X.

O dark-eyed Ina! All the yearsBrought her but solitude and tears.Lo! ever looking out she stoodAdown the wave, adown the wood,Adown the strong stream to the south,Sad-faced, and sorrowful. Her mouthPush'd out so pitiful. Her eyesFill'd full of sorrow and surprise.Men say that looking from her placeA love would sometimes light her face,As if sweet recollections stirr'dHer heart and broke its loneliness,Like far sweet songs that come to us,So soft, so sweet, they are not heard,So far, so faint, they fill the air,A fragrance filling anywhere.And wasting all her summer yearsThat utter'd only through her tears,The seasons went, and still she stoodFor ever watching down the wood.Yet in her heart there held a strifeWith all this wasting of sweet lifeThat none who have not lived and died,Held up the two hands crucifiedBetween the ways on either hand,Can look upon or understand.The blackest rain-clouds muffle fire:Between a duty and desireThere lies no middle way or land:Take thou the right or the left hand,And so pursue, nor hesitateTo boldly give your hand to fate.In helpless indecisions lieThe rocks on which we strike and die.'Twere better far to choose the worstOf all life's ways than to be cursedWith indecision. Turn and chooseYour way, then all the world refuse.And men who saw her still do sayThat 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 stoodIn silence watching down the wood.Yea, still she stood and look'd away,By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day,Adown the wood beyond the land,Her hollow face upon her hand,Her black, abundant hair all downAbout her loose, ungather'd gown.And what her thought? her life unsaid?Was it of love? of hate? of him,The tall, dark Southerner?Her headBow'd down. The day fell dimUpon her eyes. She bow'd, she slept.She waken'd then, and waking wept.She dream'd, perchance, of island home,A land of palms ring'd round with foam,Where summer on her shelly shoreSits down and rests for evermore.And one who watch'd her wasted youthDid guess, mayhap with much of truth,Her heart was with that band that cameAgainst her isle with sword and flame:And this the tale he told of herAnd her fierce, silent follower:A Spaniard and adventurer,A man who saw her, loved, and fellUpon his knees and worshipp'd her;And with that fervor and mad zealThat only sunborn bosoms feel,Did vow to love, to follow herUnto the altar ... or to hell:That then her gray-hair'd father boreThe beauteous maiden hurriedlyFrom out her fair isle of the seaTo sombre wold and woody shoreAnd 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 stoodFor ever watching from the wood.

O dark-eyed Ina! All the years

Brought her but solitude and tears.

Lo! ever looking out she stood

Adown the wave, adown the wood,

Adown the strong stream to the south,

Sad-faced, and sorrowful. Her mouth

Push'd out so pitiful. Her eyes

Fill'd full of sorrow and surprise.

Men say that looking from her placeA love would sometimes light her face,As if sweet recollections stirr'dHer heart and broke its loneliness,Like far sweet songs that come to us,So soft, so sweet, they are not heard,So far, so faint, they fill the air,A fragrance filling anywhere.

Men say that looking from her place

A love would sometimes light her face,

As if sweet recollections stirr'd

Her heart and broke its loneliness,

Like far sweet songs that come to us,

So soft, so sweet, they are not heard,

So far, so faint, they fill the air,

A fragrance filling anywhere.

And wasting all her summer yearsThat utter'd only through her tears,The seasons went, and still she stoodFor ever watching down the wood.

And wasting all her summer years

That utter'd only through her tears,

The seasons went, and still she stood

For ever watching down the wood.

Yet in her heart there held a strifeWith all this wasting of sweet lifeThat none who have not lived and died,Held up the two hands crucifiedBetween the ways on either hand,Can look upon or understand.

Yet in her heart there held a strife

With all this wasting of sweet life

That none who have not lived and died,

Held up the two hands crucified

Between the ways on either hand,

Can look upon or understand.

The blackest rain-clouds muffle fire:Between a duty and desireThere lies no middle way or land:Take thou the right or the left hand,And so pursue, nor hesitateTo boldly give your hand to fate.

The blackest rain-clouds muffle fire:

Between a duty and desire

There lies no middle way or land:

Take thou the right or the left hand,

And so pursue, nor hesitate

To boldly give your hand to fate.

In helpless indecisions lieThe rocks on which we strike and die.'Twere better far to choose the worstOf all life's ways than to be cursedWith indecision. Turn and chooseYour way, then all the world refuse.

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 sayThat 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 stoodIn silence watching down the wood.

