. 
 
 The sun caught up his gathered sheaves ; 
 A squirrel caught a nut, and ran ; 
 A rabbit rustled in the leaves; 
 A whirling bat, black-winged and tan, 
 Blew swift between us ; sullen night 
 Fell down upon us ; mottled kine, 
 With lifted heads, went lowing down 
 The rocky ridge toward the town, 
 And all the woods grew dark as wine.
 
 OLIVE LEAVES. 
 
 9
 
 boy at peace upon the Delaware ! 
 
 brother mine, that fell in battle front 
 Of life, so braver, nobler far than I, 
 The wanderer who vexed all gentleness, 
 Receive this song ; I have but this to give. 
 
 1 may not rear the rich man's ghostly stone ; 
 But you, through all my follies loving still 
 And trusting me . . nay, I shall not forget. 
 
 A failing hand in mine, and fading eyes 
 
 That looked in mine as from another lana, 
 
 You said: " Some gentler things ; a song for Peace. 
 
 'Mid all your songs for men one song for God." 
 
 And then the dark-browed mother, Death, bent down 
 
 Her face to yours, and you were born to Him.
 
 OLIVE LEAVES. 
 
 AT BETHLEHEM. 
 
 . " In the desert a fountain is springing, 
 In the wild waste there still is a tree." 
 
 " Though the many lights dwindle to one light, 
 There is help if the heavens have one." 
 
 " Change lays not her hand upon truth." 
 
 "\T 7ITH incense and myrrh and sweet spices, 
 
 Frankincense and sacredest oil 
 In ivory, chased with devices 
 
 Cut quaint and in serpentine coil ; 
 Heads bared, and held down to the bosom ; 
 
 Brows massive with wisdom and bronzed ; 
 Beards white as the white may in blossom, 
 
 And borne to the breast and beyond, 
 Came the Wise of the East, bending lowly 
 
 On staffs, with their garments girt round 
 With girdles of hair, to the Holy 
 
 Child Christ, in their sandals. The sound
 
 1 66 OLIVE LEAVES. 
 
 Of song and thanksgiving ascended - - 
 Deep night ! Yet some shepherds afar 
 
 Heard a wail with the worshipping blended, 
 And they then knew the sign of the star.
 
 IN PALESTINE. 
 
 JEBUS ! thou mother of prophets, 
 
 Of soldiers and heroes of song ; 
 Let the crescent oppress thee and scoff its 
 Blind will, let the days do thee wrong; 
 
 But to me thou art sacred and splendid, 
 And to me thou art matchless and fair, 
 
 As the tawny sweet twilight, with blended 
 Sunlight and red stars in her hair. 
 
 Thy fair ships once came from sweet Cyprus, 
 And fair ships drew in from Gyrene, 
 
 With fruits and rich robes and sweet spices 
 For thee and thine eminent queen ; 
 
 And camels came in with the traces 
 Of white desert dust in their hair 
 
 As they kneel'd in the loud market-places, 
 And Arabs with lances were there.
 
 168 OLIVE LEAVES. 
 
 'Tis past, and the Bedouin pillows 
 His head where thy battlements fall, 
 
 And thy temples flash gold to the billows, 
 Never more over turreted wall. 
 
 'Tis past, and the green velvet mosses 
 Have grown by the sea, and now sore 
 
 Does the far billow mourn for his losses 
 Of lifted white ships to the shore. 
 
 Let the crescent uprise, let it flash on 
 Thy dust in the garden of death, 
 
 Thy chasten'd and passionless passion 
 Sunk down to the sound of a breath ; 
 
 You lived like a king on a throne and 
 You died like a queen of the soiith ; 
 
 For you lifted the cup with your own hand 
 To your proud and your passionate mouth ; 
 
 Like a splendid swift serpent surrounded 
 With fire and sword, in your side 
 
 You struck your hot fangs and confounded 
 Your foes ; you struck deep, and so died.
 
 BEYOND JORDAN. 
 
 A ND they came to him, mothers of Judah, 
 
 Dark-eyed and in splendor of hair, 
 Bearing down over shoulders of beauty, 
 And bosoms half hidden, half bare ; 
 
 And they brought him their babes and besought 
 him 
 
 Half kneeling, with suppliant air, 
 To bless the brown cherubs they brought him, 
 
 With holy hands laid in their hair. 
 
 Then reaching his hands he said, lowly, 
 " Of such is My Kingdom ; " and then 
 
 Took the brown little babes in the holy 
 White hands of the Saviour of men ; 
 
 Held them close to his heart and caress'd them, 
 Put his face down to theirs as in prayer, 
 
 Put their hands to his neck, and' so bless'd them 
 With baby hands hid in his hair.
 
 FAITH. 
 
 'THHERE were whimsical turns of the waters, 
 There-were rhythmical talks of the sea, 
 There were gather'd the darkest-eyed daughters 
 Of men, by the dark Galilee. 
 
 A blowing full sail, and a parting 
 
 From multitudes, living in him, 
 A trembling of lips, and tears starting 
 
 From eyes that look'd downward and dim. 
 
 A mantle of night and a marching 
 
 Of storms, and a sounding of seas, 
 Of furrows of foam and of arching 
 
 Black billows ; a bending of knees ; 
 The rising of Christ an entreating 
 
 Hands reach'd to the seas as he saith, 
 * Have Faith ! " And lo ! still are repeating 
 
 All seas, "Have Faith! Have Faith! Have 
 Faith ! "
 
 HOPE. 
 
 T T 7HAT song is well sung not of sorrow ? 
 
 What triumph well won without pain ? 
 What virtue shall be, and not borrow 
 Bright lustre from many a stain ? 
 
 What birth has there been without travail ? 
 
 What battle well won without blood ? 
 What good shall earth see without evil 
 
 Ingarner'd as chaff with the good ? 
 
 Lo ! the Cross set in rocks by the Roman, 
 And nourish'd by blood of the Lamb, 
 
 And water'd by tears of the woman, 
 Has flourish'd, has spread like a palm ; 
 
 Has spread in the frosts, and far regions 
 Of snows in the North, and South sands, 
 
 Where never the tramp of his legions 
 Was heard, or has reach'd forth his red hands.
 
 OLIVE LEAVES. 
 
 Be thankful : the price and the payment, 
 The birth, the privations and scorn, 
 
 The cross, and the parting of raiment, 
 Are finish'd. The star brought us morn : 
 
 Look star ward ; stand far and unearthy, 
 Free-soul'd as a banner unfurl'd. 
 
 Be worthy, brother, be worthy ! 
 For a God was the price of the world.
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 T TER hands were clasped downward and doulled, 
 
 Her head was held down and depress'd, 
 Her bosom, like white billows troubled, 
 Fell fitful and rose in unrest; 
 
 Her robes were all dust, and disorder'd 
 
 Her glory of hair, and her brow, 
 Her face, that had lifted and lorded, 
 
 Fell pallid and passionless now. 
 
 She heard not accusers that brought her 
 
 In mockery hurried to Him, 
 Nor heeded, nor said, nor besought her 
 
 With eyes lifted doubtful and dim. 
 
 All crush'd and stone-cast in behavior, 
 
 She stood as a marble would stand, 
 Then the Saviour bent down, and the Saviour 
 
 In silence wrote on in the sand.
 
 1/4 OLIVE LEAVES. 
 
 What wrote He ? -How fondly one lingers 
 And questions, what holy command 
 
 Fell down from the beautiful fingers 
 Of Jesus, like gems in the sand. 
 
 O better the Scian uncherish'd 
 
 Had died ere a note or device 
 Of battle was fashion'd, than perish'd 
 
 This only line written by Christ. 
 
 He arose and he look'd on the daughter 
 
 Of Eve, like a delicate flower, 
 And he heard the revilers that brought her 
 
 Men stormy, and strong as a tower ; 
 
 And he said, " She has sinn'd ; let the blameless 
 Come forward and cast the first stone ! " 
 
 But they, they fled shamed and yet shameless , 
 And she, she stood white and alone. 
 
 Who now shall accuse and arraign us? 
 
 What man shall condemn and disown? 
 Since Christ has said only the stainless 
 
 Shall cast at his fellows a stone.
 
 OLIVE LEAVES. 17$ 
 
 For what man can bare us his bosom, 
 And touch with his forefinger there, 
 
 And say, 'Tis as snow, as a blossom ? 
 Beware of the stainless, beware! 
 
 O woman, born first to believe us; 
 
 Yea, also born first to forget ; 
 Born first to betray and deceive us, 
 
 Yet first to repent and regret ! 
 
 O first then in all that is human, 
 
 Lo ! first where the Nazarene trod, 
 O woman ! O beautiful woman I . 
 
 Be then first in the kingdom of God!
 
 THE LAST SUPPER 
 
 And when they had sung a hymn they went out 
 into the Mount of Olives." 
 
 "X T 7HAT song sang the twelve with the Saviour 
 
 When finish'd the sacrament wine? 
 Were they bow'd and subdued in behavior, 
 Or bold as made bold with a sign ? 
 
 Were the hairy breasts strong and defiant ? 
 
 Were the naked arms brawny and strong? 
 Were the bearded lips lifted reliant, 
 
 Thrust forth and full sturdy with song! 
 
 What sang they ? What sweet song of Zion 
 With Christ in their midst like a crown ? 
 
 While here sat Saint Peter, the lion ; 
 And there like a lamb, with head down,
 
 OLIVE LEAVES. 1 77 
 
 Sat Saint John, with his silken and raven 
 
 Rich hair on his shoulders, and eyes 
 Lifting up to the faces unshaven 
 
 Like a sensitive child's in surprise. 
 
 Was the song as strong fishermen swinging 
 
 Their nets full of hope to the sea ? 
 Or low, like the ripple-wave, singing 
 
 Sea-songs on their loved Galilee ? 
 
 Were they sad with foreshadow of sorrows, 
 Like the birds that sing low when the breeze 
 
 Is tip-toe with a tale of to-morrows, 
 Of earthquakes and sinking of seas? 
 
 Ah ! soft was their song as the waves are 
 
 That fall in low musical moans ; 
 And sad I should say as the winds are 
 
 That blow by the white gravestones.
 
 A SONG FOR PEACE. 
 
 A S a tale that is told, as a vision, 
 Forgive and forget ; for I say 
 That the true shall endure the derision 
 Of the false till the full of the day ; 
 
 n. 
 
 Ay, forgive as you would be forgiven ; 
 
 Ay, forget, lest the ill you have done 
 Be remember'd against you in heaven 
 
 And all the days under the sun. 
 
 m. 
 
 For who shall have bread without labor ? 
 
 And who shall have rest without price ? 
 And who shall hold war with his neighbor 
 
 With promise of peace with the Christ?
 
 OLIVE LEAVES. 179 
 
 The years may lay hand on fair heaven ; 
 
 May place and displace the red stars ; 
 May stain them, as blood-stains are driven 
 
 At sunset in beautiful bars ; 
 
 v. 
 
 May shroud them in black till they fret us 
 As clouds with their showers of tears ; 
 
 May grind us to dust and forget us, 
 May the years, O, the pitiless years ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 The precepts of Christ are beyond them ; 
 
 The truths by the Nazarene taught, 
 "With the tramp of the ages upon them, 
 
 They endure as though ages were nought; 
 
 The deserts may drink up the fountains, 
 The forests give place to the plain, 
 
 The main may give place to the mountains, 
 The mountains return to the main;
 
 ISO OLIVE LEAVES. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Mutations of worlds and mutations 
 Of suns may take place, but the reign 
 
 Of Time, and the toils and vexatious 
 Bequeath them, no, never a stain. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Go forth to the fields as one sowing, 
 Sing songs and be glad as you go, 
 
 There are seeds that take root without showing, 
 And bear some fruit whether or no. 
 
 And the sun shall shine sooner or later, 
 
 Though the midnight breaks ground on .the morn, 
 
 Then appeal you to Christ, the Creator, 
 And to gray-bearded Time, His first-born.
 
 FALLEN LEAVES.
 
 Some fugitive lines that allure us no more, 
 Some fragments that fell to the sea out of time ; 
 Unfinished and guiltless of thought as of rhyme, 
 Thrown now on the world like waifs on the shore.
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 PALM LEAVES. 
 
 npHATCH of palm and a patch of clover, 
 
 Breath of balm in a field of brown, 
 The clouds blew up and the birds flew over, 
 And I look'd upward : but who look'd down ? 
 
 Who was true in the test that tried us? 
 
 Who was it mock'd ? Who now may mourn 
 The loss of a love that a cross denied us, 
 
 With folded hands and a heart forlorn ? 
 
 God forgive when the fair forget us. 
 
 The worth of a smile, the weight of a tear, 
 Why, who can measure ? The fates beset us. 
 
 We laugh a moment ; we mourn a year.
 
 THOMAS OF TIGRE. 
 
 TV^ING of Tigre, comrade true ! 
 
 Where in all thine isles art thou ? 
 Sailing on Fonseca blue ? 
 Nearing Amapala now ? 
 King of Tigre, where art thou? 
 
 Battling for Antilles' queen ? 
 Sabre hilt, or olive bough ? 
 Crown of dust, or laurel green ? 
 Roving love, or marriage vow ? 
 King and comrade, where art thou? 
 
 Sailing on Pacific seas ? 
 Pitching tent in Pimo now ? 
 Underneath magnolia trees ? 
 Thatch of palm, or cedar bough? 
 Soldier-singer, where art thou ?
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 185 
 
 Coasting on the Oregon ? 
 Saddle, bow, or birchen prow ? 
 Round the Isles of Amazon? 
 Pampas, plain, or mountain brow? 
 Prince of rovers, where art thou ? 
 
 Answer me from out the West. 
 I am weary, stricken now ; 
 Thou art strong and I would rest : 
 Reach a hand with lifted brow, 
 King of Tigre, where art thou?
 
 IN YOSEMITE VALLEY. 
 
 OOUND! sound! sound! 
 . w "*^ O colossal walls, as crown'd 
 In one eternal thunder ! 
 
 Sound! sound! sound 1 
 O ye oceans overhead, 
 While we walk, subdued in wonder, 
 In the ferns and grasses, under 
 And beside the swift Merced I 
 
 Fret! fret! fret! 
 Streaming, sounding banners, set 
 On the giant granite castles 
 In the clouds and in the snow ! 
 But the foe he comes not yet, 
 We are loyal, valiant vassals, 
 And- we touch the trailing tassels, 
 Of the banners far below. 
 
 Surge ! surge ! surge I 
 From the white Sierra's verge,
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 187 
 
 To the very valley blossom. 
 
 Surge! surge! surge! 
 Yet the song-bird builds a home, 
 And the mossy branches cross them, 
 And the tasselled tree-tops toss them, 
 In the clouds of falling foam. 
 
 Sweep!' sweep! sweep! 
 O ye heaven-born and deep, 
 In one dread, unbroken chorus ! 
 We may wonder or may weep, 
 We may wait on God before us ; 
 We may shout or lilt a hand, 
 We may bow down and deplore us, 
 But may never understand. 
 
 Beat! beat! beat! 
 We advance, but would retreat 
 From this restless, broken breast 
 Of the earth in a convulsion. 
 We would rest, but dare not rest, 
 For the angel of expulsion 
 From this Paradise below 
 Waves us onward and ... we go.
 
 DEAD IN THE SIERRAS. 
 
 T TIS footprints have failed us, 
 
 Where berries are red, 
 And madronos are rankest. 
 The hunter is dead! 
 
 The grizzly may pass 
 By his half-open door; 
 
 May pass and repass 
 On his path, as of yore ; 
 
 The panther may crouch 
 In the leaves on his limb ; 
 
 May scream and may scream, 
 It is nothing to him. 
 
 Prone, bearded, and breasted 
 Like columns of stone; 
 
 And tall as a pine 
 As a pine overthrown !
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 189 
 
 His camp-fires gone, 
 
 What else can be done 
 Than let him sleep on 
 
 Till the light of the sun ? 
 
 Ay, tombless! what of it? 
 
 Marble is dust, 
 Cold and repellent; 
 
 And iron is nut.
 
 IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 TT THERE the cocoa and cactus are neighbors, 
 
 Where the fig and the fir-tree are one ; 
 Where -the brave corn is liftingT)ent sabres 
 And- flashing them far in the snn ; 
 
 Where the maidens blush red in their tresses- 
 
 Of night, and retreat to advance, 
 And the dark, sweeping eyelash expresses 
 
 Deep passion, half hush'd in a trance ; 
 
 Where the fig is in leaf, where the blossom 
 
 Of orange is fragrant as fair, 
 Santa Barbara's balm in the bosom, 
 
 Her sunny, soft winds in the hair ; 
 
 Where the grape is most luscious, where laden 
 Long branches bend double with gold; 
 
 Los Angdos leans like a maiden, 
 
 Red, blushing, half shy, and half bold.
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 1 91 
 
 Where passion was born, and where poets 
 
 Are deeper in silence than song, 
 A love knows a love, and may know its 
 
 Reward, yet may never know wrong. 
 
 Where passion was born and where blushes 
 Gave birth to my songs of the South, 
 
 And a song is a love-tale, and rushes, 
 Unchid, through the red of the mouth ; 
 
 Where an Adam in Eden reposes, 
 
 I repose, I am glad, and take wine 
 In the clambering, redolent roses, 
 
 And under my fig and my vine.
 
 WHO SHALL SAY? 
 
 A SINKING sun, a sky of red, 
 
 In bars and banners overhead, 
 And blown apart like curtains drawn ; 
 Afar a-sea a blowing sail 
 That shall go down before the dawn ; 
 And they are passion-toss'd and pale 
 The two that stand and look alone 
 And silent, as two shafts of stone 
 Set head and foot above the dead. 
 
 They watch the ship, the weary sun, 
 The banner'd streamers every one, 
 Till darkness hides them in her hair. 
 The winds come in as cold as death, 
 And not a palm above the pair 
 To lift a lance or break a breath.
 
 FALLEN LEA VES. Ip3 
 
 The hollow of the ocean fills 
 
 Like sounding hollow halls of stone, 
 
 And not a banner streams above ; 
 
 The sea is set in snowy hills. 
 
 The ship is lost. The winds are blown 
 
 Unheeded now ; yet who shall say : 
 
 " We had been wiser so than they 
 
 Who wept and watch' d the parting sail 
 
 In silence ; mute with sorrow, pale 
 
 With weeping for departed love " ?
 
 A LOVE -SONG. 
 
 TF earth is an oyster, love is the pearl, 
 
 As pure as pure caresses ; 
 Then loosen the gold of your hair, my girl, 
 And hide my peai] in your tresses. 
 
 So, coral to coral and pearl to pearl, 
 And a cloud of curls above me, 
 
 O bury me deep, my beautiful girl, 
 And then confess you love me. 
 
 The world goes over my beautiful girl 
 In glitter and gold and odor of roses, 
 
 In eddies of splendor, in oceans of pearl, 
 But here the heaven reposes. . . . 
 
 The world it is wide ; men go their ways, 
 But love it is wise, and of all the hours, 
 
 And of all the beautiful sun-born days, 
 It sips their sweets as the bees sip flowers.
 
 DOWN INTO THE DUST. 
 
 TS it worth while that we jostle a brothei 
 
 Bearing his load on the rough road of life ? 
 Is it worth while that we jeer at each other 
 
 In blackness of heart ? that we war to the knife ? 
 
 God pity us all in our pitiful strife. 
 
 God pity us all as we jostle each other; 
 
 God pardon us all for the triumphs we feel 
 When a fellow goes down 'neath his load on the heather, 
 
 Pierced to the heart : words are keener than steel, 
 
 And mightier far for woe or for weal. 
 
 Were it not well, in this brief little journey 
 On over the isthmus, down into the tide, 
 
 We give him a fish instead of a serpent, 
 Ere folding the hands to be and abide 
 Forever and aye in dust at his side ?
 
 196 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Look at the roses saluting each other ; 
 
 Look at the herds all at peace on the plain 
 Man, and man only, makes war on his brother, 
 
 And laughs in his heart at his peril and pain ; 
 
 Shamed by the beasts that go down on the plain. 
 
 Is it worth while that we battle to humble 
 Some poor fellow-soldier down into the dust ? 
 
 God pity us all ! Time eftsoon will tumble 
 All of us together like leaves in a gust, 
 Humbled indeed down into the dust.
 
 IN SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 T 1 here sit we mid the sun-down seas 
 
 And the white sierras. The swift, sweet breeze 
 
 Is about us here; and a sky so fair 
 Is bendiug above in it's azaline hue, 
 That you gaze and you gaze in delight, and you 
 
 See God and the portals of heaven there. .. 
 