And men who saw her still do say

That never once her lips were heard,

By gloaming dusk or shining day,

To utter or pronounce one word.

Men went and came, and still she stood

In silence watching down the wood.

Yea, still she stood and look'd away,By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day,Adown the wood beyond the land,Her hollow face upon her hand,Her black, abundant hair all downAbout her loose, ungather'd gown.

Yea, still she stood and look'd away,

By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day,

Adown the wood beyond the land,

Her hollow face upon her hand,

Her black, abundant hair all down

About her loose, ungather'd gown.

And what her thought? her life unsaid?Was it of love? of hate? of him,The tall, dark Southerner?Her headBow'd down. The day fell dimUpon her eyes. She bow'd, she slept.She waken'd then, and waking wept.

And what her thought? her life unsaid?

Was it of love? of hate? of him,

The tall, dark Southerner?

Her head

Bow'd down. The day fell dim

Upon her eyes. She bow'd, she slept.

She waken'd then, and waking wept.

She dream'd, perchance, of island home,A land of palms ring'd round with foam,Where summer on her shelly shoreSits down and rests for evermore.

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 youthDid guess, mayhap with much of truth,Her heart was with that band that cameAgainst her isle with sword and flame:And this the tale he told of herAnd her fierce, silent follower:

And one who watch'd her wasted youth

Did guess, mayhap with much of truth,

Her heart was with that band that came

Against her isle with sword and flame:

And this the tale he told of her

And her fierce, silent follower:

A Spaniard and adventurer,A man who saw her, loved, and fellUpon his knees and worshipp'd her;And with that fervor and mad zealThat only sunborn bosoms feel,Did vow to love, to follow herUnto the altar ... or to hell:

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 boreThe beauteous maiden hurriedlyFrom out her fair isle of the seaTo sombre wold and woody shoreAnd 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 stoodFor ever watching from the wood.

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.

The black-eyed bushy squirrels ranLike 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-wingIn 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 whiteAs his white beard?A bird aflight,A squirrel peering through the trees,Saw some one silent steal awayLike darkness from the face of day,Saw two black eyes look back, and theseSaw her hand beckon through the trees.He knew him, though he had not seenThat form or face for a decade,Though time had shorn his locks, had madeHis form another's, flow'd betweenTheir lives like some uncompass'd sea,Yet still he knew him as before.He pursed his lips, and silentlyHe 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 knowsWhat be their merit or demand;It is enough for this rude land—At least, it is enough for those,The loud of tongue and rude of hand—To know that they are Morgan's foes.Proud Morgan! More than tongue can tellHe 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 theySeem not so many as of old.But that same resolute and boldExpression of unbridled will,That even Time must half obey,Is with them and is of them still.They do not counsel the decreeOf court or council, where they drewTheir 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 stoodWith 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.

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 whiteAs his white beard?A bird aflight,A squirrel peering through the trees,Saw some one silent steal awayLike darkness from the face of day,Saw two black eyes look back, and theseSaw her hand beckon through the trees.

Old Morgan left his cabin door,

And one sat watching as of yore;

But why turned Morgan's face as white

As his white beard?

A bird aflight,

A squirrel peering through the trees,

Saw some one silent steal away

Like darkness from the face of day,

Saw two black eyes look back, and these

Saw her hand beckon through the trees.

He knew him, though he had not seenThat form or face for a decade,Though time had shorn his locks, had madeHis form another's, flow'd betweenTheir lives like some uncompass'd sea,Yet still he knew him as before.He pursed his lips, and silentlyHe turn'd and sought his cabin's door.

He knew him, though he had not seen

That form or face for a decade,

Though time had shorn his locks, had made

His form another's, flow'd between

Their lives like some uncompass'd sea,

Yet still he knew him as before.

He pursed his lips, and silently

He turn'd and sought his cabin's door.

Ay! they have come, the sun-brown'd men,To beard old Morgan in his den.It matters little who they are,These silent men from isles afar,And truly no one cares or knowsWhat 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.

Ay! they have come, the sun-brown'd men,

To beard old Morgan in his den.

It matters little who they are,

These silent men from isles afar,

And truly no one cares or knows

What be their merit or demand;

It is enough for this rude land—

At least, it is enough for those,

The loud of tongue and rude of hand—

To know that they are Morgan's foes.

Proud Morgan! More than tongue can tellHe 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.

Proud Morgan! More than tongue can tell

He loved that woman watching there,

That stood in her dark stream of hair,

That stood and dream'd as in a spell,

And look'd so fix'd and far away.