 Yea, here sit we where the white ships ride 
 In the morn, made glad and forgetful of night, 
 
 The white and the brown men side by side 
 
 In search of the truth, and betrothed to the right; 
 
 For these are the idols, and only these, 
 
 Of men that abide by the sun-down seas. 
 
 The brown brave hand of the harvester, 
 The delicate hand of the prince untried, 
 
 The rough hard hand of the carpenter, 
 They are all upheld with an equal pride ; 
 
 And the prize it is his to be crown'd or blest, 
 
 Prince or peon, who bears him best.
 
 198 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Yea, here sit we by the golden gate, 
 
 Nor demanding much, but inviting you all, 
 
 Nor publishing loud, but daring to wait, 
 
 And great in much that the days deem small ; 
 
 And the gate it is God's, to Cathay, Japan, 
 
 And who shall shut it in the face of man ?
 
 . 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 SHADOWS OF SHASTA. 
 
 TN the place where the grizzly reposes, 
 
 Under peaks where a right is a wrong, 
 I have memories richer than roses, 
 
 Sweet echoes more sweet than a song ; 
 
 Sounds sweet as the voice of a singer 
 Made sacred with sorrows unsaid, 
 
 And a love that implores me to linger, 
 For the love of dead days and their dead. 
 
 But I turn, throwing kisses, returning 
 To strife and to turbulent men, 
 
 As to learn to be wise, as unlearning 
 All things that were manliest then.
 
 AT SEA. 
 
 X T 7E part as ships on a pathless main, 
 
 Gayly enough, for the sense of pain 
 
 Is asleep at first : but ghosts will arise 
 
 When we would repose, and the forms will come 
 And walk when we walk, and will not be dumb, 
 
 Nor yet forget with their wakeful eyes. 
 
 When we most need rest, and the perfect sleep, 
 Some hand will re"ach from the dark, and keep 
 
 The curtains drawn and the pillows toss'd 
 Like a tide of foam ; and one will say 
 At night, O Heaven, that it were day ! 
 And one by night through the misty tears 
 Will say, O Heaven, the days are years, 
 
 And I would to Heaven that the waves were cross'd.
 
 A MEMORY OF SANTA BARBARA. 
 
 "VTEA, Santa Barbara is fair; 
 
 A sunny clime and sweet to touch, 
 For tamer men of gentler mien, 
 But as for me another scene. 
 A land below the Alps I know, 
 Set well with grapes and girt with much 
 Of woodland beauty ; I shall share 
 My rides by night below the light 
 Of Manua Loa, ride below 
 The steep and starry Hebron height ; 
 Shall lift my hands in many lands, 
 See South Sea palm, see Northland fir, 
 See white-wing'd swans, see red-bill'd doves ; 
 See many lands and many loves, 
 But never more the face of her. 
 
 And what her name or where the place 
 Of her who makes my Mecca's prayer, 
 Concerns you not ; not any trace 
 9*
 
 202 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Of entrance to my temple's shrine 
 Remains. The memory is mine, 
 And none shall pass the portals there. 
 
 The present ! take it, hold it thine, 
 But that one hour out from all 
 The years that are, or yet shall fall, 
 I pluck it out, I name it mine, 
 And whistle by the rest, and laugh 
 To see it blown about as chaff; 
 That hour bound in sunny sheaves, 
 With tassell'd shocks of golden shine, 
 That hour, wound in scarlet leaves, 
 Is mine. I stretch a hand and swear 
 An oath that breaks into a prayer ; 
 By heaven, it is wholly mine ! 
 
 I see the gold and purple gleam 
 Of autumn leaves, a reach of seas, 
 A silent rider like a dream 
 Moves by, a mist of mysteries, 
 And these are mine, and only these, 
 Yet they be more in my esteem, 
 Than silver'd sails on coral'd seas.
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 203 
 
 Let red-leaf d boughs sweet fruits bestow, 
 Let fame of foreign lands be mine, 
 Let blame of faithless, men befall ; 
 It matters nothing; over all, 
 One hour arches like a bow 
 Of promise blent in many hues, 
 That tide nor time shall bid decline ; 
 Or storms of all the years refuse,
 
 SUMMER FROSTS. 
 
 of an hour ! Fruits of a season ! 
 Who foresees them ? Slain in a day, 
 The loves of a lustrum. Who shall say 
 The heart has sense or the soul has reason ? 
 
 . . . One not knowing and one not caring. 
 . . . Leaves in their pathway. Let them part ; 
 
 She with the gifts of a gracious bearing, 
 He with the pangs of a passionate heart.
 
 SLEEP THAT WAS NOT SLEEP. 
 
 TT) ACK there, madam ! Mark you. i 
 
 I lie crouch'd against the wall, 
 And I dare not lift a finger, 
 Dare not lift my eyes or call, 
 While you hesitate and linger, 
 Leering through your tangled hair ; 
 Drop the curtains ! Back, I say ! 
 Lift aside your tangled hair 
 Overhanging coffin'd clay, 
 Resurrected for a day, 
 Cold and wet as cast-away. 
 
 ***** 
 
 ... It was hard, but what was better 
 For a man so strangely born 
 Underneath the stars or sun, 
 Than the savage race I run 
 Through the midnight to the morn, 
 Spite of fate or prison fetter ?
 
 206 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Through the darkness to the dawn, 
 What beneath the sun was better ? 
 Then I turn'd, and . . . you were gone. 
 . . . Glory had a price ; I paid her ! 
 Truth was doubtful ; I betray'd her ! 
 You obey'd her to the letter. 
 And what profits ? nothing, save 
 That I have slain the days full well, 
 That you . . . are dead and in your grave ; 
 That I ... am living and in hell. 
 
 Yea ! before- time you beset me, 
 Laugh'd and vow'd to not forget me, 
 Leer'd and mock'd with all your might 
 When the fever held its riot 
 And the doctors bade be quiet. 
 Christ ! you came to my bedside 
 In the middle of the night, 
 Witn your two hands on your heart, 
 And you press'd on my bedside, 
 And so press'd upon your heart 
 That the blood, all thick and blackenM, 
 When your bony fingers slacken'd, 
 Oozed between them to the floor, 
 Oh, that ghostly, gory floor !
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 2OJ 
 
 And your mantle it was moulded, 
 And streak'd yellow where it folded, 
 Then your heavy, slimy hair, 
 On your bosom blue and bare, 
 Which you did not try to hide ! 
 That you know was nothing fair, 
 As you press'd on my bedside ! 
 Then your eyes had such a glare, 
 And the smell of death was there, 
 And the spirits that were with you 
 Whistled through the mossy door, 
 And they danced upon my bosom, . 
 And they tangled up my hair, 
 And made crosses on the floor. 
 
 It was not my fault, remember, 
 
 All this life of black disasters, 
 All this life of dark December, 
 
 All this heart-sickness and sadness. 
 Though we both did have our masters, 
 
 Yours was Love and mine Ambition, 
 Mine is driving me to madness, 
 
 -Yours, it drove you to perdition.
 
 208 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Yes, some time, if you will have it, 
 When this hot brain is less rabid, 
 When our masters both are sleeping, 
 When the storm the stars is keeping, 
 Leave that yellow moulded mantle, 
 That dull, sullen, frozen stare, 
 And the cold death in your hair, 
 And I will no more upbraid you ; 
 Leave the darkness where they laid you, 
 Leave the dampness you inhabit. 
 
 I will meet you just one minute 
 By the oak-tree, you remember, 
 With the grape-vine tangled in it ; 
 I will tell you one sweet story, 
 With sweet balm and healing in it * 
 You will sigh Memento mori, 
 But remember, now remember, 
 I remain there but one minute
 
 * SIERRAS ADIOS." 
 
 "1 T 7ITH the buckler and sword into battle 
 
 I moved, I was matchtess and strong ; 
 I stood in the rush and the rattle 
 
 Of shot, and the spirit of song 
 Was upon me ; and youthful and splendid 
 
 My armor flashed far in the sun 
 As I sang of my land. It is ended, 
 
 And all has been done, and undone. 
 
 I descend with my dead in the trenches, 
 
 To-night I bend down on the plain 
 In the dark, and a memory wrenches 
 
 The soul; I turn up to the rain 
 The cold and the beautiful faces, 
 
 Ay, faces forbidden for years, 
 Turn'd up to my face with the traces 
 
 Of blood to the white rain of tears.
 
 2 1 FALLEN LEA VES. 
 
 Count backward the years on your fingers, 
 
 While forward rides yonder white moon, 
 Till the soul turns aside, and it lingers 
 
 By a grave that was bora of 3 June ; 
 By the grave of a soul, where the grasses 
 
 Are tangled as witch-woven hair ; 
 Where footprints are not, and where passes 
 
 Not any tiling known anywhere ; 
 
 By a grave without tombstone or token, 
 
 At a tomb where not fern leaf or fir, 
 Root or branch, was once bended or broken, 
 
 To bestow there the body of her ; 
 For it lives, and the soul perish'd only, 
 
 And alone in that land, with these hands, 
 Did I lay the dead soul, and all lonely 
 
 Does it lie to this day in the sands. 
 
 Lo ! a wild little maiden with tresses 
 Of gold on the wind of the hills : 
 
 Ay, a wise little maiden that guesses 
 Some good in the crudest ills ; 
 
 And a babe with its baby-fists doubled, 
 And thrust to my beard, and within,
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 211 
 
 E 
 
 As he laughs like a fountain half-troubled, 
 When my finger chucks under his chin. 
 
 Should the dead not decay, when the culture 
 
 Of fields be resumed in the May ? 
 Lo ! the days are dark-wing'd as the vulture 1 
 
 Let them swoop, then, and bear them away : 
 By the walks let me cherish red flowers, 
 
 By the wall teach one tendril to run ; 
 Lest I wake, and I watch all the hours 
 
 I shall ever see under the sun. 
 
 It is well, may be so, to bear losses, 
 
 And to bend and bow down to the rod ; 
 If the scarlet red bars and the crosses 
 
 Be but rounds up the ladder to God. 
 But this mocking of men-! Ah, that enters 
 
 The marrow ! the murmurs that swell 
 To reproach for my song-love, that centres, 
 
 Vast land, upon thee, are not well. 
 
 And I go, thanking God in my going, 
 That an ocean flows stormy and deep, 
 
 And yet gentler to me is its flowing 
 Than the storm that forbids me to sleep.
 
 212 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 And I go, thanking God, with hands lifted 
 That a land lies beyond where the frev 
 
 And the gentle of heart and the gifted 
 Of soul have a home in the sea.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESEKT. 
 
 I. 
 
 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
 
 14 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 That sails this ghostly lonely sea, 
 This dried-up desert sea," said he, 
 " These tawny sands of Arazit "... 
 A vaunt ! 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 15 
 
 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
 
 1 6 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 Held seat and saddle to its place ; 
 
 But that gray ghost that clutch'd thereat . 
 
 Arrgte ! 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 17 
 
 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,
 
 i8 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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, 
 A.nd hurling thought like cannon shot, 
 Stood high with visage flush'd and hot . . 
 But, stay ! this tale is not of him.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 19 
 
 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 canon'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 horne'd 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.
 
 20 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 " 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 : 
 " "Pis 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 22 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 v . THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 23 
 
 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.
 
 24 THE SHIP IN THE DESER7 
 
 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 r 
 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. . .
 
 THE SHIP [N THE DESERT. 25 
 
 But what and who was she, the fair? 
 The fairest face that ever yet j 
 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
 
 26 THE SHfP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 dream'd 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 iiot 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. . . .
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 27 
 
 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
 
 28 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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. 
 Aiid he who wrought Semiramis
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 29 
 
 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.
 
 30 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 SHIP IN THE DESERT. 31 
 
 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 maiiy 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,
 
 32 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 33 
 
 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.
 
 34 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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, aad 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 35 
 
 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 mailed 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.
 
 36 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 Caesar 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 SHIP IN THE DESERT. 3? 
 
 The multitude, the mob, and these 
 
 They know not pearls from yellow corn. 
 
 Yea, idly sing or silent dream ; 
 
 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,
 
 38 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 ^Eolian 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 thrne leaf-land through and through ?
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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
 
 40 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 - 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 41 
 
 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
 
 42 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 43 
 
 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 1 if we only could
 
 44 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 45 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE squirrels chatter 'd in the leaves, 
 The turkeysoall'd from pawpaw wood, 
 The deer with lifted nostrils stood, 
 And humming-birds did wind and weave, 
 Swim round abfmt, 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,
 
 46 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 *\ 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 47 
 
 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."
 
 48 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 I 
 O eyes, that never once were raised ! 
 O mouth, that never murmur gave I
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 49 
 
 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 sdrprise. 
 
 X 
 
 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,
 
 50 THE' SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 So far, so faint, they fill the air, 
 A fragrance filling anywhere. 
 
 And wasting all her summer years 
 That utter'd only throrgh 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. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 51 
 
 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, 
 Aclown the wood beyond the land, 
 Her hollow face upon her hand, 
 Her black, abundant hair all down 
 About her loose, ungather'd gown.
 
 52 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 Low'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 :
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 53 
 
 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.
 
 54 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 55 
 
 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 nncompass'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.
 
 56 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 Proud Morgan ! More than tongue can iell 
 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 drerc
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 57 
 
 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. 
 
 3*
 
 58 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 XL 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 59 
 
 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. 
 
 Ho touch'd his pistol, press'd his lips, 
 Then tapp'd it with his finger-tips, 
 \.nd toy'd with it as harper's hand
 
 60 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 *lried-up shoreless sea is this ? 
 Where, wkndering, from day to day 
 You^sayt^o-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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 61 
 
 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'c^ 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,
 
 62 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 63 
 
 xn. 
 
 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, 
 Tn long black shadows cross'd the stream. 
 
 Lo ! here the smoke of cabins curl'd, 
 The borders of the middle world ;
 
 64 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 And mighty, hairy, half-wild men 
 Sat down in silence, held at bay 
 By mailed 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 hearty 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 65 
 
 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-mane d 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 mailed 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 I what strife ! what rude 
 
 unrest ! 
 What shocks ! what half-shaped armies met I
 
 66 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 A mighty nation moving west, 
 With all its steely sinews set 
 Against the living forests. Hear 
 The shouts, the shots of pioneer I 
 The rencled 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 .... 
 
 V 
 
 Yout-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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 67 
 
 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
 
 68 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 I 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 69 
 
 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 
 Seern'd scarce to touch the flying sand ; 
 The reins were in the reaching hand.
 
 70 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 71 
 
 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.
 
 72 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 unfuii'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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 73 
 
 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 daAvn, and felt the hush 
 Of heaven when the day sat down, 
 And hid his face in dusky hands. 
 4
 
 74 THE SHIP IN THE DESFRT. 
 
 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 I 
 
 The clouds of dust, their cloud by day ; 
 Their pillar of unfailing lire 
 The far North star. And high, and 
 higher . . .
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 75 
 
 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 !
 
 76 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 77 
 
 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.
 
 78 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 canons, darkling wide 
 Below Sierra's slopes of pine, 
 Receive them now. 
 
 And they who died
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 79 
 
 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 thaffarther shore, 
 And long white shining lines of bones, 
 Make needless sign or white mile-stones.
 
 8o THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 81 
 
 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 I 
 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 
 4* F
 
 82 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell ! 
 The final, silent, sad farewell ! 
 God ! these are with me all the years I 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 83 
 
 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.
 
 84 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 And long, from out his loft} 7 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 ?
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 85 
 
 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 wavs unknown.
 
 86 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 seal" They 
 
 bow'd 
 
 Their black heads in their hard black hands. 
 They wept for joy.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 87 
 
 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 I " 
 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 !
 
 88 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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. 
 
 'T\vas 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 I
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 89 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THEN Morgan hesitating stood, 
 Look'd down the deep and steep descent 
 With vvilder'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 I what hast thou 
 In store to make me bear the now ?
 
 90 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 O day in which we shall forget 
 The tangled troubles of to-day ! 
 O day that laughs at duns, at debt I 
 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 I 
 Convenient day of promises I 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 91 
 
 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,
 
 92 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 A DISTANT shout ! quick oaths ! alarms I 
 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 triin-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, 
 
 93
 
 94 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 95 
 
 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.
 
 96 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 97 
 
 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 turned his head once more, 
 5 o
 
 98 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 And wheeFd 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 99 
 
 From mountain fruits that he h'ad 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.
 
 ioo THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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."
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 103 
 
 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,
 
 104 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SPIIF IN THE DESERT. 105 
 
 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 ; 
 
 Aland 
 
 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, 
 C*
 
 106 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 A man fresh from his Maker's hand, 
 A singer singing overs we et, 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 107 
 
 PURSUER and pursued I 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,
 
 xoS THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 109 
 
 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 gue.-s'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,
 
 no THE SHIP fN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. lit 
 
 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 baud, 
 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,
 
 ii2 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 ;
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 113 
 
 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.
 
 114 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 115 
 
 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
 
 n6 THE SHIP I fr THE DESERT. 
 
 And deep by some lohg-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 SHIP IN THE DESERT. 117 
 
 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
 
 n8 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 horned 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 119 
 
 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,
 
 120 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 soAvn with gold 1
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 12 
 
 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-walfd 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, 
 6
 
 122 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 123 
 
 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.
 
 124 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 125 
 
 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
 
 126 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 : u 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-wull'd town, 
 All mann'd with armies bright with mail,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 127 
 
 Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat down 
 To gaze into eternity, 
 Or Egypt knew her natal hour, 
 Or Africa had name or power.
 
 128 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 
 
 xxm. 
 
 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 folio w'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 SHIP IN THE DESERT. 129 
 
 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 
 6* i
 
 130 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 131 
 
 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
 
 I3 2 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 I 
 
 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 133 
 
 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, 
 Arid 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
 
 134 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 135 
 
 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 r 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.
 
 136 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 137 
 
 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,
 
 138 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 140 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 141 
 
 Save but the dim sun hung in sheen 
 Of fairy garments all blood-red, 
 The hell beneath, the heU 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.
 
 142 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT, 
 
 xxvm. 
 
 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 I 
 
 At last the slow black line was check'd, 
 An instant only ; now again 
 It moved, it falter'd now, and now
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 143 
 
 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.
 
 144 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 Then every steed stood loosed and free ; 
 And some stepp'd slow and mute aside, 
 And some sank to the sauds and died, 
 And some stood still as shadows be, 
 And men stood gazing silently.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 145 
 
 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 ;
 
 146 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 followed where he led
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 147 
 
 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 ; 
 A west 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.
 
 148 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 149 
 
 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,
 
 JS THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 A time, and thn 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 Hood of tlaiue.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 151 
 
 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 in- 
 stead, 
 
 With shoulders heaved, with bowing head 
 Hid down between their two black hands.
 
 152 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 !
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 153 
 
 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 I 
 Such lessons I How could we learn less? 
 We are but children, blame us not.
 
 154 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 155 
 
 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 fiDgers. Then again 
 She reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands, 
 Then reach'd far out until she touch'd
 
 156 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 ?
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 157 
 
 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,
 
 158 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 159 
 
 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 and 
 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
 
 160 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 SHIP IN THE DESERT, 161 
 
 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 ?
 
 1 62 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 163 
 
 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.
 
 1 64 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 . 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 SHIP IN THE DESERT. 165 
 
 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.
 
 166 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 167 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 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 
 
 4. soft light, white and fair as when 
 The Spirit of Jehovah moved 
 Upon the water's conscious face, 
 And inade it His abiding-place. 
 
 O mighty waters unreproved i 
 Thou deep ! where the Jehovah moved 
 Ere soul of man was called to be I
 
 168 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 seas ! that were created not 
 As man, as earth, as light, as aught 
 That i. O sea ! them art to me 
 A terror, death, eternity.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 169 
 
 xxxvnL 
 
 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, 
 8
 
 170 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 I here stood Adria once, and here 
 Attila came with sword and flame,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 171 
 
 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.
 
 172 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 173 
 
 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 I 
 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
 
 174 THE SHIP IN THE BESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 175 
 
 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.
 
 i 7 6 
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 177 
 
 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,
 
 i 7 8 
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 179 
 
 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.
 
 i8o 
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 181 
 
 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.
 
 182 
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 XI. 
 
 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 183 
 
 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,
 
 1 84 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 185 
 
 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 ;
 
 i86 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP 7N THE DESERT. 187 
 
 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,
 
 i88 THE SHIP IN THE- DESERT. 
 
 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 followed 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 hi the night pass'd out of night ; 
 Pass'd through the portals black, unknown, 
 And Morgan totter'd on alone.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 189 
 
 xm. 
 