And who, that loveth woman well,

Is wholly bad? be who he may.

Ay! we have seen these Southern men,These sun-brown'd men from island shore,In this same land, and long before.They do not seem so lithe as then,They do not look so tall, and theySeem not so many as of old.But that same resolute and boldExpression of unbridled will,That even Time must half obey,Is with them and is of them still.

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 decreeOf court or council, where they drewTheir 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 do not counsel the decree

Of court or council, where they drew

Their breath, nor law nor order knew,

Save but the strong hand of the strong;

Where each stood up, avenged his wrong,

Or sought his death all silently.

They watch along the wave and wood,They heed, but haste not. Their estate,Whate'er it be, can bide and wait,Be it open ill or hidden good.

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 stoodWith 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.

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.

Like blown and snowy wintry pine,Old Morgan stoop'd his head and pass'dWithin his cabin door. He castA great arm out to men, made sign,Then turned to Ina; stood besideA 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 headAnd trembled, but no word he said.His thought was something more than pain;Upon the seas, upon the landHe knew he should not rest again.He turn'd to her; but then once moreQuick turn'd, and through the oaken doorHe 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 careFrom his great heart, with his left hand.His right hand hitch'd the pistol roundThat dangled at his belt ...The soundOf steel to him was melodyMore sweet than any song of sea.He touch'd his pistol, press'd his lips,Then tapp'd it with his finger-tips,And toy'd with it as harper's handSeeks out the chords when he is sadAnd purposeless.At last he hadResolved. In haste he touch'd her hair,Made sign she should arise—prepareFor some long journey, then againHe look'd awest toward the plain:Toward the land of dreams and space,The land of Silences, the landOf shoreless deserts sown with sand,Where desolation's dwelling is:The land where, wondering, you say,What dried-up shoreless sea is this?Where, wandering, from day to dayYou say, To-morrow sure we comeTo rest in some cool resting-place,And yet you journey on through spaceWhile seasons pass, and are struck dumbWith marvel at the distances.Yea, he would go. Go utterlyAway, and from all living kind,Pierce through the distances, and findNew lands. He had outlived his race.He stood like some eternal treeThat tops remote Yosemite,And cannot fall. He turn'd his faceAgain and contemplated space.And then he raised his hand to vexHis beard, stood still, and there fell downGreat drops from some unfrequent spring,And streak'd his channell'd cheeks sun-brown,And ran uncheck'd, as one who recksNor joy, nor tears, nor any thing.And then, his broad breast heaving deep,Like some dark sea in troubled sleep,Blown round with groaning ships and wrecks,He sudden roused himself, and stoodWith all the strength of his stern mood,Then call'd his men, and bade them goAnd bring black steeds with banner'd necks,And strong like burly buffalo.

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 headAnd trembled, but no word he said.His thought was something more than pain;Upon the seas, upon the landHe knew he should not rest again.

He took his beard in his hard hand,

Then slowly shook his grizzled head

And trembled, but no word he said.

His thought was something more than pain;

Upon the seas, upon the land

He knew he should not rest again.

He turn'd to her; but then once moreQuick turn'd, and through the oaken doorHe 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 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 careFrom his great heart, with his left hand.His right hand hitch'd the pistol roundThat dangled at his belt ...The soundOf steel to him was melodyMore sweet than any song of sea.

He turn'd, he stoop'd, and smoothed her hair,

As if to smooth away the care

From his great heart, with his left hand.

His right hand hitch'd the pistol round

That dangled at his belt ...

The sound

Of steel to him was melody

More sweet than any song of sea.

He touch'd his pistol, press'd his lips,Then tapp'd it with his finger-tips,And toy'd with it as harper's handSeeks out the chords when he is sadAnd purposeless.At last he hadResolved. In haste he touch'd her hair,Made sign she should arise—prepareFor some long journey, then againHe look'd awest toward the plain:

He touch'd his pistol, press'd his lips,

Then tapp'd it with his finger-tips,

And toy'd with it as harper's hand

Seeks out the chords when he is sad

And purposeless.

At last he had

Resolved. In haste he touch'd her hair,

Made sign she should arise—prepare

For some long journey, then again

He look'd awest toward the plain:

Toward the land of dreams and space,The land of Silences, the landOf shoreless deserts sown with sand,Where desolation's dwelling is:The land where, wondering, you say,What dried-up shoreless sea is this?Where, wandering, from day to dayYou say, To-morrow sure we comeTo rest in some cool resting-place,And yet you journey on through spaceWhile seasons pass, and are struck dumbWith marvel at the distances.