 AND why he still survived the rest, 
 Why still he had the strength to stir, 
 Why still he stood like gnarle*d oak 
 That buffets storm and tempest stroke, 
 One cannot say, save but for Ker, 
 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 ;
 
 igo THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 191 
 
 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. 
 Npw it may be the reason is 
 They touch on fairer shores than this.
 
 192 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 XLIH. 
 
 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."
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 193 
 
 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, 
 
 9 M
 
 194 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 195 
 
 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.
 
 196 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 He wound his baud, 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. 
 
 I 
 
 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
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 197 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 I
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 199 
 
 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.
 
 200 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 ! 
 9*
 
 202 THE SHIP IW THE DESERT. 
 
 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,
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 203 
 
 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.
 
 204 
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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 I 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.
 
 THE SHIP IN THE DESERT. 
 
 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.
 
 SONGS OF ITALY.
 
 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 ROME. 
 
 OME levelled hills, a wall, a dome 
 That lords its gilded arch and 
 
 lies, 
 
 While at its base a beggar cries 
 For bread, and dies, and that is 
 
 Rome. 
 
 n. 
 
 Yet Rome is Rome ; and Rome she must 
 And shall remain beside her gates, 
 And tribute take of kings and States, 
 Until the stars have fallen to dust.
 
 12 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 Yea, Time on yon campagnian plain 
 Has pitched in siege his battle tents ; 
 And round about her battlements 
 Has marched and trumpeted in vain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 These skies are Rome ! The very loam 
 Lifts up and speaks in Roman pride ; 
 And Time, outfaced and still defied, 
 Sits by and wags his beard at Rome, 
 
 ROME, 1873.
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 13 
 
 A DOVE OF SAINT MARK. 
 
 r I^HE high-born beautiful snow came down, 
 
 Silent and soft as the terrible feet 
 Of Time on the mosses of ruins. Sweet 
 Was the Christmas time in the watery town. 
 'Twas a kind of carnival swelled the sea 
 Of Venice that night, and canal and quay 
 Were alive with humanity. Man and maid, 
 Glad in their revel and masquerade, 
 Moved through the feathery snow in the night, 
 And shook black locks as they laughed out- 
 right.
 
 14 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 II. 
 
 From Santa Maggiore, and to and fro, 
 And ugly 'and black as if devils cast out, 
 Black streaks through the night in the soft, white 
 
 snow, 
 
 The steel-prowed gondolas paddled about : 
 There was only the sound of the long oars' dip, 
 As the low moon sailed up the sea like a ship 
 In a misty morn. Then the low moon rose, 
 Veiled and vast, through the feathery snows 
 And a poet sat pensive and still in his boat, 
 His mantle held tight in his hand to his throat. 
 
 m. 
 
 The dreamer arose as he drew to the land, 
 Threw back his cloak, stood tall and grand, 
 Then snapped his fingers right sharp as he leapt 
 To the shore and turned from the quay, and kept 
 His white brow wrinkled. He talked aloud 
 To himself as he melted away with the crowd, 
 And the feathery snows blew out of the tow,n. 
 Like a signal light through the night let down 
 A far star fell through the dim profound, . 
 As a jewel that slipped God's hand to the ground.
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 15 
 
 IV. 
 
 "On the gray, smooth base of your columned 
 
 stone, 
 
 Grim old lion of grand St. Mark, 
 I shall sit me down in your salt-flood town, 
 While you sit lorded on your granite throne : 
 Down under your wings on the edge of the sea 
 In the dim of the lamps, on the rim of the dark, 
 Alone and in crowds I shall sit me down. 
 O King on your column, so sullenly, 
 Wrinkle your brows and tumble your mane ! 
 But the bride comes not to her spouse again. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Heavens ! how beautiful ! Up and down, 
 
 Alone and in couples, they glide and they pass, 
 
 Silent and dreamy, as if seen in a glass, 
 
 And masked to the eyes, in their Adrian town. 
 
 Such women ! It breaks one's heart to think. 
 
 Water ! and never a drop to drink ! 
 
 What types of Titian ! What glory of hair ! 
 
 How tall as the sisters of Saul ! How fair 1 
 
 Sweet flowers of flesh all blossoming, 
 
 As if 'twere Eden and Eden's spring.
 
 16 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 VL 
 
 " They are talking aloud with all their eyes, 
 Yet passing me by with never one word. 
 O pouting sweet lips, do you know there are lies 
 That are told with the eyes, and never once 
 
 heard 
 
 Above a heart's beat when the soul is stirred ? 
 It is time to fly home, O doves of St. Mark I 
 Take boughs of the olive ; bear these to your ark, 
 And rest and be glad, for the seas and the skies 
 Of Venice are fair. . . . What ! never a home ? 
 What! stained and despised as the soiled sea- 
 foam? 
 
 vn. 
 
 " And who then are you ? You look so fair 1 
 Your sweet child-face, as a rose half-blown, 
 From under your black and abundant hair? . . . 
 A child of the street, and unloved and alone ! 
 Unloved and alone ? . . . There is something then 
 Between us two that is not unlike I ... 
 The strength and the purposes of men 
 Fall broken idols. We aim and strike 
 With high-born zeal and with proud intent, 
 Yet all things turn on an accident.
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 17 
 
 vm. 
 
 " Nay, I'll not preach. Time's lessons pass 
 Like twilight's swallows. They chirp in their 
 
 flight, 
 
 And who takes heed of the wasting glass ? 
 Night follows day, and day follows night, 
 And no thing rises on earth but to fall 
 Like leaves, with their lessons most sad and fit. j 
 They are spread like a volume each year to all : 
 Yet men nor women learn aught of it, 
 Or after it all, but a weariness 
 Of soul and body, and untold distress. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Yea, sit, sweet child, by my side, and we 
 We will talk of the world. Nay, let my hand 
 Run round your waist, and, so, let your face 
 Fall down on my shoulder, and you shall be 
 My dream of sweet Italy. Here in this place, 
 Alone in the crowds of this old careless land, 
 I will mantle your form till the morn, and 
 
 then 
 
 Why, I shall return to the world and to men, 
 And no whit stained for the one kind word 
 Which only you and the night may have heard. 
 
 2
 
 18 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 X. 
 
 " Fear nothing for me, for I shall not fear. 
 The day, my darling, comes after the night. 
 The nights they were made to show the light 
 
 Of the stars in heaven, tho' storms are near 
 
 Do you see that figure of Fortune up there, 
 That tops the Dogana with toe a-tip" 
 Of the great gold ball ? Her scroll is a-trip 
 To the turning winds. She is light as the air. 
 Well, trust to Fortune. Bread on the wave 
 Turns ever ashore to the hand that gave. 
 
 XI. 
 
 "What am I? who am I? and what would 
 
 I choose? 
 
 Why, I am a poet a lover of all 
 That is lovely to see. . . . Nay, naught shall befall, 
 For I would not choose what you should refuse. 
 Yes, I am a failure. I plot and plan, 
 Give splendid advice to my fellow-man, 
 Yet ever fall short of achievement. . . . Ah me ! 
 In my life's early, sad afternoon, 
 Say, what have I left but a love, or a rune, 
 A hand reached out to a soul at sea, 
 Or fair, forbidden, sweet fruit to choose, 
 That 'twere sin to touch, and sin to refuse?
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 19 
 
 xn. 
 
 u What ! I to go home with you, girl, to-night ? 
 
 To nestle you down and to call you love ? 
 
 Well, that were a fancy ! To feed a dove, 
 
 A poor, soiled dove of this dear Saint Mark, 
 
 Too frightened for rest and too weary for- flight. 
 
 Nay, nay, my sister ; in spite of you, 
 
 Sister and tempter, I will be true. 
 
 Lo ! here by the lion, alone in the dark, 
 
 Side by side we two will sit here, 
 
 Breathing the beauty as an atmosphere. 
 
 xm. 
 
 " We will talk of your poets, of their tales of 
 
 love. 
 
 What ! cannot read ? Why you never heard then 
 Of your Desdemona, nor the daring men 
 Who died for passion ? My poor white dove ! 
 There's a story of Shylock that would drive you 
 
 wild. 
 
 You never have heard of your poets, my child? 
 Of Tasso, of Petrarch ? Not the Bridge of Sighs ? 
 Nor the tale of Ferrara ? Nor the thousand whys 
 That your Venice was ever adored above 
 All other fair lands for her songs of love ?
 
 20 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 "What then about Shy lock? 'Twas gold- 
 
 yes dead. 
 
 The lady? 'Twas love. Why, yes ; she too 
 Is dead. And Byron ? 'Twas fame ah, true. 
 Tasso #nd Petrarch ? They perished the same. 
 Yes, so endeth all, as you well have said. 
 And you, poor child, are too wise, and you, 
 Too sudden, sad child, in your hard ugly youth, 
 Have stumbled face fronting an obstinate truth. 
 For whether for love, for gold, or for fame, 
 They but lived their day, and they died the 
 
 same. 
 
 xv. 
 
 " But talk not of death : of death, or the life 
 That comes after death. 'Tis beyond your reach, 
 And this too much thought has a sense of 
 
 strife . . . 
 
 Ay, true ; I promised you not to preach . . . 
 My maid of Venice, or maid unmade, 
 Lie still on my bosom. Be not afraid. 
 What ! Say you are hungry? Well, let us dine 
 Till the near morn comes on the silver shine 
 Of the lamp-lit sea. At dawn of day, 
 Child of the street, you can go your way.
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 21 
 
 XYI. 
 
 Your mother's palace ? I know your town ; 
 Know every nook of it, left and right, 
 As well as yourself. For up and down 
 Your salt-flood streets, for many a night, 
 I have rowed and roved with a lady fair 
 As the face of heaven. Nay, I know there 
 Is no such a palace. What ! you dare 
 To look in my face, to lie outright, 
 To bend your brows, and to frown me down ? 
 There is no such a place in that part of the town ! 
 
 xvn. 
 
 " What ! woo me away to your rickety boat, 
 
 To pick my pockets, to cut my throat, 
 
 With help of your pirates ? Then throw me out, 
 
 Loaded with stones to sink me down, 
 
 Down into the filth and dregs of the town ? 
 
 Why, that is your damnable aim, no doubt ! 
 
 And, beautiful child, you seem too fair, 
 
 Too young, for even a thought like that ; 
 
 Too young for even the soul to dare 
 
 Ay, even the serpent to whisper at.
 
 22 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 " Now, there is such a thing as being true 
 Even in villany. Listen to me : 
 Black -skinned women and low-browed men, 
 And desperate robbers and thieves ; and then, 
 Why, there are the pirates ! Ay, pirates re- 
 formed, 
 
 Pirates reformed and unreformed : 
 Pirates for me, friends for you. 
 And these are your neighbors. And so you see 
 That I know your town, your neighbors : and I 
 Well, pardon me, girl, but I know you lie. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Tut, tut, my beauty ! What trickery now ? 
 Why, tears through your hair on my hand like 
 
 rain ! 
 
 Come ! look in my face : laugh, lie again 
 With your wonderful eyes. Lift up your brow. 
 Come ! shake your fist at the world, and defy 
 The world. Now, this lying is no new thing 
 The wearers of laces know well how to lie ; 
 As well, ay, better, than you or I. ... 
 They lie for fortune, for fame : instead, 
 You, child of the street, only lie for your bread.
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 23 
 
 " Some sounds blow in from the distant land ; 
 The bells strike sharp, and as out of tune, 
 Some sudden, short notes. To the east and afar, 
 And up from the sea, is lifting a star 
 As large, my beautiful child, and as white 
 And as lovely to see as your little white hand. 
 The people have melted away with the night, 
 And not one gondola frets the lagoon. 
 See ! Away to the east 'tis the face of morn. 
 Hear ! Away to the west 'tis the fisherman's 
 horn. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " 'Tis morn in Venice ! My child, adieu ! 
 Arise, poor beauty, and go your way ; 
 And as for myself, why, much like you, 
 I must sell this story to who may pay 
 And dares to reckon it brave and meet. 
 Yea, each of us traders, poor child of pain ; 
 For each must barter for bread to eat 
 In a world of trade and an age of gain ; 
 With just this difference, child of the street : 
 You sell your body, I sell my brain.
 
 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 XXTT. 
 
 " Why, child, what a wreck ! Lo, here you 'reel, 
 Poor, wrecked little vessel, with never a keel ; 
 With never a soul to advise or to care : 
 You lie like a sea-weed, well astrand, 
 Blown like the sea-foam hard on the sand, 
 A poor, white body, with never a hand 
 Reached out from the land, though you sink and 
 
 die, 
 
 All covered with sin to the brows and hair, 
 Left all alone to starve or to lie, 
 Or to sell your body to who may buy. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Child of the street, I will kiss you ! Yea, 
 I will fold you and hold you close to my breast. 
 And as you lie resting in your first rest, 
 And as night is pushed back from the face of day, 
 I will push your tumbled and long, strong hair 
 Well back from your face, and kiss you where 
 Your ruffian, bearded, black men of crime 
 Have stung you and stained you a thousand 
 
 time; 
 
 And call you my sister, sweet child, as you sleep, 
 And waken you not, lest you wake but to weep.
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 25 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Yea, tenderly kiss you. And I shall not be 
 Ashamed, nor stained in the least, sweet dove, 
 Tenderly kiss, with the kiss of Love, 
 And of Faith and of Hope and of Charity. 
 Nay, I shall be purer and better then ; 
 For, child of the street, you, living or dead, 
 Stained to the brows, are purer to me 
 Ten thousand times than the world of men, 
 Who but reach you a hand to lead you astray. 
 But the dawn is upon us ! Rise, go your way. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Here ! take this money. Take it, and say, 
 When you have awakened and I am away, 
 Roving the world and forgetting of you ; 
 When you have aroused from your brief little rest, 
 And find these francs nestled down in your 
 
 breast, 
 
 Aud rough men question you, why, then say 
 That Madonna sent them. Then kneel and pray, 
 And pray for me, the worst of the two : 
 Then God will bless you, sweet child, and you 
 Shall be mine angel my whole life through.
 
 26 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Take this money and buy you bread, 
 
 And eat and rest while a year wears through. 
 
 Then, rising refreshed, try virtue instead ; 
 
 Be stronger and better, poor, pitiful dear, 
 
 So prompt with a falsehood, prompt with a tear, 
 
 For the hand grows stronger as the heart grows 
 
 true. 
 
 Take courage, my child, for I promise you 
 We are judged by our chances of life and lot, 
 And your poor little soul may yet pass through 
 The eye of the needle, where laces shall not. 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 " Poor dove of the dust, with tear-wet wings, 
 Homeless and lone as the dove from its ark, 
 Do you reckon yon angel that tops St. Mark, 
 That tops the tower, that tops the town, 
 If he knew us two, if he knew all things, 
 Would say, poor child, you are worse than I ? 
 Do you reckon yon angel, looking down 
 And down like a star, he hangs so high, 
 Could tell which one were the worst of us two ? 
 Child of the street it is not you !
 
 A DOVE OF ST. MARK. 27 
 
 xxvm. 
 
 " If we two were dead, and laid side by side 
 Right here on the pavement, this very day, 
 Here under the lion and over the sea, 
 Where the morn flows in like a rosy tide, 
 And the sweet Madonna that stands in the moon, 
 With her crown of stars, just across the lagoon, 
 Should come and should look upon you and me, 
 Do you reckon, my child, that she would decide, 
 As men do decide and as women do say, 
 That you are so dreadful, and turn away ? 
 
 " If the angel were sent to choose to-day 
 
 Between us two as we lay here, 
 
 Dead and alone in this desolate place, 
 
 You, white with a hunger and stained with a tear, 
 
 Or I, the rover the whole world through, 
 
 Restless and stormy as any sea, 
 
 If the angel were sent to choose, I say, 
 
 This very moment the best of the two, 
 
 Looking us two right straight in the face, 
 
 Child of the street, he would not choose me.
 
 28 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " The fresh sun is falling on turret and tower, 
 The far sun is flashing on spire and dome, 
 The marbles of Venice are bursting to flower, 
 The marbles of Venice are flower and foam : 
 Child of the street, oh, waken you now I 
 There ! bear my kiss on your brave white brow, 
 Through earth to heaven : and when we meet 
 Beyond the waters, poor waif of the street, 
 Why,- then I shall know you, my sad, sweet dove, 
 And claim you and kiss you with the kiss of love. 
 
 VBSICE, 1873.
 
 SUNRISE IN VENICE. 29 
 
 SUNRISE IN VENICE. 
 
 "1VTIGHT seems troubled and scarce asleep ; 
 Her brows are gathered in broken rest. 
 A star in the east starts up from the deep ! 
 Sullen old lion of loved Saint Mark, 
 Lord of the deep, high-throned in the dark ! 
 'Tis morn, new-born, with a star on her breast, 
 White as my lilies that grow in the West ! 
 
 Hist ! men are passing me hurriedly. 
 
 I see the yellow wide wings of a bark ! 
 
 Sail silently over my morning-star, 
 
 And on and in to an amber sea. 
 
 I see men move in the moving dark, 
 
 Tall and silent as columns are, 
 
 Girded and patient as Destiny ; 
 
 Great, sinewy men that are good to see, 
 
 With hair pushed back, and with open breasts ; 
 
 Barefooted fishermen, seeking their boats, 
 
 Brown as walnuts and hairy as goats, 
 
 Brave old water-dogs, wed to the sea, 
 
 First to their labors and last to their rests.
 
 30 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 n. 
 
 Ships are moving ! I hear a horn 
 
 A silver trumpet it sounds to me, 
 
 Deep-voiced and musical, far at sea . . . 
 
 Answers back, and again it calls. 
 
 Tis the sentinel boats that watch the town 
 
 All night, as mounting her watery walls. 
 
 And watching for pirate or smuggler. Down 
 
 Over the sea, and reaching away, 
 
 And against the east, a soft light falls 
 
 Silvery soft as the mist of morn, 
 
 And I catch a breath like the breath of day. 
 
 in. 
 
 The east is blossoming ! Yea, a rose, 
 Vast as the heavens, soft as a kiss, 
 Sweet as. the presence of woman is, 
 Rises and reaches, and widens and grows 
 Large and luminous up from the sea, 
 And out of the sea, as a blossoming tree. 
 
 Richer and richer, so higher and higher, 
 Deeper and deeper it takes its hue ;
 
 S&VtffSE IN VENICE. 31 
 
 Brighter and brighter it reaches through 
 The space of heaven and the place of stars, 
 Till all is as rich as a rose can be, 
 And my rose-leaves fall into billows of fire. 
 Then beams reach upward as arms from a sea ; 
 Then lances and arrows are aimed at me. 
 Then lances and spangles and spars and bars 
 Are broken and shivered and strown on the sen ; 
 And around and about me tower and spire 
 Start from the billows like tongues of fire. 
 
 VENICE, 1874.
 
 32 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 PALATINE HILL. 
 
 r. 
 
 A WOLF-LIKE stream without a sound 
 Steals by and hides beneath the shore, 
 Its awful secrets evermore 
 Within its sullen bosom bound. 
 
 n. 
 
 And this was Rome, that shrieked for room 
 To stretch her limbs ! A hill of caves 
 For half- wild beasts and hairy siaves ; 
 And gypsies tent within her tomb I 
 
 m. 
 
 Two lone palms on the Palatine, 
 Two rows of cypress black and tall, 
 With white roots set in Csesar's Hall, 
 A garden, convent, and sweet shrine.
 
 PALATINE HILL. 33 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tall cedars on a "broken wall, 
 That look away toward Lebanon, 
 And seem to mourn for grandeur gone : 
 A wolf, an owl, and that is all. 
 
 ROME, September, 1873.
 
 34 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 IN A GONDOLA. 
 
 "HpWAS night in Venice. Then down to the 
 
 tide, 
 
 Where a tall and a shadowy gondolier 
 Leaned on his oar, like a lifted spear : 
 'Twas night in Venice ; then side by side 
 We sat in his boat. Then oar a-trip 
 On the black boat's keel, then dip and dip ; 
 These boatmen should build tlieir boats more 
 
 wide, 
 For we were together, and side by side. 
 
 n. 
 
 The sea it was level as seas of light, 
 As still as the light ere a hand was laid 
 To the making of lands, or the seas were made. 
 'Twas fond as a bride on her bridal night 
 When a great love swells in hex soul like a sea, 
 And makes her but less than divinity. 
 'Twas night, The soul of the day, I wis : 
 A woman's face hiding from her first kiss.
 
 IN A GONDOLA, -35 
 
 m. 
 
 'Twas night in Venice. On o'er the tide 
 These boats they are narrow as they can be, 
 These crafts they are narrow enough, and we, 
 To balance the boat, sat side by side 
 Out under the arch of the Bridge of Sighs, 
 On under the arch of the star-sown skies : 
 We two were together on the Adrian Sea, 
 The one fair woman of the world to me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 These narrow-built boats, they rock when at sea, 
 And they make one afraid. So she leaned to me ; 
 And that is the reason alone there fell 
 Such golden folds of abundant hair 
 Down over my shoulder, as we sat there. 
 These boatmen should build their boats more 
 
 wide, 
 
 Wider for lovers ; as wide Ah, well I 
 But who is the rascal to kiss, and tell ? 
 
 VENICE, 1874.
 
 36. SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 COMO. 
 
 nPHE red-clad fishers row and creep 
 Below the crags, as half asleep, 
 Nor ever make a single sound. 
 
 The walls are steep, 
 
 The waves are deep ; 
 And if a dead man should be found 
 By these same fishers in their round, 
 Why, who shall say but he was drowned ? 
 
 I. 
 
 The lakes lay bright as bits of broken moon 
 Just newly set within the cloven earth ; 
 The ripened fields drew round a golden girth 
 Far up the steeps, and glittered in the noon ; 
 And, when the sun fell down, from leafy shore 
 Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar. 
 The stars, as large as lilies, flecked the blue ; 
 From out the Alps the moon came wheeling 
 
 through 
 The rocky pass the great Napoleon knew.
 
 COMO. 37 
 
 n. 
 
 A gala night it was, the season's prime. 
 We rode from castled lake to festal town, 
 To fair Milan my friend and I ; rode down 
 By night, where grasses waved in rippled 
 
 rhyme : 
 
 And so, what theme but love at such a time ? 
 His proud lip curled the while with silent scorn 
 At thought of love ; and then, as one forlorn, 
 He sighed ; then bared his temples, dashed with 
 
 gray; 
 Then mocked, as one outworn and well blast. 
 
 m. 
 
 A gorgeous tiger lily, naming red, 
 
 So full of battle, of the trumpet's blare, 
 
 Of old-time passion, upreared its head. 
 
 I galloped past. I leaned, I clutched it there 
 
 From out the long, strong grass. I held it high, 
 
 And cried : " Lo ! this to-night shall deck her hair 
 
 Through all the dance. And mark! the man 
 
 shall die 
 
 Who dares assault, for good or ill design, 
 The citadel where I shall set this sign."
 
 38 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He spake no spare word all the after while. 
 That scornful, cold, contemptuous smile of his ! 
 And in the hall the same old, hateful smile ! 
 Why, better men have died for less insult than 
 
 this. 
 
 Then marvel not that when she graced the floor, 
 With all the beauties gathered from the four 
 Far quarters of the world, and she, my fair, 
 The fairest, wore within her midnight hair 
 My tiger lily, marvel not, I say, 
 That he glared like some wild beast well at bay. 
 
 v. 
 
 Oh, she shone fairer than the summer star, 
 Or curled, sweet moon in middle destiny ; 
 More fair than sunrise climbing up the sea, 
 Where all the loves of Adriana are. 
 Who loves, who truly lovess will stand aloof: 
 The noisy tongue makes most unholy proof 
 Of shallow passion. ... All the while afar 
 From out the dance I stood and watched my 
 
 star, 
 My tiger lily borne an oriflamme of war.
 
 COMO. 39 
 
 VI. 
 
 Italia's beauties blushed at love's advance. 
 Like bright white mice in moonlight at theii 
 play, 
 
 Or sunfish shooting in some shining bay, 
 The swift feet shot and glittered in the dance. 
 Oh, have you loved and truly loved, and seen 
 Aught else the while than your own stately 
 
 queen ? 
 
 Her presence it was majesty so tall ; 
 Her proud development encompassed all. 
 She filled all space. I sought, I saw but her : 
 I followed as some fervid worshipper. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Adown the dance she moved with matchless 
 
 grace. 
 The world my 'world moved with her. 
 
 Suddenly 
 
 I questioned whom her cavalier might be ? 
 'Twas he ! His face was leaning to her face ! 
 I clutched my blade ; I sprang ; I caught my 
 
 breath, 
 And so, stood leaning cold and still as death.
 
 40 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 And they stood still. She blushed, then reached 
 
 and tore 
 
 The lily as she passed, and down the floor 
 She strewed its heart like bits of gushing 
 
 gore. . . . 
 
 vm. 
 
 'Twas he said heads, not hearts, were made to 
 
 break : 
 
 He taught me this that night in splendid scorn. 
 I learned too well. . . . The dance was done. Ere 
 
 morn 
 We mounted he and I but no more 
 
 And this for woman's love! My lily worn 
 In her dark hair in pride, to then be torn 
 And trampled on, for this bold stranger's 
 
 sake ! . . . 
 
 Two men rode silent back toward the lake ; 
 Two men rode silent down but only one 
 Rode up at morn to meet the rising sun. 
 
 The walls are steep ; 
 The crags shall keep
 
 COMO. 
 
 41 
 
 Their everlasting watch profound. 
 
 The walls are steep, 
 
 The waves are deep ; 
 And if a dead man should be found 
 By red-clad fishers in their round, 
 Why, who shall say but he was drowned? 
 
 LAKE COMO, 1874.
 
 42 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 A GARIBALDIAN'S STORY. 
 
 i. 
 
 "AY, signer ! that's Nervi, just under the 
 ^ lights 
 
 That look down from the forts on the Genoese 
 heights ; 
 
 And that stone set in stone in the rim of the sea, 
 
 Like a tall figure rising and reaching a hand, 
 
 Marks the spot where the chief and his red- 
 shirted band 
 
 Hoisted sail Have a light ? Ah, yes : as 
 
 for me 
 
 I have lights, and a leg short a leg, as you see ; 
 
 And have three fingers hewn from this strong- 
 sabre-hand. 
 
 n. 
 
 "See that cursed cowled monk, black-mantled, 
 and black 
 
 In his heart as the plague, or the stole at his 
 back,
 
 A GARIBALDIAWS STORY. 43 
 
 Stealing by like a spy down that sweet wooded 
 
 way? 
 Well, these were the fellows we grappled. Why 
 
 they 
 They were thick in the land as the locusts. 
 
 The land 
 
 Was eaten alive by their indolence. Yea, 
 They did toil not nor spin, and yet their array 
 Was as purple and gold ; and they laid heavy 
 
 hand 
 On the first of the fruits, of the flocks ; and the 
 
 gown 
 Soiled the first fairest maidens of country and 
 
 town. 
 
 in. 
 
 " Look you there ! Do you see where the blue 
 bended floors 
 
 Of the heavens are frescoed with stars? See 
 the heights, 
 
 Then the bent hills beneath, where the grape- 
 growers' doors 
 
 Open out and look down in a crescent of lights ? 
 
 Well, there I was born ; grew tall. Then the 
 call
 
 44 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 For bold men for Sicily. 
 
 I rose from the vines, 
 
 Shook back my long hair, looked forth, then let 
 
 fall 
 My dull pruning-hook, and stood full in the 
 
 lines. 
 Then my young promised bride held her head 
 
 to her breast 
 As a sword trailed the stones, and I strode with 
 
 a zest. 
 But a sable-cowled monk girt his gown, and 
 
 looked down 
 With a leer in her face, as I turned from the 
 
 town. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Then from yonder green hills bending down to 
 
 the seas, 
 Grouping here, grouping there, in the gray olive 
 
 trees, 
 
 We watched the slow sun ; slow saw him retire 
 At last in the sea, like a vast isle of fire. 
 Then the chief drew his sword : 
 
 There was that in his air, 
 As the care on his face came and went and still 
 
 came,
 
 A GARIBALDIAWS STORY. 45 
 
 As lie gazed out at sea, and yet gazed anywhere, 
 That meant more, signor, more than a peasant 
 
 can say. 
 Then at last, when the stars in the soft-tempered 
 
 breeze 
 Glowed red and grew large, as if fanned to a 
 
 flame, 
 
 Lo ! something shot up from a black-muffled ship 
 Deep asleep in the bay, like a star gone astray : 
 Then down, double quick, with the sword-hilt 
 
 a-trip, 
 Came the troop with a zest, and that stone 
 
 tells the rest. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Hot times at Marsala ! and then under Rome 
 It was hell sure enough, and a whole column fell 
 Like new vines in a frost. 
 
 Then year followed year, 
 
 Until, stricken and sere, at last I came home 
 As the strife lulled a spell, came limping back 
 
 here 
 
 Stealing back to my home, limping up out of hell. 
 But we won, did we not ? Won, I scarcely know 
 
 what
 
 4d SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Yet the whole land is free from the Alps to the 
 
 sea. 
 Ah ! my young promised bride ? Christ, that 
 
 cuts ! Why, I thought 
 That her face had gone by, like a dream that was 
 
 not. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " What a presence was hers I What a throat, 
 
 what a mouth ! 
 Why, a mouth that Rossetti, the painter, had 
 
 smiled 
 But to see ; had caught it on canvas, had set his 
 
 craft wild 
 With talk of his picture from Northland to 
 
 South! 
 
 A mouth that half opened as hungered for love, 
 That trusted all things ; a mouth that went out 
 With daring and valor, that never knew doubt, 
 Yet was proud and as pure as that bent moon 
 
 above. . . . 
 
 vn. 
 ..." Yes, peaches must ripen and show the sun's 
 
 red 
 In their time, I suppose, like the full of a rose ;
 
 A GARIBALDIAN'S STORY. 47 
 
 And some one must pluck them, 'tis very well 
 
 said, 
 As they swell and grow rich and look luscious to 
 
 touch : 
 Yet I fancy some men, some fiends, must have 
 
 much 
 
 To repent of: This reaching up rudely of hand 
 For the early sweet-fruits of a warm, careless 
 
 land ; 
 
 This plucking and biting of every sweet peach 
 Ere yet it is ripe and come well to its worth, 
 Then casting it down, and quite spoiled, to the 
 
 reach 
 Of the swine and the things that creep close to 
 
 the earth. . . . 
 
 Viil. 
 
 "But he died ! Look you here. Stand aside. 
 
 Yes, he died 
 
 Like a dog in a ditch. In that low battle-moat 
 He was found on a morn. The red line on his 
 
 throat 
 They said was a rope. 4 Bah I the one-fingered 
 
 man 
 Might have done it,' said one.
 
 48 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Then I laughed till I cried 
 When the guard led me forth, and the judge sat 
 
 to scan 
 My hands and my strength; and to question mu 
 
 sore: 
 ' Why, what has the match-man to do with all 
 
 this, 
 
 The one-fingered man, with his life gone amiss ? ' 
 I cried as I laughed, and they vexed me no more. 
 
 Some men must fill trenches. Ten thousand go 
 
 down 
 
 As unnamed and unknown as the stones in a wall, 
 For the few to pass over and on to renown : 
 
 And I am of these. 
 
 The old king has his crown, 
 
 And my country is free ; and what more, after^all, 
 Did I ask from the first ? 
 
 Don't you think that yon lights 
 Through the black olive trees look divine on ihc 
 
 seas? 
 
 Then look you above, where the Apennines beml : 
 Why, you scarcely can tell, as you peer throng!} 
 
 the trees, 
 Where the great stare begin or the cottage-lights 
 
 end!
 
 A GARIBALDIAWS STORY. 49 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Yes, a little bit lonely, that can't be denied : 
 But as good place to wait for a sign as may be. 
 I shall watch on the shore, looking out as before ; 
 And the chief on his isle in the calm middle sea, 
 With his sword gathered up, stands waiting with 
 
 me 
 For the great silent ship. 
 
 We shall cross to the shore 
 
 Where a white city lies like yon Alps in the skies, 
 And look down on tliis sea ; and right well 
 
 satisfied. 
 
 x. 
 "Ay ! The whole country round vaunts our deed, 
 
 "and the town 
 Raised that shaft on the spot, foy the whole 
 
 land is free ; 
 
 And some won renown, and one won a crown, 
 And one won a right to sell lights by the sea. 
 Have a light, sir, to-night ? Ah, thanks, signer, 
 
 thanks ! 
 Bon voyage, bon voyage I Bless you and your 
 
 francs." 
 
 GENOA, October, 1873.
 
 50 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 " And full these truths eternal 
 O'er the yearning spirit steal, 
 That the real is the ideal, 
 And the ideal is the real." 
 
 HE was damned with the dower of beauty. She 
 
 Had gold in shower about her brow. 
 Her feet ! why, her two blessed feet were so 
 
 small 
 They could nest in this hand. When she stood 
 
 up so tall, 
 
 So gracious, so grand, she was all to me, 
 My present, my past, my eternity ! . . . 
 She lives in my dreams. I behold her now 
 On that shoreless white river that flowed like a sea 
 At her feet where I sat. . . . How her lips pushed 
 
 1 out 
 
 In their brave, warm welcome of dimple and pout !
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 51 
 
 n. 
 
 'Twas eons agone. By a river that ran 
 
 Fathomless, echoless, limitless, on, 
 
 And shoreless, and peopled with never a man, 
 
 We met, soul to soul. ... No land ; yet I think 
 
 There were willows and lilies that leaned to drink. 
 
 The stars were all sealed and the moons were gone. 
 
 The wide shining circles that girdled that world, 
 
 They were distant and dim. An incense curled 
 
 In vapory folds from that river that ran 
 
 All shoreless, with never the presence of man. 
 
 m. 
 
 How sensuous the night! how soft was the sound 
 Of her voice on the night ! How warm was her 
 
 breath 
 
 In that world that had never yet tasted of death 
 Or forbidden sweet fruit ! ... In that far pro- 
 found 
 
 We were camped on the edges of god-land. We 
 Were the people of Saturn. The watery fields, 
 The wide-winged, dolorous birds of the sea, 
 They acknowledged but us. Our battle -shields 
 Were my naked white palms ; our food it was love. 
 Our roof was the fresco of stars above.
 
 52 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 How tender she was, and how timid she was ! 
 How turned she to me where that wide river ran. 
 With its lilies and willows and watery reeds, 
 And heeded as only your true love heeds ! . . . 
 But a black-hoofed beast, with the head of a man, 
 Stole down where she sat at my side, and began 
 To puff his cheeks, then to play, then to pause, 
 With his double-reed pipe ; then to play and to play 
 As never played man since the world began, 
 And never shall play till the judgment day. 
 
 v. 
 
 How he puffed ! how he played ! Then adoAvn 
 
 the dim shore, 
 
 This half-devil man, all hairy and black, 
 Did dance with his hoofs in the sand, looking back 
 As his song died away. . . . She turned never more 
 Unto me after that. She arose, and she pass'd 
 Right on from my sight. Then I followed as fast 
 As a love could follow. But ever before 
 Like a spirit she fled. How vain and how far 
 Did I follow my beauty from star to white star ! 
 From foamy white sea, and from stormy black 
 
 shore.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 53 
 
 VI. 
 
 But I here shall abide. I shall pipe on a reed. 
 I shall sit by the waters my whole life through. 
 I shall sing wild songs. I shall take no heed 
 Of the things forbidden, or of bitter-sweet fruit. 
 I shall feast with the gods. I shall sing for the few. 
 I shall pipe not for love. I shall reach my hand, 
 And pluck fair lilies from the bank by the root. 
 I shall laugh like a satyr. I shall dance on the sand, 
 I shall rove o'er the sea, I shall rest by the shore ,* 
 But never seek love upon earth any more. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Never more upon earth ! Yet the heaven-bound 
 
 span 
 
 Of life upon earth, lo, it is but to-day ! 
 Last night was the land that remembers no man, 
 To-morrow the skies ! . . . Then who shall 
 
 gainsay 
 
 The valor of patience ? Lo ! there I shall woo 
 In the gardens of God, on the centremost star 
 Of all whirling stars. Face front I shall view 
 This one splendid face I have followed so far. 
 There love shall heal love of her hard battle-scars, 
 Begun on the outermost edge of the stars.
 
 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 vm. 
 
 How long I had sought her ! My soul of fire 
 It had fed on itself. I fasted, I cried ; 
 Was tempted by many. Yet still I denied 
 The touch of all things, and kept my desire. . . . 
 I stood by the lion of St. Mark in that hour 
 Of Venice, when gold of the sunset is rolled 
 From cloud to cathedral, to turret and tower, 
 In matchless, magnificent garment of gold. 
 Then I knew she was near ; yet I had not known 
 Her form or her face since the stare were sown. 
 
 IX. 
 
 We two had been parted God pity us ! when 
 The stars were unnamed and all heaven was 
 
 dim ; 
 
 We two had been parted far back on the rim 
 And the outermost border of heaven's red bars ; 
 We two had been parted ere the meeting of men, 
 Or God had set compass on spaces as yet ; 
 We two had been parted ere God had set 
 His finger to spinning the purple with stars, 
 And now, at the last in the gold and set 
 Of the sun of Venice, we two had met.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 55 
 
 X. 
 
 Where the lion of Venice, with brows a-frowii, 
 With toss'd mane tumbled, and teeth in air, 
 Looks out in his watch o'er the watery town, 
 With a paw half lifted, with his claws half bare, 
 By the blue Adriatic, in the edge of the sea, 
 I saw her. I knew her, but she knew not me. 
 I had found her at last ! Why, I had sailed 
 The antipodes through, had sought, had hailed 
 All flags, had climbed where the storm-clouds 
 curled, [world. 
 
 And called through the awful arched dome of the 
 
 XI. 
 
 I saw her one moment, then fell back abashed, 
 And filled full to the throat. . . . Then I turned 
 
 me once more 
 
 So glad to the sea, while the level sun flashed 
 On the far, snowy Alps. . . . Her breast ! why, 
 
 her breast 
 
 Was white as twin pillows that allure you to rest ; 
 Her sloping limbs moved like to melodies, told 
 As she rose from the sea ; and she threw back 
 
 the gold 
 
 Of her glorious hair, and set face to the shore. 
 I knew her ! I knew her, though we had not met 
 Since the fur stars sang to the sun's first set.
 
 56 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 xn. 
 
 How long I had sought her ! I had hungered, 
 
 nor ate 
 
 Of any swe"et fruits. I had tasted not one 
 Of all the fair glories grown under the sun. 
 I had sought only her. Yea, I knew that she 
 Had come upon earth, and stood waiting for me 
 Somewhere by my way. But the pathways of fate 
 They had led other where ; the round world round, 
 The far North seas and the near profound 
 Had failed me for aye. Now I stood by that sea 
 Where ships drave by, and all dreamily. 
 
 xm. 
 
 I had turned from the lion a time, and when 
 
 I looked tow'rd the tide and out on the lea 
 
 Of the town where the warm sea tumbled and 
 
 teemed 
 
 With beauty, I saw her ! I knew her then, 
 The tallest, the fairest fair daughter of men. 
 Oh, Venice stood full in her glory. She gleamed 
 In the splendor of sunset and sensuous sea ; 
 Yet I saw but my bride, my all to me, 
 While the doves hurried home to the dome of 
 
 Saint Mark, [in the dark. 
 
 And the brass horses plunged their high manes
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 57 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I spake not, but caught at my breath ; I did raise 
 My face to fair heaven, to give God praise 
 That at last, ere the ending of time, we two 
 Had touched upon earth at the same sweet 
 
 place. . . . 
 
 Yea, we never had met upon earth at all ; 
 Never, since ages ere Adam's fall, 
 Had we two met in the fulness of soul, 
 Where two are as one, but had wandered on 
 
 through 
 
 The spheres, divided, where planets roll 
 Unnam'd and in darkness through limitless space. 
 
 XV. 
 Was it well with my love ? Was she true ? 
 
 Was she brave 
 With virtue's own valor ? Was she waiting for 
 
 me? 
 Oh, how fared my love ? Had she home ? Had 
 
 she bread ? . 
 
 Had she known but the touch of the warm- 
 tempered wave ? 
 Was she born upon earth with a crown on her 
 
 head,
 
 58 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Or born, like myself, but a dreamer instead ? 
 So long it had been ! So long ! Why the sea 
 That wrinkled and surly, old, time-tempered 
 
 slave 
 Had been born, had his revels, grown wrinkled 
 
 and hoar 
 Since I last saw my love on that uttermost shore. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Oh, how fared my love ? Once I lifted my face, 
 And I shook back my hair and looked out on the 
 
 sea; 
 
 I pressed my hot palms as I stood in my place, 
 And cried : " Oh, I come like a king to your side 
 Though all hell intervene !"..." Hist ! she 
 
 may be a bride, 
 A mother at peace, with sweet babes on her 
 
 knee! 
 
 A babe at her breast and a spouse at her side ! - 
 Have I wandered too long, and has Destiny 
 Set mortal between us ? " I buried my face 
 In my hands, and I moaned as I stood in my 
 
 place.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 59 
 
 XV11. 
 