Toward the land of dreams and space,

The land of Silences, the land

Of shoreless deserts sown with sand,

Where desolation's dwelling is:

The land where, wondering, you say,

What dried-up shoreless sea is this?

Where, wandering, from day to day

You say, To-morrow sure we come

To rest in some cool resting-place,

And yet you journey on through space

While seasons pass, and are struck dumb

With marvel at the distances.

Yea, he would go. Go utterlyAway, and from all living kind,Pierce through the distances, and findNew lands. He had outlived his race.He stood like some eternal treeThat tops remote Yosemite,And cannot fall. He turn'd his faceAgain and contemplated space.

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 vexHis beard, stood still, and there fell downGreat drops from some unfrequent spring,And streak'd his channell'd cheeks sun-brown,And ran uncheck'd, as one who recksNor joy, nor tears, nor any thing.

And then he raised his hand to vex

His beard, stood still, and there fell down

Great drops from some unfrequent spring,

And streak'd his channell'd cheeks sun-brown,

And ran uncheck'd, as one who recks

Nor joy, nor tears, nor any thing.

And then, his broad breast heaving deep,Like some dark sea in troubled sleep,Blown round with groaning ships and wrecks,He sudden roused himself, and stoodWith all the strength of his stern mood,Then call'd his men, and bade them goAnd bring black steeds with banner'd necks,And strong like burly buffalo.

And then, his broad breast heaving deep,

Like some dark sea in troubled sleep,

Blown round with groaning ships and wrecks,

He sudden roused himself, and stood

With all the strength of his stern mood,

Then call'd his men, and bade them go

And bring black steeds with banner'd necks,

And strong like burly buffalo.

The sassafras took leaf, and menPush'd west in hosts. The black men drewTheir black-maned horses silent throughThe solemn woods.One midnight whenThe curl'd moon tipp'd her horn, and threwA black oak's shadow slant acrossA low mound hid in leaves and moss,Old Morgan cautious came and drewFrom out the ground, as from a grave,A great box, iron-bound and old,And fill'd, men say, with pirates' gold,And then they, silent as a dream,In long black shadows cross'd the stream.Lo! here the smoke of cabins curl'd,The borders of the middle world;And mighty, hairy, half-wild menSat down in silence, held at bayBy mailèd forests. Far awayThe red men's boundless borders lay,And lodges stood in legions then,Strip'd pyramids of painted men.What strong uncommon men were these,These settlers hewing to the seas!Great horny-handed men and tan;Men blown from any border land;Men desperate and red of hand,And men in love and men in debt,And men who lived but to forget,And men whose very hearts had died,Who only sought these woods to hideTheir wretchedness, held in the van;Yet every man among them stoodAlone, along that sounding wood,And every man somehow a man.A race of unnamed giants these,That moved like gods among the trees,So stern, so stubborn-brow'd and slow,With strength of black-maned buffalo,And each man notable and tall,A kingly and unconscious Saul,A sort of sullen Hercules.A star stood large and white awest,Then Time uprose and testified;They push'd the mailèd wood aside,They toss'd the forest like a toy,That great forgotten race of men,The boldest band that yet has beenTogether since the siege of Troy,And followed it ... and found their rest.What strength! what strife! what rude unrest!What shocks! what half-shaped armies met!A mighty nation moving west,With all its steely sinews setAgainst the living forests. HearThe shouts, the shots of pioneer!The rended forests, rolling wheels,As if some half-check'd army reels,Recoils, redoubles, comes again,Loud sounding like a hurricane.O bearded, stalwart, westmost men,So tower-like, so Gothic-built!A kingdom won without the guiltOf studied battle; that hath beenYour blood's inheritance....Your heirsKnow not your tombs. The great ploughsharesCleave softly through the mellow loamWhere you have made eternal homeAnd set no sign.Your epitaphsAre writ in furrows. Beauty laughsWhile through the green ways wanderingBeside her love, slow gatheringWhite starry-hearted May-time bloomsAbove your lowly levell'd tombs;And then below the spotted skyShe stops, she leans, she wonders whyThe ground is heaved and broken so,And why the grasses darker growAnd 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 carComes back in answer. Deep and wideThe wheels of progress have pass'd on;The silent pioneer is gone.His ghost is moving down the trees,And now we push the memoriesOf bluff, bold men who dared and diedIn foremost battle, quite aside.O perfect Eden of the earth,In poppies sown, in harvest set!O sires, mothers of my West!How shall we count your proud bequest?But yesterday ye gave us birth;We eat your hard-earn'd bread to-day,Not toil nor spin nor make regret,But praise our petty selves and sayHow great we are, and all forgetThe still endurance of the rudeUnpolish'd sons of solitude.