 'Twas her year to be young. She was tall, she 
 was fair 
 
 Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ? 
 
 'Twas her year to be young. She was fair, she 
 was tall ; 
 
 And I felt she was true, as I lifted my face 
 
 And saw her press down her rich robe to its place, 
 
 With a hand white and small as a babe's with a 
 doll. 
 
 And her feet ! why, her feet in the white shin- 
 ing sand 
 
 Were so small, 'twas a wonder the maiden could 
 stand. 
 
 Then she pushed back her hair with a round 
 hand that shone 
 
 And flashed in the light with a white starry stone. 
 
 xvin. 1 
 
 Then, my love she is rich ! My love she is fair ! 
 Is she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ? 
 She is gorgeous with wealth ! " Thank God, she 
 
 has bread," 
 I said to myself. Then I humbled my head
 
 60 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 In gratitude. Then I questioned me where 
 Was her palace, her parents ? What name did 
 
 she bear ? 
 
 What mortal on earth came nearest her heart? 
 Who touched the small hand till it thrilled to a 
 
 smart ? 
 'Twas her year to he young. She was proud, 
 
 she was fair 
 Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Beneath her blue robe her round bosom rose 
 In sensuous beauty I She was white as the 
 
 snows 
 
 Of the Tyrolese Alps. Oh, the slope of her arm ! 
 Oh, the rounded limbs' length ! The breasts 
 
 heaving warm 
 
 As welcomes of love ! The lips pushing out ! 
 The proud mouth gathered in dimple and pout ! 
 Then the dusky depressions, suggestions of night, 
 They did make her pure whiteness but appear 
 
 the more white : 
 
 Whiter indeed than the white soul of man, 
 Or the whitest marbles of the Vatican.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 61 
 
 XX. 
 
 She loosened her robe that was blue like the sea, 
 
 And silken and soft as a babe's new born. 
 
 And my heart it leapt light as the sunlight at 
 
 morn 
 
 At the sight of my love in her purity, 
 As she rose like a Naiad half-robed from the sea. 
 As. careless, as calm as a queen can be, 
 She loosed and let fall all the raiment of blue, 
 As she drew a white robe in a melody 
 Of her moving white limbs ; and between the 
 
 two, 
 Like a rift in a cloud, shone her fair form thro'. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Now she turned, reached a hand ; then a tall 
 
 gondolier 
 
 Who had leaned on his oar, like a long lifted spear, 
 Shot sudden and swift and all silently, 
 And drew to her side as she turned from the 
 
 tide . . . 
 
 It was odd, such a thing, and I counted it queer 
 That a princess like this, whether virgin or bride,
 
 62 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Should abide thus apart, and should bathe in that 
 
 sea ; 
 
 And I shook back my hair, and so unsatisfied ! 
 Then I fluttered the doves that were perched 
 
 close about, 
 A.S I strode up and down in dismay and in doubt. 
 
 xxn. 
 Then she stood in the boat on the borders of 
 
 night 
 
 As a goddess might stand on that far wonder-land 
 Of eternal sweet life, which men have named 
 
 Death. 
 
 I turned to the sea, and I caught at my breath 
 As she crouched in the boat, and her white 
 
 baby hand 
 
 Held her vestment of purple imperial and white. 
 Then the gondola shot, swift, sharp from the 
 
 shore : 
 
 There was never the sound of a song or of oar. 
 But the doves hurried home in white clouds to 
 
 Saint Mark, 
 Where the lion looms high o'er the sea in the 
 
 dark.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 
 
 Then I cried : " Quick ! Follow her ! Follow 
 
 her ! Fast ! 
 
 Coine, thrice double fare if you follow her true 
 To her own palace door ! " There was plashing 
 
 of oar 
 
 And rattle of rowlock. ... I sat leaning low, 
 Looking far in the dark, looking out as we sped 
 With my soul all alert, bending down, leaning low. 
 But only the oaths of the men as we pass'd, 
 When we jostled them sharp as we sudden shot 
 
 thro' 
 
 The watery town. Then a deep, distant roar 
 The rattle of rowlock, the rush of the oar. 
 
 xxrv. 
 
 We rock'd and we rode : then the oars keeping pace 
 Gave stroke for short stroke in the swift stormy 
 
 chase. 
 
 I lifted my face, and lo ! fitfully 
 . The heavens breathed lightning : it did lift and fall 
 As if angels were parting God's curtains. Then 
 
 deep 
 And indolent-like and as if half-asleep,
 
 64 SO^VGS OF ITALY. 
 
 As if half made angry to move at all, 
 The thunder moved. It confronted me. 
 It stood like an avalanche poised on a hill : 
 I saw its black brows. I heard it stand still. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Then we flew by a great house hurriedly, 
 With its four walls washed by the foamy sea ; 
 'Twas the place where Shelley was wont to be. 
 I heard in the heavens the howlings of men ; 
 High up in the dark I did hear men shout ; 
 And I lifted my eyes as the lightnings fell, 
 And I saw hands thrust through the bars ; and then 
 I knew 'twas the madhouse howling at me : 
 So doleful, so lone ! Like a land cast out, 
 And awful as Lucifer throned in hell. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Then an oath. Then a prayer. Then a gust 
 
 that made rents 
 
 Thro' the yellow-sailed fishers. Then suddenly 
 Came sharp-forked fire ! Then far thunder Ml 
 Like the great first gun ! Ah, then there was rout 
 Of ships like the breaking of regiments, 
 And shouts as if hurled from an upper hell.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 65 
 
 Then tempest ! It lifted, it spun us about, 
 Then shot us ahead through the hills of the sea 
 As if a great arrow shot shoreward in wars 
 Then heaven split open till we saw the blown 
 stars. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 On ! On ! through the foam, through the storm, 
 
 through the town. 
 
 She was gone ! She was lost in the wilderness 
 Of palaces lifting their marbles of snow. 
 I stood in my gondola. Up and all down 
 I pushed through the surge of the salt-flood street 
 Above rue, below. . . . 'Twas only the beat 
 Of the sea's sad heart. . . . Then I heard below 
 The water-rat building, and nothing but that ; 
 Not even the sea-bird screaming distress, 
 As she lost her way in that wilderness. 
 
 XXVIH. 
 
 I listened all night. I caught at each sound ; 
 I clutched and I caught as a man that drown'd 
 Only the sullen, low growl of the sea 
 Far out the flood-street at the edge of the ships. 
 Only the billow slow licking his lips,
 
 66 
 
 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Like a dog that lay crouching there watching for 
 
 me, 
 
 Growling and showing white teeth all the night, 
 Reaching his neck and as ready to bite. 
 Only the waves with their salt-flood tears 
 Fawning white stones of a thousand years. 
 
 inrnc. 
 
 Only the birds in the loftiness 
 
 Of column and dome and of glittering spire 
 
 That thrust to heaven and held the fire 
 
 Of the thunder still ; the bird's distress 
 
 As he struck his wings in that wilderness, 
 
 On marbles that speak and thrill and inspire. 
 
 The night below and the night above ; 
 
 The water-rat building, the startled white dove ; 
 
 The wide-winged, dolorous sea-bird's call, 
 
 The water-rat building, but that was all. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Silent and slowly, and up and down, 
 
 I rowed and I rowed me for many an hour, 
 
 By beetling palace and toppling tower, 
 
 In the dark and the deep of the watery town.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 67 
 
 Only the water-rat building by stealth, 
 Only the sea-bird astray in his flight 
 As he struck his wings in the clouds of night, 
 On spires that sprang from old Adria's wealth, 
 On marbles that move with their eloquence, 
 On statues so sweeter than utterance. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Lo ! pushing the darkness from pillar to post, 
 The morning came silent and gray like a ghost 
 Slow up the canal. I leaned from the prow 
 And listened. Not even the bird in distress 
 Screaming above through the wilderness ; 
 Not even the stealthy old water-rat now. 
 Only the bell in the fisherman's tower, 
 Slow tolling at sea and telling the hour 
 To kneel to their sweet Santa Barbara 
 For tawny fishers at sea and pray.
 
 68 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 
 
 PABT H. 
 
 I. 
 TTIGH over my head, carved cornice, quaint 
 
 spire ; 
 And ancient-built palaces knocked their gray 
 
 brows 
 
 Together and frowned. The slow-creeping scows 
 Scraped the wall on each side. High over, the 
 
 fire 
 
 Of sudden-born morning came flaming in bars : 
 While up through my chasm I could count the 
 
 stars. [death 
 
 My God ! Such damp ruin ! The dank smell of 
 C;une up the canal : I could scarce take my breath I 
 'Twas the fit place for pirates, for women who keep 
 Contagion of body and soul where they sleep.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 09 
 
 n. 
 
 Great heaven ! A white hand did beckon to me 
 From an old mouldy door, and almost in in j reach. 
 I sprang to the sill as one wrecked to a beach ; 
 I sprang with wide arms : it was she ! it was 
 
 she! ... 
 
 In such a damn'd place ! And what was her trade ? 
 To think I had followed, so faithful, so far, 
 From eternity's brink, from star to white star, 
 To find her, to find her, nor wife nor sweet maid ! 
 To find her a shameless poor creature of shame, 
 A nameless lost body, men hardly dare name. 
 
 ill. 
 
 All alone in her pride, on that damp dismal floor 
 She stood to entice me. I bowed me before 
 All-conquering beauty. I called her my queen. 
 I told her my love as I would have told 
 My love had I found her as pure as gold. 
 I reached her my hand, as fearless a man 
 As man fronting cannon. I cried : " Come forth 
 To the sun! There 'are lands to the south, to 
 
 the north, 
 Anywhere where you will. Dash the shame 
 
 from your brow ; 
 Come with me, for ever; and come with me now ! "
 
 70 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Why, I had turned pirate for her ! I had seen 
 Tall ships burned from seas, like to stubble from 
 
 field. [yield, 
 
 I would not now forsake her. Why should I now 
 When she needed me most ? Had I found her a 
 
 queen, 
 And beloved by the world, why, what had I 
 
 done? 
 I had wooed her, and wooed her, and wooed till I 
 
 won ! 
 
 Then, if I had loved her with gold and fair fame,- 
 Would not I now love her, and love her the same ? 
 My soul hath a pride. I would tear out my heart 
 And feed it to dogs, could it play such a part. 
 
 V. 
 
 I told her all things. Her brow took a frown ; 
 Her grand Titan beauty, so tall, so serene, 
 The one perfect woman, mine own idol queen ! 
 Her proud swelling bosom it broke up and down : 
 Then she spake, and she shook in her soul as she 
 
 said, 
 With her small hands upheld to her bent, aching 
 
 head:
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 71 
 
 " Go back to the world ! go back and alone, 
 Thou strange, stormy soul, intense as mine 
 
 own ! " 
 
 I said : " I will wait ! I will wait in the pass 
 Of death, until Time he shall break his glass ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 *' Don't you know me, my bride of the white 
 worlds before ? 
 
 Why, don't you remember the white milky-way 
 
 Of stars, that we traversed a life-time through ? 
 
 We were counting the colors, we were naming 
 the seas 
 
 Of the vaster ones. You remember the trees 
 
 That swayed in the cloudy white heavens, and 
 bore 
 
 Bright crystals of sweets, and the sweet manna- 
 dew? 
 
 Why, you smile as you weep, and you lift up 
 your brow, 
 
 And your bright eyes speak, and you know me 
 now I 
 
 You know me as if 'twere but yesterday 1
 
 72 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 vn. 
 
 " Now here in the lands where the gods did love, 
 Where the white Europa was won, she rode 
 Her milk-white bull through these same warm 
 
 seas, 
 
 Yea, here in the lands where the Hercules, 
 With the lion's heart and the heart of the dove, 
 Did walk in his naked great strength, and strode 
 In the sensuous air with his lion's skin 
 Flapping and fretting his knotted thews ; 
 Where Theseus did wander, and Jason cruise, - 
 Lo ! here let the life of all lives begin. 
 
 vin. 
 
 " Lo ! here where the Orient balms blow in, 
 Where heaven is kindest, where all God's blue 
 Seems a great gate opened to welcome you, 
 Come, rise and go forth, and forget your sin ! " 
 Then rose her great heart, so grander far 
 Than I had believed on that outermost star ; 
 And she put by her tears, and calmly she said, 
 With hands held low and with bended head : 
 " Go thou through the doors of death, and wait 
 For me on the innermost side of the gate.
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 73 
 
 IX. 
 
 " It is breaking iny heart ; but, 'tis best," she said. 
 " Thank God that this life is but a day's span, 
 But a wayside inn for weary, worn man 
 A night and a day ; and, to-morrow, the spell 
 Of darkness is broken. Now, darling, farewell ! 
 Nay, touch not the hem of my robe ! it is red 
 With sins that your own sex heaped on my head ! 
 But go, love, go ! Yet remember this plan, 
 That whoever dies first is to sit down and wait 
 Inside death's door, and watch at the gate." 
 
 x. 
 
 
 
 Then I grew noble. Yea, I grew so tall 
 
 1 could almost reach to the golden hair 
 
 Of that poor, pitiful Cyprian there. 
 
 I did let my mantle of self-love fall, 
 
 And I stood all naked, so weak, so small, 
 
 I wondered that I could ever now dare 
 
 Lift up my prayer to Heaven at all. . . . 
 
 And I accepted her lesson. I said, 
 
 With hands clasped down and declining head, 
 
 " I will go, I will wait by the gates of the dead.
 
 74 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " And you, O woman ! go patient on through 
 The course that man hath compelled you to. 
 Then back to your mother, the earth, my love ; 
 Go, press to her bosom your beautiful brow, 
 Till it blends with your clay, and so purifies 
 Your flesh of the stains that so sully it now : 
 Lie down in the loam, the populous loam, 
 Yea, sleep for the eons with death ; then rise 
 As white, as light as the wings of a dove, 
 And so made holy, oh love, come home ! 
 
 xn. 
 
 " Farewell for all time, ! And now," I said, 
 " What thing upon earth have I left to do ? 
 Why, I shall go down through the gates of the 
 
 dead, 
 
 And wait for your coming your long life thro' 
 As you have commanded, lo ! I shall obey. 
 I shall sit, I shall wait for you, love, alway ; 
 Shall wait by the side of the gate for you, 
 Waiting, and counting the days as I wait ; 
 Shall wait as that beggar that sat by the gate 
 Of Jerusalem, waiting the Judgment Day." 
 
 VENICE, 1874.
 
 IL CAPUCIN. 75 
 
 IL CAPUCIN. 
 
 I. 
 /^VNLY a basket for fruits or bread 
 
 And the bits -you divide with your dog, 
 
 which you 
 Had left from your dinner. The round year 
 
 through 
 
 He never once smiles. He bends his head 
 To the scorn of men. He gives the road 
 To the grave ass groaning beneath his load. 
 He is ever alone. Lo ! never a hand 
 Is laid in his hand through the whole wide land, 
 Save when a man dies, and he shrives him home. 
 And that is the Capucin monk of Rome. 
 
 n. 
 
 He coughs, he is humped, and he hobbles about 
 In sandals of wood. Then a hempen cord 
 Girdles his loathsome gown. Abhorred ! 
 Ay ! lonely, indeed, as a leper cast out. 
 One gown in three years ! and bah ! how he 
 smells 1
 
 76 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 He slept last night in his coffin of stone, 
 This monk that coughs, this skin and bone, 
 This living corpse from the damp cold cells. 
 Yet, up in the morn, come storm or shine, 
 And forth at four to wail at the shrine. 
 
 m. 
 
 Go ye where the Pincian, half-levelled down, 
 The sixth of the seven rent hills of Rome, 
 Slopes slow to the south. These men in brown 
 Have a monkery there, quaint, builded of stone ; 
 And, living, or dead, 'tis the brown men's home, 
 These dead brown monks that are living in Rome ! 
 
 You will hear wood sandals on the sounding floor, 
 A cough, then the lift of a latch, then the door 
 Groans open, and horror! Four walls of stone 
 Are gorgeous with flowers and frescos of bone ! 
 There are bones in the corners and bones on the 
 
 wall ; 
 
 And he barks like a dog that watches his bone, 
 This monk in brown from his bed of stone 
 Yea, barks, and he coughs, and that is all.
 
 IL CAPUCIN. 77 
 
 V. 
 
 At last he will cough as if up from his cell ; 
 Will strut with considerable pride about, 
 Will lead through his flowers of bone, and smell 
 Their odors ; then talk, as he points them out, 
 Of the virtues and deeds of the gents who wore 
 The respective bones but the year before. 
 
 Then he thaws at "last, ere the bones are through, 
 And talks and talks as he turns them about 
 And stirs up a most uncomfortable smell ; 
 Yea, talks of his brown dead brothers, till you 
 Wish them, as they are no doubt, in well, 
 A very deep well. . . . And that may be why, 
 As he shows you the door a-nd bows good-by, 
 That he bows so low for a franc or two, 
 To shrive their souls and to get them out 
 These bony brown men who have their home, 
 Dead or alive, in their cells in Rome. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What good does he do in the world ? Ah ! well, 
 Now that is a puzzler. . . . But, listen ! He 
 
 prays. 
 His life is the fast of the forty days.
 
 T8 SOWGS OF ITALy. 
 
 And then, when the thief and the beggar fell 
 And had died in the way; when the plague 
 
 came down, 
 
 Christ ! who was it cried to these men in brown 
 When other men fled? And what man was 
 
 seen 
 Stand firm to the death but the Capucin ? 
 
 ROME, 1873.
 
 FAITH. T9 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 days and forty nights, 
 Blown about the broken waters, 
 Noah, and his sons and daughters ; 
 Forty days they beat and blow 
 Forty days of faith, and lo ! 
 
 The olive leaf, the lifted heights, 
 The rest at last, the calm delights. 
 
 n. 
 
 Forty years of sun and sand, 
 Serpents, beasts, and wilderness, 
 Desolation and distress, 
 War and famine, wail and woe 
 Forty years of faith, and lo I 
 The mighty_Moses lifts a hand 
 And shows at last the Promised Land.
 
 80 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 Forty days to fast and pray, 
 The patient Christ outworn defied 
 The angry tempter at his side. 
 Forty days or forty years 
 Of patient sacrifice and tears 
 Lo ! what are all of these the day 
 That Time has nothing more to say ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lift your horns, exult and blow, 
 Believe and labor. Tree and vine 
 Must flourish, ere the fruit and wine 
 Reward your planting. Round and round 
 The rocky walls, with faith profound, 
 
 The trumpets blew ; blew loud, and lo ! 
 
 The tumbled walls of Jericho. 
 
 MILAN, 1873.
 
 TO FLORENCE. 81 
 
 TO FLORENCE. 
 
 i. 
 
 TF all God's world a garden were, 
 And women were but flowers ; 
 If men were bees that busied there 
 Through all the summer hours, 
 Oh ! I would hum God's garden through, 
 For honey, till I came to you. 
 
 n. 
 
 Then I should hive within your hair, 
 Its sun and gold together ; 
 And I should bide in glory there, 
 Through all the changeful weather. 
 Oh I I should sip but one, this one 
 Sweet flower underneath the sun. 
 
 6
 
 82 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 Oh ! I would be a king, and coin 
 Your golden hair for money ; 
 And I would only have to seek 
 Your lips for hoards of honey. 
 Oh ! I would be the richest king 
 That ever wore a signet-ring. 
 
 FLORENCE, 1874.
 
 FOR PAULINE. 83 
 
 FOR PAULINE. 
 
 i. 
 T OVE me, love, but breathe it low, 
 
 Soft as summer weather ; 
 If you love me, tell me so, 
 
 As we sit together, 
 Sweet and still as roses blow : 
 Love me, love, but breathe it low. 
 
 n. 
 Tell me only with your eyes, 
 
 Words are cheap as water, 
 If you love me, looks and sighs 
 
 Tell my mother's daughter 
 More than all the world may know : 
 Love me, love, but breathe it low.
 
 84 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 Words for others, storm and snow, 
 Wind and changeful weather 
 
 Let the shallow waters flow 
 Foaming on together ; 
 
 But love is still and deep, and oh I 
 
 Love me, love, but breathe it low. 
 
 PIBVB DI CADOEA, 1873.
 
 TO CARRIE A. S. 85 
 
 TO CARRIE A. S. 
 
 *" I^HE sea-dove some twin shadow has, 
 The lark has loves in seas of grass, 
 The wild beast trumpets back his vow, 
 The squirrel laughs along his bough ; 
 But I, I am as lone, alas ! 
 As yon white moon when white clouds pass ! 
 
 As lonely and unloved, alas ! 
 
 As clouds that weep and droop and pass. 
 
 n. 
 
 Oh, maiden ! singing over sweet 
 At cottage door, in field of corn, 
 Where woodbines twine for thy retreat 
 Sing sweet through all thy summer morn. 
 For love is landing at thy feet, 
 On isle of vine, in seas of corn. 
 But I, I am unloved and lorn, 
 As winter winds of winter morn.
 
 86 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 The ships, black-bellied, climb the sea, 
 The seamen seek their loves on land, 
 And love and lover, hand in hand, 
 Go singing, glad as glad can be. 
 But never more shall love seek me 
 By breezy sea or broken land. 
 
 By broken wild or willow tree, 
 Nay, never more shall love seek me. 
 
 NAPLES, 1872.
 
 THE UNKNOWN TONGUE. 87 
 
 THE UNKNOWN TONGUE. 
 
 i. 
 
 baby, I knew her. in days of old. 
 You doubt that I lived in a land made fair 
 With many soft moons, and was mated there ? 
 Now mark you ! I saw but to-day on the street 
 A sweet girl-baby, whose delicate feet 
 As yet upon earth took but uncertain hold ; . 
 Yet she carried a doll, and she toddled alone, 
 And she talked to that doll in a tongue her own. 
 The sweet little stranger ! why, her face still bore 
 The look of the people from her far star-shore. 
 
 ii. 
 Ah ! you doubt me still? Then listen : While 
 
 you 
 
 Have looked to the earth for gold, why I 
 I have looked to the steeps of the starry sky. 
 And which, indeed, had the fairer view
 
 88 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Of the infinite things, the dreamer or you ? . . . 
 How blind be men when they will not see ! 
 If men must look in the dust, or look, 
 At best, with the eyes bound down to a book, 
 Why, who shall deny that it comes to me 
 To sail white ship through the ether sea ? 
 
 HI. 
 
 Yea, I am a dreamer. Yet while you dream, 
 Then I am awake. When a child, back through 
 The gates of the past I peered, and I knew 
 The land I had lived in. I saw a broad stream ; 
 Saw rainbows that compassed a world in their 
 
 reach ; 
 
 I saw my beloved go down on the beach ; 
 Saw her lean to this earth, saw her looking for me 
 As shipmen look from their ships at sea. . . . 
 The sweet girl-baby I Why, that unknown 
 
 tongue 
 Is the tongue she has talked since the stars were 
 
 young. 
 
 NAPLES, 1878.
 
 UNICA-&TERNA. 89 
 
 UNICA-JETERNA. 
 
 i. 
 T DREAMED, O Queen, of thee last night ; 
 
 I can but dream of thee to-day. 
 But dream ? Oh ! I could kneel and pray 
 To one, who, like a- tender light, 
 Leads ever on my lonesome way, 
 And will not pass yet will not stay. 
 
 ii. 
 
 I dreamed, O Princess, regal Queen, 
 That I had followed thee afar, 
 And faithful, as my polar star ; 
 But then, as now, I had not seen 
 The day I dared draw near to thee, 
 But followed, worshipped, silently. 
 
 ill. 
 
 I dreamed .we roamed in elden land ; 
 I saw you walk in splendid state, 
 With lifted head and heart elate, 
 And lilies in your white right hand,
 
 90 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Beneath the proud Saint Peter's dome 
 That, silent, lords almighty Rome. 
 
 v. 
 
 A diamond star was in your hair, 
 Your garments were of gold and snow ; 
 And men did turn and marvel so, 
 And men did say, How matchless fair ! 
 And all men followed as you pass'd ; 
 But I came silent, lone, and last. 
 
 v. 
 
 And holy men in sable gown, 
 
 And girt with cord, and sandal shod, 
 
 Did look to thee, and then to God. [down; 
 
 They crossed themselves, with heads held 
 
 They chid themselves, in fear that they 
 
 Should, seeing thee, forget to pray. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Men pass'd, men spake in wooing word; 
 Men pass'd, ten thousand in a line. 
 You stood before the sacred shrine, 
 You stood as if you had not heard. 
 And then you turned in calm command, 
 And laid two lilies in my hand.
 
 UNICA-JETERNA. 91 
 
 vn. 
 
 O Lady, if by sea or land 
 You yet might weary of all men, 
 And turn unto your singer then, 
 And lay one lily in his hand, 
 Lo ! I would follow true and far 
 As seamen track the polar star. 
 
 Yin. 
 
 My soul is young, my heart is strong ; 
 O Lady, reach a hand to-day, 
 And thou shalt walk the milky-way, 
 For I will give thy name to song. 
 Lo ! I am of the kings of thought, 
 And thou shalt live when kings are not. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh, reach a hand, your hand in mine ! 
 
 Why, I could sing as never man 
 
 Has sung since prophecy began ! 
 
 And thou should'st be both song and shrine. . . . 
 
 And yet I falter in thy sight, 
 
 And dare not breathe the thought I write.
 
 92 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 SIROCCO. 
 
 nPHERE were black clouds crossing the Alps, 
 
 and they 
 
 Rolled straight upon Venice. Then far away, 
 As if catching new breath and gathering strength 
 In the JEgean hills, on the pall of the day, 
 Stood the terrible Thunder. Then hip and thigh 
 He smote all heaven, and the lightning leapt 
 Like red swords thrust through the night full 
 
 length 
 Swords thrust through the black heart of night 
 
 as he slept ! 
 
 Then ribbon and skein kept threading the sky ; 
 Then, ere you scarcely had time to think, 
 The sea lay darkling and black as ink.
 
 SIROCCO. Ha 
 
 II. 
 
 Then many a sail, tri-colored, and cross'd 
 By the lone sad cross of Calvary, 
 Drove by us and dwindled to blinding specks \ 
 Drove straight in the grinning white teeth of the 
 
 sea, 
 
 Like lonesome spirits, forlorn and lost. 
 Then a ship with my stars of the West ! and then 
 There were golden crescents, tall turbaned men 
 All silent and devil-like keeping the decks ; 
 Then hearse-like gondolas hurried about, 
 As if sniffing the storm with their lifted snout. 
 
 VBNICB, 1874.
 
 94 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 PACE IMPLORA. 
 
 "D ETTER it were to abide by the sea, 
 
 Loving somebody, and satisfied ; 
 Better it were to grow babes on the knee, 
 To anchor you down for all your days, 
 Than to wander and wander in all these ways, 
 Land-forgotten and love-denied. 
 Yea, better to live as the mountaineers live, 
 Than entreat of the gods what they will not give. 
 
 II. 
 
 Better sit still where born, I say, 
 Wed one sweet woman and love her well, 
 Love and be loved in the old East way, 
 Drink sweet waters, and dream in a spell, 
 Than to wander in search of the Blessed Isles, 
 And to sail the thousands of watery miles 
 In the search of love, and find you at last 
 On the edge of the world, and a curs'd outcast.
 
 PACE IMP LOR A. 95 
 
 in. 
 
 Yea, laugh with your neighbors, live in their way 
 Be it never so humble. The humbler the home, 
 The braver, indeed, to brunt the fray. 
 Share their delights and divide your tears, 
 Love and be loved for the full round years, 
 As men once loved in the young world's pride, 
 Ere men knew madness and came to roam, 
 When they lived where their fathers had lived 
 
 and died, 
 Lived and so loved for a thousand years. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Better it were for the world, I say, 
 Better indeed for a man's own good, 
 That he should sit still where he was born, 
 Be it land of sand, or of oil and corn, 
 White sea-border or great black wood, 
 Bleak white winter or bland sweet May, 
 Than to wander the world, as I have done, 
 For the one dear woman that is under the sun.
 
 96 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 V. 
 
 Better abide, though the skies be dun, 
 And the rivers espoused of the ice and snow ; 
 Better abide, though the thistles grow, 
 And the city of smoke be obscured of the sun, 
 Than to seek red poppies and the sweet dream- 
 land 
 
 Than to wander the world as I to-day, 
 Breaking the heart into bits like clay, 
 And leaving it scattered upon every hand. 
 
 VENICE, 1874.
 
 ALONE. 97 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 i. 
 T AM as lone as lost winds on the height ; 
 
 As lone as yonder leaning moon at night, 
 That climbs, like some sad noiseless-footed nun, 
 Far up against the steep and starry height, 
 As if on*holy mission. Yea, as one 
 That knows no ark, or isle, or resting-place, 
 Or chronicle of time, or wheeling sun, 
 I drive for ever on through endless space. 
 Like some lone bird in everlasting flight, 
 My lonesome soul sails on through lonesome seas 
 
 of night. 
 
 n. 
 
 Alone in sounding hollows of the sea ; 
 Alone on lifted, heaving hills of foam : 
 To never rest ; to ever rise and roam 
 Where never kind or kindred soul may be ; 
 7
 
 98 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 To roam where ships of commerce never ride, 
 Sail on, and so forget the rest of shore ; 
 To hear the waves complain, as if they died ; 
 To see the vast waves heave for evermore ; 
 To know that no ships cross or measure these, 
 My shoreless, chartless, strange, and most un- 
 common seas. 
 
 CADORA, 1873.
 
 IMP LOR A. 99 
 
 IMPLORA. 
 
 i. 
 
 ! who art thou, veiled shape? My soul 
 
 cries out 
 
 Through mist and storm. Lean thou to me ! 
 Come nearer, thou, that I may feel and see 
 Thy wounded side, and so forget all doubt I 
 How terrible the night ! I kneel to thee ; 
 I clasp thy knees ; would clamber to thy hair. 
 As one shipwrecked on some broad, broken sea, 
 Through intermingled oaths and awful shout, 
 Uplifts white hands and prays in his despair, 
 So now my curses break into a prayer. 
 
 BELLAGIO, 1874.
 
 100 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 THE QUEST OF LOVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 "DEHOLD! my quest has brought but rue 
 and rime ! 
 
 I loved the blushing, bounding, singing Spring : 
 
 She scarce would pause a day to hear me sing. 
 
 I loved her sister, gorgeous, golden Summer- 
 time: 
 
 She gathered close her robes and rustled past, 
 
 Through yellow fields of corn. She scorned to 
 cast 
 
 One tender look of love or hope behind ; 
 
 But, sighing, died upon the Autumn wind. 
 
 Oh, then I loved the vast, the lonesome Night : 
 
 She, too, passed on in scorn, and perished from 
 my sight. 
 
 n. 
 
 Oh ! lives there nought on all the girdled world, 
 
 That may survive one day its sorry birth? 
 
 The very Moon grows thin and hunger-curled ; 
 
 The ardent Sun forgets his love of Earth,
 
 THE QUEST OF LOVE. 101 
 
 And turns, dark-browed, and draws his reached 
 
 arms back, 
 The while she, mourning, moves on, clad in 
 
 black. 
 
 But list ! I once did hear the good priest tell 
 That hell is everlasting. Oh, my friend, 
 To know that there is aught that may not end ! 
 Now let us kneel and give God thanks that hell 
 
 is hell. 
 
 LAKE COMO, August, 1873.
 
 102 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 O LOVE! 
 
 i. 
 
 "I "'HE long days through I sit and sigh, alas ! 
 For love ! Lone, beggar-like, beside the 
 
 way 
 
 I sit forlorn in lanes where Day must pass. 
 I stretch imploring palms toward the Day, 
 And cry, " O Day ! but give me love ! I die 
 For love ! I let all other gifts go by. 
 Yea, bring me but one love that runs to waste, 
 One love that men pass by in heedless haste, 
 And I will kiss thy feet and ask no more 
 From all To-morrow's rich, mysterious store." 
 
 n. 
 
 The drear days mock me in my mute request ; 
 The dark years roll like breakers on the shore, 
 And die in futile thunder. As in jest, 
 They bring bright, empty shells, bring nothing 
 more.
 
 O LOVE! 103 
 
 Oh, say ! . is sweet Love dead and hid from all 
 Who would disdain a colder touch than his ? 
 Then show me where Love lies. Put back the 
 
 pall. 
 
 Lo ! I will fall upon his face and kiss 
 Sweet Love to life again ; or I will lie, 
 Lamenting, prone beside his dust, and die. 
 
 ANCONA, 1874.
 
 104 SONGS Of ITALY. 
 
 AFTER THE BOAR HUNT. 
 
 "T^WERE better blow trumpets 'gainst love, 
 
 keep away 
 
 That traitorous urchin with fire or shower, 
 Or fair or foul means you may have in your 
 
 power, 
 Than have him come near you for one little 
 
 hour. 
 
 Take physic, consult with your doctor, as you 
 Would fight a contagion ; carry all through 
 The populous day some drug that smells loud, 
 As you pass on your way, or make way through 
 
 the crowd. 
 
 Talk war, or carouse : only keep off the day 
 Of his coming, with every true means in your 
 
 way.
 
 AFTER THE BOAR-HUNT. 105 
 
 Blow smoke in the eyes of the world, and laugh 
 With the broad-chested men, as you loaf at your 
 
 inn, 
 As you crowd to your inn from your saddles, 
 
 and quaff 
 The red wine from a horn ; 'while your dogs at 
 
 your feet, 
 Your slim spotted dogs, like the fawn, and as 
 
 fleet, 
 
 Crouch patiently by and look up at your face, 
 As they wait for the call of the horn to the 
 
 chase : 
 
 For you shall not suffer, and you shall not sin, 
 Until peace goes out and till love comes in. 
 
 m. 
 
 Love horses and hounds, meet many good men 
 Yea, men are most proper, and keep you from 
 
 care. 
 There is strength in a horse. There is pride in 
 
 his will : 
 It is sweet to look back as you climb the steep hill.
 
 106 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 There is room. You have movement of limb ; 
 
 you have air, 
 Have the smell of the wood, of the grasses : and 
 
 then 
 What comfort to rest, as you lie thrown at 
 
 length 
 All night and alone, with your fists full of 
 
 strength ! 
 
 TTTBIN, 1874. 

 
 DOLCE FAR NIENTE. 107 
 
 DOLCE FAR NIENTE. 
 
 i. 
 
 A H, how one wanders ! Yet after it all, 
 
 When you really have nought of account 
 
 to say, 
 
 It is better, perhaps, to pull leaves by the way ; 
 See the wide moons ride, or the small stars fall, 
 Nor keep down to the earth with the dust on 
 
 the feet, 
 
 Upon time-worn levels that do tire one 
 With very perfection of rest and retreat, 
 That the great world walks all the days of the sun. 
 
 H. 
 
 And then, too, in Venice ! dear moth-eaten town ; 
 One palace of pictures ; great frescos spilled down 
 Outside of the walls from the fulness thereof: 
 How can one go on ? Let laugh and let scoff ; 
 Sit down by my side and let all time pass.
 
 108 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 By the tranquil bride of the tranquil seas, 
 By the white bride born of steel and of storm, 
 And of iron-footed old tyrannies, 
 We two will sit ; and her beautiful form 
 Shall shine in the sea as her bridal glass. 
 
 VENIOK, 1873.
 
 TO THE LION OF ST. MARK. 109 
 
 TO THE LION OF SAINT MARK. 
 
 i. 
 T KNOW you, lion of gray Saint Mark ; 
 
 You fluttered the seas beneath your wing, 
 Were king of the seas with never a king. 
 Now over the deep and up in the dark, 
 High over the girdles of bright gas-light, 
 With wings in the air as if for flight, 
 And crouching as if about to spring 
 From top of your granite of Africa, 
 Say, what shall be said of you some day ? 
 
 n. 
 
 What shall be said, O grim Saint Mark, 
 Savage old beast so crossed and churled, 
 By the after men from the under-world ? 
 What shall be said as they search along 
 And sail these seas for some sign or spark 
 Of the old dead fires of the dear old days, 
 When men and story have gone their ways, 
 Or even your city and name from song ?
 
 110 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 Why, sullen old monarch of stilled Saint Mark, 
 Strange men of the West, wise-mouthed and 
 
 strong, 
 
 Will come some day and, gazing long 
 And mute with wonder, will say of thee : 
 " This is the Saint ! High over the dark, 
 Foot on the bible and great teeth bare, 
 Tail whipped back and teeth in the air 
 Lo ! this is the Saint, and none but he I " 
 
 VENICE, 1873.
 
 TO THE LION OF ST. MARK AGAIN. Ill 
 
 TO THE LION OF ST. MARK AGAIN. 
 
 OPHINX-LIKE lion, art prophet, or what? 
 
 Nay, Noah or prophet art thou of St. Mark. 
 But, king of the desert or slave of the sea, 
 What thou hast been or what shalt be* 
 What thou art now or what art not, 
 In city at sea or darkling ark, 
 Lead us and land us on some sweet shore, 
 Some newt washed summit where olives are green, 
 And never the visage of sorrow is seen 
 For ever and ever and evermore : 
 
 IT. 
 
 To the Isles of the Blest by the Isles of Greece, 
 And on and beyond, where the great moon's face 
 Bends low and large to the golden grain 
 The whole year through ; where death nor pain, 
 Nor any loud thought has name or place, 
 To the land of olives, to the land of peace. 
 Lead us and land us, oh that were best, 
 To the land of love and the land of rest.
 
 112 SOJVGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 Is there rest upon earth ? Ah, brazen king, 
 Set a-top of the town with glittering wing, 
 Say ! King of Assyria, set king of the sea, 
 Now what do you read from the prophecy ? 
 And what says thy book ? And what were best ? 
 Oh say, from thy pulpit set high in the air, 
 When is the harvest of love and where ? 
 And where is the land, and when is the rest ? 
 
 rv. 
 
 Floating in flood of salt sea-foam, 
 
 And seeking for what ? For the golden fleece ? 
 
 For the land of giants ? For the sea-lost moon ? 
 
 For the land of eternal afternoon ? 
 
 Or the gates of Hell or of Hercules ? 
 
 -Oh ! wrinkled old lion that tops Saint Mark, 
 
 A home on the seas were never a home. 
 
 Lo I here are the doves, let this be the ark : 
 
 Now where is the olive, and when is the peace ? 
 
 VENICE, 1874.
 
 A T NIGHT UNDER ST. MARK^S LION. 113 
 
 UNDER THE LION OF SAINT MARK 
 AT NIGHT. 
 
 i. 
 
 r\ TERRIBLE lion of tamed Saint Mark ! 
 Tamed old lion with the tumbled mane 
 Toss'd to the clouds and lost in the dark, 
 With high-held wings and tail whipped* back, 
 Foot on the bible as if thy track 
 Led thee the lord of the seas again, 
 Say, what of thy watch o'er the watery town ? 
 Say, what of the worlds walking up and down ? 
 
 n. 
 
 O silent old monarch that tops Saint Mark, 
 That sat thy throne for a thousand years, 
 That lorded the deep, that defied all men, 
 Lo ! I see visions at sea in the dark ;
 
 114 SOA'GS OF ITALY. 
 
 And I see something that shines like tears, 
 And I hear something that sounds like sighs, 
 And I hear something that sounds as when 
 A great soul suffers and sinks and dies. 
 
 VENICE, 1873.
 
 TO ST. BARBARA OF VENICE. 115 
 
 TO SANTA BARBARA OF VENICE. 
 
 "\T7HERE is my beauty? Oh where is my 
 ^ V bride 
 
 Of the old dim days ere the gleaming snows 
 Sat tent on the Alps ? The poppies red 
 In the golden days were my bridal bed. 
 Oh, bring me my bride where the white sea flows, 
 And the yellow sail blows to the Lido's side. 
 I lift you my hands and I pray to you ; 
 I name you my saint for this whole year through. 
 Oh, bring me my bride, for that were best; 
 This were my heaven, and that were my rest. 
 
 n. 
 
 Saint Joseph ! My horse ! To my forests of fir ! 
 My senses run mad at the mention of her. . . . 
 You had better be careless. What comes of it
 
 116 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 That you do take care ? . . . Nay, call for your 
 
 ' steed, 
 Heigh boot and heigh horse, and away with a 
 
 will; 
 dutch the rein, seize your horse in his hair and 
 
 Where the hounds call bugle calls over the hill ; 
 And behold ! I will follow, for it is not fit 
 That a man sit singing sad rhymes all day 
 As a love-sick swain or a maiden may.
 
 A STORM IN VENICE. 117 
 
 A STORM IN VENICE. 
 
 i. 
 HHHE pent sea throbbed as if wracked with 
 
 pain. 
 
 Some black clouds rose and suddenly rode 
 Right into the town. The thunder strode 
 As a giant striding from star to star, 
 Then turned upon earth and frantically came, 
 Shaking the hollow heaven. And far 
 And near red lightning in ribbon and skein 
 Did write upon heaven Jehovah's name. 
 
 u. 
 
 Chen lightnings went weaving like shuttle-cocks, 
 Weaving black raiment of clouds for death ; 
 The mute doves flew to Saint Mark in flocks, 
 And men stood leaning with gathered breath. 
 Black gondolas flew as never before, 
 And drew like crocodiles up on the shore ;
 
 118 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 And vessels at sea stood further at sea, 
 And seamen hauled with a bended knee. 
 Then canvas came down to left and to right ; 
 And ships stood stripped as if stripped for fight !
 
 A HAIL-STORM IN VENICE. 119 
 
 A HAIL STORM IN VENICE. 
 
 '"I "'HE hail like cannon-shot struck the sea 
 
 And churned it white as a creamy foam ; 
 Then hail like battle-shot struck where we 
 Stood looking a-sea from a sea-girt home 
 Came shooting askance as if shot at the head ; 
 Then glass flew shivered and men fell down 
 And prayed where they fell, and half the town 
 Lay riddled and helpless as if shot dead. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Then lightning right full in the eyes ! and then 
 Fair women fell down right flat on the face, 
 And prayed their pitiful Mother with tears, 
 And prayed black death as a hiding-place ;
 
 120 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 And good priests prayed for the sea-bound men 
 As never good priests had prayed for years. , . . 
 Then God spake thunder ! And then the rain ! 
 The great, white, beautiful, high-born rain I
 
 FAREWELL TO ST. MARK'S LION. 121 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE LION OF SAINT 
 MARK. 
 
 i. 
 INHERE are sobs of the sea, there is blown 
 
 black rain. 
 
 Lo ! under the lion, and alone in the dark, 
 Shall I stand as I stand by this sea again ? 
 Yet trait'rous old lion that lords Saint Mark, 
 I curse you and hate you as ever I can ; 
 I curse you and hate you my whole heart thro', 
 Your bible, your book with its Rights of Man : 
 For I named you my saint, and I prayed to you, 
 And where is my love, and who has been true ? 
 
 n. 
 
 O vain old lion of lonesome Saint Mark, 
 With cornice in fashion of blown sea-foam, 
 High-lifted and light as white clouds in the 
 
 dark, 
 When is the rest, and oh where is my home ?
 
 122 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Thy brass steeds plunge through the dark iu stud, 
 There are seas to the left and seas to the right, 
 Front and aback there is nothing but flood, 
 Nothing but billows and nothing but night. 
 
 m. 
 
 City at sea, thou art surely an ark, 
 Sea-blown and a-wreck in the rain and dark. 
 Lo! white sea-caps that are toss'd and curled. 
 Thy sins they were many and behold the 
 
 flood! 
 
 And here and about us are the beasts in stud, 
 Creatures and beasts that creep and go, 
 Enough, ay, and wicked enough I know, 
 To populate or devour a world. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O wrinkled old lion, looking down 
 
 With brazen frown upon mine and me, 
 
 From tower a-top of your watery town, 
 
 Old king of the desert, made king of the sea : 
 
 Lo ! here is a lesson for thee to-day, 
 
 Proud and immovable monarch, I say, 
 
 Lo ! here is a lesson to-day for thee 
 
 Of the things that were and the things to be.
 
 FAREWELL TO ST. MARK'S LION. 123 
 
 V. 
 
 Dank palaces held by the populous sea 
 For the good dead men, all covered with shell, 
 We will pay them a visit some day ; and we, 
 We may come to love their old palaces well. 
 Bah ! toppled old columns that tumble across, 
 Toss'd in the waters that lift and fall, 
 Waving in waves long masses of moss, 
 Toppled old columns, and that will be all. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yea, surly old beast with a wrinkled brow, 
 Sullen old sea-king courting the tide, 
 Proud old monarch set high in the sea, 
 This is the lesson it leaves for thee : 
 Nothing has been that abideth now, 
 Nothing is now but will not be, 
 Nothing shall be that shall abide. 
 
 VENICE, 1874.
 
 124 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 AFTER ALL. 
 
 "C) Y the populous land, on the lonesome sea, 
 
 Lo ! these were the gifts of the gods to 
 
 men, 
 
 Three miserable gifts, and only three : 
 To love, to forget, to die and then? 
 
 n. 
 
 To love in peril and in bitter-sweet pain, 
 And then, forgotten, lie down and die : 
 
 One moment of sun, whole seasons of rain, 
 Then night is rolled to the door of the sky. 
 
 m. 
 To love ? To sit at her feet and to weep ; 
 
 To climb to her face, hide your face in her Is air ; 
 To nestle you there like a babe in its sleep, 
 And, too, like a babe, to believe it stings 
 there !
 
 AFTER ALL. 125 
 
 IV. 
 
 To love ? 'Tis to suffer. " Lie close to my breast, 
 Like a fair ship in haven, O darling," I cried . 
 
 "Your round arms outreaching to heaven for rest 
 Make signal to death." . . . Death came, and 
 love died. 
 
 v. 
 
 To forget ? To forget, mount horse and clutch 
 
 sword, 
 
 Take ship and make sail to the ice-prison'd seas. 
 Write books and preach lies; range lands; or 
 
 go hoard 
 
 A grave full of gold, and buy wines and 
 drink lees : 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then die ; and die cursing, and call it a prayer ! 
 
 Is earth but a top a boy-god's delight, 
 To be spun for his pleasure, while man's despair 
 
 Breaks out like a wail of the damned through 
 the night?
 
 126 SOA'GS OF ITALY. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Sit down in the darkness and weep with me 
 On the edge of the world. Lo, love lies dead I 
 
 And the earth and the sky, and the sky and the 
 
 sea, 
 Seem shutting together as a book that is read. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Yet what have we learned ? We laughed with 
 
 delight 
 In the morning at school, and kept toying with 
 
 all 
 
 Time's silly playthings. Now, wearied ere night, 
 We must cry for dark-mother, her cradle the 
 paU. 
 
 ROME, 1874.
 
 MAI ME MIA. 127 
 
 MAIME MIA. 
 
 ^T^HE quest of love? Tis the quest of 
 
 troubles ; 
 
 'Tis the wind through the woods of the Oregon. 
 Sit down, sit down, for the world goes on 
 Precisely the same ; and the rainbow bubbles 
 Of love, they gather, or break, or blow, 
 Whether you bother your brain or no ; 
 And for all your troubles, and all your tears, 
 'Twere just the same in a hundred years. 
 
 ROME, 1874.
 
 SO.VGS OF ITALY. 
 
 THE WINGED LION ONCE MORE. 
 
 THE Venetians will tell you that this wonderful work of art 
 was fashioned in Babylon by the sons of Nimrod. Also, that 
 before it was taken from Venice by Napoleon the Great its 
 eyes were made of diamonds, so large and luminous that they 
 lighted up all that part of the city. 
 
 Mr. Euskin says there is no authority for giving this won- 
 derful creation such great antiquity. He is inclir/ed to call 
 it the work of the thirteenth century; but equally without 
 authority, sis lie admits. To me it is the most simple and* 
 sublime thing in the world. Seen in the night, high over the 
 sea and the circle of gaslights, the broken clouds blowing over 
 the large low moon it is worth a journey round the world 
 to behold it ! 
 
 J must admit that, in the many verses to my grand old 
 idol; I have been careless of facts. In truth, I know little 
 about the history of the Lion of St. Mark save what the Ve- 
 netians told me. I never owned a guide-book : aivl ! 
 in all my travels read a book on Art. In fact, I met so many 
 fc.ols who had read books on Art, that I was afraid to try the 
 experiment. , 
 
 Napoleon had the lion taken down from the column where 
 it had stood for nearly five hundred years ; and in the open 
 book, on which the foot is planted, he caused to be writrc'ii 
 "The Rights of Man." 
 
 When the lion was restored, the Venetians said, " It is 
 indeed our dear old lion, only he has turned over a new 
 leaf ! "
 
 THE WINGED LION ONCE MORE. 129 
 
 \\7INGED old beast of the burning sands, 
 
 Captive and rover of north-south lands : 
 Say, what saw you in the land of the Gaul ? 
 In the days when they clutched at thy mane, 
 
 and when 
 
 They wrote in thy bible the Rights of Men ? 
 Wrote them and read them, and that was all. 
 
 .n. 
 
 What saw you in that land, I say, 
 That land of change, and of gifted mad men? 
 Silent old lion, say, what have you seen ? 
 Nothing but gleaming of steel, I ween, 
 Nothing but marching of men, as when 
 Men shall march in the Judgment Day. 
 
 m. 
 
 This is the story the whole world through. 
 Austrian or Frank, or king or queen. 
 In the name of freedom to plunder you : 
 Nay, nothing but this has any man seen 
 In your watery world where might has been 
 right, 
 
 Since God first reached from the dark the light. 
 9
 
 130 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Rumbling of cannon and neighing of steed 
 The worship of strength. Lo ! Tuscan and Gaul, 
 They were gods in their turn. Glory and greed 
 Did set and unsettle thy whole world's creed ; 
 And thy Christ, O lion, did rise and fall 
 By the feats of strength. Take heed, take heed, 
 Lest thy God shall depend on a cannon ball ! 
 
 VBKICB, 1874.
 
 CAVALIER vs. CAVALIER. 131 
 
 CAVALIER vs. CAVALIER. 
 
 TVTO, no whit jealous of him was I : 
 
 I had sat at his table, tasted his wine, 
 Broken his bread, as he had mine 
 And I would to heaven I had broken his head ! 
 I had shot at him once, and let him try 
 His hand meantime ten paces at me. 
 He missed his mark, while I you see, 
 At the last year's carnival down at Rome, 
 Troubled his seconds to carry him home. 
 
 n. 
 
 Well, it fell out thus in a revelry : 
 
 We had sat at his table the whole night through, 
 
 There were vessels of gold, great cups, mark you, 
 
 That were sacred indeed unto better things 
 
 Than midnight orgies and revellmgs ; 
 
 Then at morn he said, as he toss'd his wine,
 
 132 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Tauntingly, too, of this love of mine, 
 " A woman to win I the way is free I 
 I have my gold, you have your wit 
 Time will tell us what comes of it I "
 
 A PRINCE OF ROME. 133 
 
 A PRINCE OF ROME. 
 
 A Y, dashing is he indeed, and bold 
 
 As any young Csesar, and handsome too. 
 And when he enters the proudest hall, 
 He doffs his hat, for he stands so tall. . . . 
 But where do you reckon he got his gold? 
 Now it might have been from that galleon 
 That sank, as we know, an age ago 
 Off the gray coast of Mexico. 
 
 n. 
 
 But listen to me. One morn last year, 
 When he did not limp for that taunt and sneer 
 At my one fair love, we were strangers then, 
 And I knew him only as a prince of men, 
 Why, we two rode the Campagna plain 
 That stretches away to the west of Rome, 
 When sudden he turned to St. Peter's dome, 
 And, stretching his hand toward the Vatican, 
 He laughed like a giant, he cursed like a man : 
 Cried, " Gold!" then sank to his saddle again.
 
 134 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 A curious old Spanish proverb says 
 That many and various are the bits of leather 
 Saint Crispin uses to make one boot ; 
 And that never was boot without its foot, 
 To fit it as neat as a glove, and suit 
 The one to the other in all the ways. 
 Well, then, put this and put that together, 
 Fragments of fact like fragments of leather, 
 And know in the end what you may know 
 Of that same prince Pimos from Mexico. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Well, this is the story that a brown monk tells, 
 
 A gray-bearded Capuciu monk of Rome, 
 
 Who hobbles about in the bleak bone cells, 
 
 In that strange old nest of the Capucin ; 
 
 For much he has journey'd and much lie has seen : 
 
 One time, on the borders of Mexico, 
 
 A grizzled old seaman came bent and slow, 
 
 And leading a boy, and imploring a home, 
 
 Outholding two haudsfull of gold for it ; 
 
 Two great hands shaking like an ague fit.
 
 A PRINCE OF ROME. 135 
 
 V. 
 
 They smiled at his gold, as the good monks do, 
 
 But gave him a home, with all their heart; 
 
 And no one questioned and no one cared 
 
 What his history, place, or part 
 
 Only to know that the wayfarer shared 
 
 Their home content. The bright boy grew 
 
 Into man's estate, but wild as the wind; 
 
 And, leaving the convent walls behind, 
 
 Oft he would wander the whole year through : 
 
 But why he wandered away, or where, 
 
 There was none to question, and but one to care. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Well, there be men who are ready to swear 
 That they saw this same prince years ago, 
 With his princely air and his princely ease, 
 Astride of his mule, with his saddle-bow 
 Swung with pistols, as he rode on down 
 The mountain trail to the mountain town : 
 His long hair blown in the mountain breeze, 
 And a brigand's badge of command high blown 
 From his feathered hat as he rode alone.
 
 136 SONGS OF TTALY. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Then long he ranged in his journeys and far 
 Over mountains that climbed to the morning 
 
 star. 
 
 And j;he old man died ; but the boy was away, 
 Robbing ? or trading? It is much the same : 
 The same result with a different name. 
 The shopman he robs you from day to day, 
 Little by little, that you may not reck ; 
 Robs you by lies, risks body and soul : 
 The dashing bold robber he takes the whole, 
 Tells you the truth, and but risks his neck. 
 
 VLLI. 
 
 . . . And mark ! as he rode with the king last year 
 Through a marsh of the Tiber, a buffalo, 
 Humped-backed and horrible, plunged at his 
 
 steed, 
 
 When the king struck spurs, and fled in fear. 
 But he. whipping his lasso as quick as thought, 
 Threw it, and throttled the beast on the spot. 
 And who, my prince, I should like to know, 
 But a vulgar vaquoro could do such a deed?
 
 A PRINCE OF ROME. 137 
 
 IX. 
 
 But, where did he get his gold ? this prince, 
 The bright gold eagle and the old doubloon, 
 The old gold plate, and the great gold spoon, 
 And the tall gold goblet, and the quaint gold cup 
 That star his table when he comes to sup ? 
 The gold alone is the question, since 
 Here, in Italy, princes are well, 
 Princes are thicker than fiddlers in hell. 
 
 Roans, 1873.
 
 138 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 GAMBLER OR PRINCE? 
 
 "IVTOW some have said, and so may you, 
 
 It was nobody's business, while the man 
 
 could hold 
 
 His head like a prince and bear him true, 
 Where the gambler picked up his gold. 
 Or whether the prince was a prince or not. 
 And then, when it cost you a pistol shot 
 To ask the question, 'twas overbold 
 To question at all. But then my friend 
 Would know who he was ; and he fought to this 
 end. 
 
 ii. 
 
 One night, as he sat with his goblets of gold, 
 He mentioned the name of my brave friend's sire ; 
 And very complacently sat and told 
 That he himself was this great man's son. 
 Vengeance and fury ! My friend was on fire ! 
 The man sprang up as if shot from a gun,
 
 GAMBLER OR PRINCE. 139 
 
 And he thrust the lie in his teeth ; and then 
 
 Asked where was his family founded, and when? 
 
 He then sat down, and a pistol shot 
 
 Was all the answer that any one got. 
 
 They fought at dawn : shot square thro' the head, 
 
 The gypsy-stol'n brother and prince lay dead. 
 
 NAPLES, 1874.
 
 140 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 A PEASANT'S PLEA. 
 
 i. 
 
 T TAD he made her his spouse like a man, why 
 
 * then, 
 
 Still might he doff his tall plume to men ; 
 Had he loved like a prince, had she loved him 
 
 true, 
 
 Why, I could have waited her life-time through ; 
 Could have crossed and have waited on the other 
 
 side, 
 
 With my two hands held to my coming bride : 
 For the days of the earth they be but a day 
 That lie like a shadow across life's way, 
 And a brief night-land that divides the sea 
 Of the years that were from the years to be. 
 
 n. 
 
 But to know that she lay in his arms in sin, 
 That the great strong beast arose from the feast 
 And went to my bride he had bought with his 
 gold! . . .
 
 A PEASANT'S PLEA. 141 
 
 Ha I the night after that why, they called in a 
 
 priest 
 
 To pray for a prince who was found all cold 
 In a narrow canal, with his head crushed in 
 Perhaps by a' tile ! . . . Oh, the blessed sweet 
 
 pain 
 Of revenge, as I fled to iny mountains again ! 
 
 MILAN, 1873.
 
 142 SOAKS OF ITALY. 
 
 A DREAM OF VENICE. 
 
 HPHERE are doves overhead, going in, blow- 
 ing out ; 
 
 They are wooing and cooing and talking of love, 
 The white and the gray and the purple-robed 
 
 dove. 
 
 They are billing and cooing and flying about 
 By the high chiselled capital, cornice, and that : 
 And I envy them, hate them, I curse thereat, 
 And I call " Oh, my love ! " Cold echoes come 
 
 back 
 As if hurled from the walls and sent hounding 
 
 my track. 
 
 n. 
 
 Now let us turn back from the watery town ; 
 Let the water-rat build ; let the cornice above 
 Change color from clouds of the purple-necked 
 
 dove; 
 Let the yellow-sailed sea-craft ride pleasantly 
 
 down.
 
 A DREAM OF VENICE. 143 
 
 Let the soft morning sun lie in long broken 
 
 bars 
 'Gainst the tall palace walls. Let us go from 
 
 the land 
 Of the bride of my soul with the small dimpled 
 
 hand, 
 That I led through the outermost reach of red 
 
 stars.
 
 144 
 
 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 FOR THE NILE. 
 
 TT7HAT ! turn me from Venice ? To leave 
 
 * * her at last ! 
 
 This city I loved in my search through the vast 
 And the unnamed seas of the universe ? 
 To turn me for aye from this face of hcrs' ; 
 St. Joseph! To dream it could come to this ! 
 You never have known, then, what love is ! 
 
 n. 
 
 I am lone as Marius 'mid ruins could be. 
 Yea, a sea of fair people that walk by the sea 
 In the cool of the morn by St. Mark ; and they 
 
 talk 
 Of the things that are nearest the heart as they 
 
 walk, 
 And all are made glad. But, Christ ! as for me !
 
 FOR THE NILE. 145 
 
 III. 
 
 Lo ! I shall depart and I know not where ; 
 Let the men be brave, let the maids be fair, 
 Let the wrinkled old lion that tops the town 
 Now ruffle his mane, St. Theodore frown, 
 It is nothing to me. I shall love but the one, 
 This one fair city that is under the sun. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I shall bear her afar and anywhere ; 
 I have hid my heart in the gold of her hair. . . . 
 Her fair holy face, her great soft eyes, 
 Liquid with love. Her soul's surprise, 
 Then the calm delight that the world is aware 
 When she rests in ruins, like the curtains of 
 skies. 
 
 VENICE, 1874. 
 
 10
 
 146 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 VESPERS IN SAN MARCO. 
 
 HT^HE four brazen horses ! unbridled as when 
 This Venice was Venice, and the wise 
 
 led the brave 
 Through the gates of the Turk, through the 
 
 turbulent main, 
 
 And led the steeds home from the Hellespont, 
 They plunge in the gaslight as bridled again. 
 The vast ducal palace frowns dark in the wave, 
 The white Bridge of Sighs a brief, narrow 
 
 span 
 Draws back in a chasm. The grand gilded 
 
 dome, 
 Where the doves of St. Mark all the year have 
 
 their home, 
 Sounds hollow and deep like a far plashing 
 
 font.
 
 RECOLLECTION. 147 
 
 RECOLLECTION. 
 
 i. 
 
 TT 7E dwelt in the woods of the Tippecanoe, 
 In a lone lost cabin with never the view 
 Of the full day's sun for the whole year thro' . . . 
 With strange half-hints through the russet corn 
 We children were hurried one night. Next 
 
 morn 
 There was frost in the trees, and a sprinkle of 
 
 snow, 
 
 And tracks on the ground. Three boys below 
 The low eaves listened. We opened the door, 
 And a girl baby cried, and then we were four. 
 
 H. 
 
 We were not sturdy, and we were not wise 
 In the things of the world or the ways of men. 
 A pale-browed mother with a prophet's eyes, 
 A father that dreamed and looked anywhere.
 
 148 
 
 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Three brothers, wild blossoms, tall-fashioned 
 
 and fair ; 
 And we mingled with none, but we lived as 
 
 when 
 
 The pair first lived ere they knew the fall ; 
 And, loving all things, we believed in all. 
 
 m. 
 
 Ah ! girding yourself and throwing your strength 
 On the front of a forest that stands in mail 
 Sounds gallant, indeed, in a pioneer's tale. 
 But, God in heaven ! the weariness 
 Of a sweet soul banished to a life like this ! 
 This reaching of weary- worn arms full length ; 
 This stooping all day to the stubborn cold soil 
 This holding the heart ! it is more than toil ! 
 What loneness of heart ! What wishings to die 
 In that soul in the earth, that was born for the 
 
 rv. 
 
 We parted wood-curtains, pushed westward, and 
 
 we, 
 Why, we wandered and wandered a half year 
 
 through ;
 
 RECOLLECTION. 149 
 
 We tented with herds as the Arabs do, 
 
 And at last sat down by the sundown sea. 
 
 Then there in that sun did my soul take fire ! 
 
 It burned in its fervor, thou Venice, for thee ! 
 
 My glad heart glowed with the one desire 
 
 To stride to the front, to live, to be ! 
 
 To strow great thoughts through the world as 
 
 I went, 
 As God sows stars through the firmament. 
 
 VENICE, 1874.
 
 150 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 TORCELLO. 
 
 " I ^HE 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, 
 Then long-leg birds stretch neck, and then 
 Tedesca or the turban'd Turk, 
 The pirate, at some midnight work 
 By watery wall, but that is all. 
 
 NOTE. The author begs to apologize for reprinting from 
 an earlier volume this and the two following pieces, which 
 appropriately belong to " Songs of Italy."
 
 ATTILA^S THRONE. 151 
 
 ATTILA'S THRONE: TORCELLO. 
 
 i. 
 
 T 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. 
 
 II. 
 
 Slow sailing through the reedy isles, 
 By unknown banks, through unknown bays, 
 Some sunny, summer yesterdays, 
 Where Nature's beauty still beguiles, 
 I watched the storied yellow sail 
 And lifted prow of steely mail. 
 'Tis all that's left Torcello now, 
 A pirate's yellow sail, a prow.
 
 152 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 in. 
 
 Below the far, faint peaks of snow, 
 And grass-grown causeways well below, 
 I touched Torcello. 
 
 Once on 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 reach from ruined wall 
 Above my head, but that was all. 
 Back from the farther island shore 
 Came echoes trooping nothing more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet here stood Adria once, and here 
 Came Attila 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 I 
 The sea has changed his meed, his mood, 
 And made this sedgy solitude.
 
 ATT/LA'S TffXOJVE. 153 
 
 V. 
 
 By cattle paths grass-grown and worn, 
 Through marbled streets all stain'd and torn 
 By time and battle, lone 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. 
 
 VI. 
 
 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 Nepture shapes his horn and blows 
 
 vn. 
 
 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
 
 154 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 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. 
 
 vin. 
 
 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 large moon lay.
 
 ATT/LA'S THRONE. 155 
 
 IX. 
 
 How sweet the grasses at my feet I 
 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. 
 
 x. 
 
 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 dead island fills 
 With fragrance. Yet the smell of death 
 Comes riding in on every breath. 
 
 XI. 
 
 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.
 
 156 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 XII. 
 
 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. 
 
 xin. 
 
 Some snails had 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. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Some mouse-brown cows that fed within 
 Looked up. A cowherd rose hard by, 
 My single subject, clad in skin, 
 Nor yet half-clad.
 
 ATTfLA'S THRONE. \ r >7 
 
 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. 
 
 XV. 
 
 He gathered up his skin of goat 
 
 About his breast and hairy throat ; 
 
 He stopped, and then this subject true, 
 
 Mine only one in all the isle, 
 
 Turned round, and, with a fawning smile, 
 
 Came back and asked me for a sou!
 
 158 
 
 SOA'GS OF ITALY. 
 
 SANTA MARIA: TORCELLO. 
 
 A ND yet again through the watery miles 
 ** Of reeds I rowed, till the desolate isles 
 Of the black bead-makers of Venice were 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 on its grave like a ghost alone. 
 
 n. 
 
 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.
 
 SANTA MARIA. 159 
 
 m. 
 
 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. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nor monk in black, nor Capucin, 
 
 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. 
 
 v. 
 
 Three mute brown babes of hers ; and they 
 Oh, they were beautiful as sleep,
 
 160 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Or death, below the troubled deep 1 
 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. 
 
 Tt 
 
 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. 
 
 vn. 
 
 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 pearly cheek!-
 
 SANTA MARIA. 161 
 
 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. 
 
 vm. 
 
 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 oh, I found her very fair ! 
 Yet not one soft word could she say : 
 What did she think of all that day?
 
 162 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 LILIAN. 
 
 OHE is dark as Israel. She is proud and still 
 
 As Lebanon pine on the Palatine Hill. 
 Her name it is Lilla ; a plain, pretty name 
 That syllables by quite simple and tame, 
 Until you have looked on her presence; and 
 
 then ! 
 
 Oh, it then means to you, as to me it has meant, 
 The fairest thing under the firmament. 
 
 n. 
 
 Her name is as language ; and, when I know 
 
 Nor name nor type to give utterance to 
 
 My grandest conception of woman, she 
 
 Stands up in my soul, calm, silently, 
 
 And fills the blank with her own sweet name. 
 
 Ay, even at mention of her I grow 
 
 Grow grand and splendid as is growing flame.
 
 LILIAN. 163 
 
 m. 
 
 Thou dark silent pine of the Palatine Hill ! 
 Thou princess and empress, I look to thee still, 
 Disdain as you will ; for my gods they must be. 
 Yea, regal my soul, and, having known thee, 
 How can I to others bow knee or bend will ? . . . 
 Now, come what comes, my whole life through 
 I shall be the nobler for this love of you.
 
 164 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 T IFE ? 'Tis the story of love and of troubles, 
 Of troubles and love, that travel together 
 The round world through. Behold the bubbles 
 Of love ! Then troubles and turbulent weather. 
 Why, man had all Eden ! Then love, then Cain ! 
 Go away, go away with your bitter-sweet pain 
 Of love, and leave us ! Come ! care not a pin, 
 Until peace goes out, and till love comes in. 
 
 NAPLES, 1874.
 
 IN PERE LA CHAISE. 165 
 
 IN PERE LA CHAISE. 
 
 i. 
 
 A N avenue of tombs ! I stand before 
 T** 1 The tomb of Abelard and Eloise. 
 A long, a dark bent line of cypress trees 
 Leads past and on to other shrines ; -but o'er 
 This tomb the boughs hang darkest and most 
 
 dense, 
 
 Like leaning mourners clad in black. The sense 
 Of awe oppresses you. This solitude 
 Means more than common sorrow. Down the 
 
 wood 
 
 Still lovers pass, then pause, then turn again, 
 And weep like silent, unobtrusive rain. 
 
 n. 
 
 'Tis but a simple, antique tomb that kneels 
 As one that weeps above the broken clay. 
 'Tis stained with storms, 'tis eaten well away, 
 Nor half the old-new story now reveals
 
 166 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 Of heart that held beyond the tomb to heart. 
 But oh, it tells of love ! And that true page 
 Is more in this cold, hard, commercial age, 
 When love is calmly counted some lost art, 
 Than all man's mighty monuments of war 
 Or archives vast of art and science are. 
 
 m. 
 
 Here poets pause and dream a listless hour ; 
 Here silly pilgrims stoop and kiss the clay ; 
 Here sweetest maidens leave a cross or flower, 
 While vandals bear the tomb in bits away. 
 The ancient stone is scarred with name and 
 
 scrawl 
 
 Of many tender fools. But over all, 
 And high above all other scrawls, is writ 
 One simple thing, most touching and most fit. 
 Some pitying soul has tiptoed high above, 
 And with a nail has scrawled but this : " O 
 
 Love!" 
 
 IV. 
 
 O Love ! . . . I turn ; I climb the hill of tombs, 
 Where sleeps the " bravest of the brave," below, 
 His bed of scarlet blooms in zone of snow 
 No cross nor sign, save this red bed of blooms.
 
 IN PERE LA CHAISE. 167 
 
 I see grand tombs to France's lesser dead, 
 
 Colossal steeds, white pyramids, still red 
 
 At base with blood, still torn with shot and shell, 
 
 To testify that here the Commune fell : 
 
 And yet I turn once more from all of these, 
 
 And stand before the tomb of Eloise. 
 
 PARIS, 1872
 
 168 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 LONGING FOR HOME. 
 
 i. 
 
 /~^*OULD I but return to my woods once more, 
 And dwell in their depths as I have dwelt, - 
 Kneel in their mosses as I have knelt, 
 Sit where the cool white rivers run, 
 Away from the world and half hid from the sun, 
 Hear wind in the woods of my storm-torn shore, ' 
 Glad to the heart with listening, 
 It seems to me that I then could sing, 
 And sing as I never have sung before. 
 
 n. 
 
 I miss, how wholly I miss my wood, 
 My matchless, magnificent dark-leaved firs 
 That climb up the terrible heights of Hood, 
 Where only the breath of white heaven stirs ! 
 These Alps they are barren ; wrapped in storms, 
 Formless masses of Titan forms, 
 They loom like ruins of a grandeur gone, 
 And lonesome as death to look upon.
 
 LONGING FOR HOME. 169 
 
 HI. 
 
 O God ! once more in my life to hear 
 The voice of a wood that is loud and alive, 
 That stirs with its being like a vast bee-hive ! 
 And oh, once more in my life to see 
 The great bright eyes of the antlered deer ; 
 To sing with the birds that sing for me, 
 To tread where only the red man trod, 
 To say no word, but listen to God I 
 
 VEKONA, 1873.
 
 170 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 PESTAM. 
 
 /r "T v HIS land it is desolate, dead as death ! 
 Never the sound of a beast or a bird, 
 Nor voices of Nature above a breath ; 
 Never the wild deer's quick retreat, 
 Never the pheasant's far drum-beat : 
 Only the hideous marsh buffalo, 
 With a half-choked moan or a lazy low ; 
 Only the dull cloven tramp of the herd ; 
 Only the tiresome gray outlook ; 
 Only the tourist tight holding a book, 
 A red-bound book as a lamp for his feet ! 
 
 PESTAM, 1878.
 
 TITIAWS LAND. 171 
 
 TITIAN'S LAND. 
 
 T JOURNEYED to Titian's torn land last year, 
 To make me companions of peaks as of old : 
 The gray peaks lifted their granite brows 
 As barren and cold as a virgin's vows. 
 I saw and was silent. Unutterable thought 
 Was mine, and a boyhood's memory rolled 
 On past; and I gave to the past a tear. 
 I lived dead days that were best forgot. 
 
 n. 
 
 I listened for bird, for beast. - Lo ! a gloom 
 Had mantled the land like a mournful cloud, 
 And lay like the solitude guarding a tomb. 
 I spake and made sign but they answered me 
 
 not. 
 
 I lifted my hands and I called aloud 
 Then echoes went rolling from cliff to cloud, 
 And peasants came cautious, strange-clad and 
 
 tall: 
 Echoes and peasants, and that was all :
 
 172 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 m. 
 
 Wild peasants that cling to the cliffs, and reap, 
 With short broad scythes, the adventurous grain ; 
 Then peasants that dwell by the timbered steep, 
 In mossy caverns or in leafy low tents, 
 And fall the tall forest and plant again 
 The orderly woods like to regiments ; 
 And fashion the beam and hew the wood, 
 And guide the raft through the foamy flood. 
 
 COMO, 1874.
 
 IN INNSBRUCK. 173 
 
 IN INNSBRUCK. 
 
 THvAY by day by the high-born rills 
 
 That plunge into Innsbruck born of the 
 
 snow, 
 
 I list for the voices of long ago. 
 I stood over Ishl hid under the hills ; 
 I stood where the white clouds curled and broke 
 In the morn, like puffs of battle-white smoke : 
 I listened all day, but listened in vain, 
 For the voice of my mountain comes never again. 
 
 INNSBRUCK.
 
 174 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 FOR PRINCESS MAUD. 
 
 OTORM in the east and storm in the west, 
 
 And the wild sea over my head ; 
 But oh, the storm that is in my breast 
 For my brave love three days dead ! 
 Storm and tempest,' and peril and pain, 
 Nothing but tempest and wild white rain. 
 
 n. 
 
 Dead is my heart in the dust to-day, 
 And the wheels go over my head. 
 Will never the stone be rolled away 
 From the grave of my beautiful dead ? 
 Storm in my heart, on the hill, on the plain ; 
 Tempest and tears, and the wild white rain.
 
 FOR PRINCESS MAUD. 175 
 
 in. 
 
 Under the storm and the cloud to-day, 
 And to-day the hard peril and pain 
 To-morrow the stone shall be rolled away, 
 For the sunshine shall follow the rain. 
 Merciful Father, I will not complain, 
 I know that the sunshine shall follow the rain.
 
 176 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 I SHALL REMEMBER. 
 
 "IPVlD I court fame by the favor of man ? 
 
 Make war upon creed, or strike hand with 
 clan? 
 
 I sang my songs of the sounding trees, 
 As careless of name or of fame as the sea ; 
 And these I sang for the love of these, 
 And the sad sweet solace they brought to me. 
 I but sang for myself, touched here, touched there, 
 Like a strong-winged bird that flies anywhere. 
 
 n. 
 
 Did I the religions assail ? Gainsay 
 One creed that is taught, or lift hard hand, 
 Or teach aught else than as Christ taught ? Nay, 
 There is little enough of love in the land, 
 There is little enough of Faith for me, 
 There is little enough of Charity,
 
 I SHALL REMEMBER. 177 
 
 Little enough of Hope, T guess, 
 
 And I am the last to make these less. 
 
 And yet did ye stone your prophets ; and yet 
 
 Well, I shall remember, though ye may forget. 
 
 VENICE, 1873.
 
 178 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 VALE. 
 
 T ET us say farewell. A far dim spark 
 
 Illumes my path. The light of my day 
 Hath fled, and yet I am far away. 
 The small curled mooii has dipped her horn 
 In the dark'ning sea. High up in the dark 
 The wrinkled old lion, he looks away 
 To the east, and impatient as if for morn. . . . 
 I have gone the girdle of earth, and say, 
 What have I gained but a temple gray, 
 Two crow's-feet, and a heart forlorn. 
 
 ii. 
 
 A star starts yon4er like a soul afraid ! 
 It falls like a thought thro' the great profound. 
 Fearfully swift and with never a sound, 
 It fades into nothing, as all things fade.
 
 VALE. 179 
 
 Yea, what is the world ? And where is the leaven 
 In the pride of name or a proud man's nod ? 
 Oh tiresome, tiresome stairs to heaven ! 
 Weary, oh wearisome ways to God ! 
 'Twere better to sit with the chin on the palm, 
 Slow tapping the sand, come storm, come calm. 
 
 in. 
 
 I have lived from within and not from without ; 
 I have drunk from a fount, have fed from a hand 
 That no man knows who lives upon land ; 
 I care not a pin for the praise of men : 
 And yet my soul it is crying out 
 In hunger for love. I starve, I die, 
 Each day of my life. Ye pass me by 
 Each day, and laugh as ye pass ; and when 
 Ye come, I start in my place as ye come; 
 And lean, and would speak, but my lips are 
 dumb. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Those sliding stars and -the changeful moon ! 
 Let me rest on the plains of Lombardy for aye, 
 Or sit down by the Adrian Sea and die. 
 The days that do seem as an afternoon,
 
 180 SONGS OF ITALY, 
 
 They all are here. I am strong and true 
 To myself; can pluck and can plant anew 
 My heart, and grow tall ; could come to be 
 Another being ; lift bolder hand 
 And conquer. Yet ever will come to me 
 The thought that Italia is not my land. 
 
 v. 
 
 A time you may sit and be satisfied ; 
 
 You may toy with new things like a child at play , 
 
 But you rise at last and you thrust them away : 
 
 And then there rises a Saxon's pride, 
 
 And the heart fills full, and it throbs to burst, 
 
 With a sense of wrong, and a savage sense 
 
 Of right ; and you rise and you look afar, 
 
 And over the seas where the spaces are, 
 
 And you feel that there the God at the first 
 
 Did set you down with inheritance. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here too are the mountains. But a day from 
 
 this town 
 
 Of marble, that sits to its waist in the sea, 
 A moon-white mountain of snow looks down 
 On a thousand glories of old Italy.
 
 VALE. 181 
 
 And the seas are here, and the sunlit skies 
 Look soft as a love in a lover's eyes, 
 Yet all this beauty and love by the sea 
 But seems to mock me, and but seems to say, 
 " Stranger, lorn stranger, rise ! go your way ! " 
 
 vn. 
 
 I shall find diversion with another kind, 
 There are roads on the land and roads on the sea, 
 Take ship and sail, and sail till I find 
 The love that I sought from eternity. 
 Run away from oneself, take ship and sail 
 The middle white seas, see turbaued men, 
 Throw thought to the dogs for aye. And when 
 All seas are travelled and all scenes shall fail, 
 Why, then this doubtful, sad gift of verse 
 Will save me from death or something worse. 
 
 " vni. 
 
 Then deep-tangled woodland and wild waterfall, 
 Oh farewell for aye, till the judgment day ! 
 I shall see you no more, O land of mine, 
 O half^aware land like a child at play ! 
 O voiceless and vast as the pushed-backed skies '
 
 182 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 No more, blue seas in the blest sunshine, 
 No more, bla&k woods where the white peaks rise, 
 No more, bleak plains where the high winds fall, 
 Or the red man cries or the shrill birds call ! 
 
 rx. 
 
 My hand it is weary, and my harp unstrung ; 
 And where is the good that I pipe or sing, 
 Fashion new notes, or shape any thing ? 
 The songs of my rivers remain unsung 
 Henceforward for me. ... But a man shall rise 
 From the great vast valleys of the Occident, 
 With hand on his harp - of gold, and with eyes 
 That lift with glory and a proud intent ; 
 Yet so gentle indeed, that his sad heart-strings 
 Shall thrill to your heart of hearts as he sings. 
 
 Let the wind sing songs in the lakeside reeds, 
 Lo, I shall be less than the indolent wind I 
 Why should I sow, when I reap and bind 
 And gather in nothing but the pasture weeds? 
 It is best I abide let what will befall,
 
 VALE. 183 
 
 To rest if I can, let time roll by ; 
 Let others endeavor to learn, while I, 
 With nought to conceal, with much to regret, 
 Shall sit and endeavor, alone, to forget. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Shall I shape pipes from these seaside reeds, 
 And play for the children, and shout and call ? 
 Lo ! men they have mocked me the whole year 
 
 through ! 
 
 Nay, let us not laugh. I find in old creeds, 
 And in quaint old tongues, a world that is new : 
 And these, I will gather the sweets of them all. 
 And the old-time doctrines and the old-time signs, 
 T will taste of them all, as tasting old wines. 
 
 xn. 
 
 I will find new thought, as a new-found vein 
 Of rock-locked gold in my far, fair West. 
 I will rest and forget, will entreat to be blest ; 
 Take up new thought and again grow young; 
 Yea, take a new world as one born again, 
 And never hear more mine own mother tongue ; 
 Nor miss it. Why should I? I never once heard, 
 In my land's language, love's one sweet word.
 
 184 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 xm. 
 
 . . . How I do wander ! And yet why not ? 
 I once had a song, told a tale in rhyme ; 
 Wrote books indeed in my proud young prime : 
 I aimed at the heart like a musket ball, 
 I struck curs'd folly like a cannon shot, 
 And where is the glory or good of it all ? 
 Yet these did I write for my love, but this 
 I write for myself, and it is as it is. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Yea, storms have blown counter and shaken me. 
 And yet was I fashioned for strife, and strong 
 And daring of heart, and born to endure : 
 My soul sprang upward, my feet felt sure ; 
 My faith was as wide as a wide-boughed tree. 
 But there be limits ; and a sense of wrong 
 For ever before you will make you less 
 A man, than a man at the first would guess. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Good men can forgive and, they say, forget. . . . 
 Far less of the angel than Indian is set 
 In my stern soul. And I look away 
 To a land that is dearer than this, and say,
 
 VALE. 185 
 
 " I shall remember, though you may forget. 
 Yea, I shall remember for aye and a day 
 The keen taunts thrown in a boy face, when 
 He cried unto God for the love of men." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Enough, ay and more than enough, of this ! 
 I know that the sunshine must follow the rain ; 
 And if this be the winter, why, spring again 
 Will come in its season, full blossomed in bliss. 
 I will lean to the storm, though the winds blow 
 
 strong ; 
 Yea, the winds they have blown and have shaken 
 
 me 
 As the winds blow songs through a shattered 
 
 'tree, 
 They have blown this broken and careless-set 
 
 song. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 They have sung this song, be it never so bad ; 
 Have blown upon me and played upon me, 
 Have broken the notes, blown sad, blown glad 
 Just as the winds blow fierce and free
 
 186 SONGS OF ITALY. 
 
 A barren, a blighted, and a curs'd fig tree. 
 And if I grow careless and heed no whit 
 Whether it please or what comes of it, 
 Why, talk to the winds then, and not to me ! 
 
 VENICE, 1876.