The sassafras took leaf, and men

Push'd west in hosts. The black men drew

Their black-maned horses silent through

The solemn woods.

One midnight when

The curl'd moon tipp'd her horn, and threw

A black oak's shadow slant across

A low mound hid in leaves and moss,

Old Morgan cautious came and drew

From out the ground, as from a grave,

A great box, iron-bound and old,

And fill'd, men say, with pirates' gold,

And then they, silent as a dream,

In long black shadows cross'd the stream.

Lo! here the smoke of cabins curl'd,The borders of the middle world;And mighty, hairy, half-wild menSat down in silence, held at bayBy mailèd forests. Far awayThe red men's boundless borders lay,And lodges stood in legions then,Strip'd pyramids of painted men.

Lo! here the smoke of cabins curl'd,

The borders of the middle world;

And mighty, hairy, half-wild men

Sat down in silence, held at bay

By mailèd forests. Far away

The red men's boundless borders lay,

And lodges stood in legions then,

Strip'd pyramids of painted men.

What strong uncommon men were these,These settlers hewing to the seas!Great horny-handed men and tan;Men blown from any border land;Men desperate and red of hand,And men in love and men in debt,And men who lived but to forget,And men whose very hearts had died,Who only sought these woods to hideTheir wretchedness, held in the van;Yet every man among them stoodAlone, along that sounding wood,And every man somehow a man.

What strong uncommon men were these,

These settlers hewing to the seas!

Great horny-handed men and tan;

Men blown from any border land;

Men desperate and red of hand,

And men in love and men in debt,

And men who lived but to forget,

And men whose very hearts had died,

Who only sought these woods to hide

Their wretchedness, held in the van;

Yet every man among them stood

Alone, along that sounding wood,

And every man somehow a man.

A race of unnamed giants these,That moved like gods among the trees,So stern, so stubborn-brow'd and slow,With strength of black-maned buffalo,And each man notable and tall,A kingly and unconscious Saul,A sort of sullen Hercules.

A race of unnamed giants these,

That moved like gods among the trees,

So stern, so stubborn-brow'd and slow,

With strength of black-maned buffalo,

And each man notable and tall,

A kingly and unconscious Saul,

A sort of sullen Hercules.

A star stood large and white awest,Then Time uprose and testified;They push'd the mailèd wood aside,They toss'd the forest like a toy,That great forgotten race of men,The boldest band that yet has beenTogether since the siege of Troy,And followed it ... and found their rest.

A star stood large and white awest,

Then Time uprose and testified;

They push'd the mailèd wood aside,

They toss'd the forest like a toy,

That great forgotten race of men,

The boldest band that yet has been

Together since the siege of Troy,

And followed it ... and found their rest.

What strength! what strife! what rude unrest!What shocks! what half-shaped armies met!A mighty nation moving west,With all its steely sinews setAgainst the living forests. HearThe shouts, the shots of pioneer!The rended forests, rolling wheels,As if some half-check'd army reels,Recoils, redoubles, comes again,Loud sounding like a hurricane.

What strength! what strife! what rude unrest!

What shocks! what half-shaped armies met!

A mighty nation moving west,

With all its steely sinews set

Against the living forests. Hear

The shouts, the shots of pioneer!

The rended forests, rolling wheels,

As if some half-check'd army reels,

Recoils, redoubles, comes again,

Loud sounding like a hurricane.

O bearded, stalwart, westmost men,So tower-like, so Gothic-built!A kingdom won without the guiltOf studied battle; that hath beenYour blood's inheritance....Your heirsKnow not your tombs. The great ploughsharesCleave softly through the mellow loamWhere you have made eternal homeAnd set no sign.Your epitaphsAre writ in furrows. Beauty laughsWhile through the green ways wanderingBeside her love, slow gatheringWhite starry-hearted May-time bloomsAbove your lowly levell'd tombs;And then below the spotted skyShe stops, she leans, she wonders whyThe ground is heaved and broken so,And why the grasses darker growAnd droop and trail like wounded wing.

O bearded, stalwart, westmost men,

So tower-like, so Gothic-built!

A kingdom won without the guilt

Of studied battle; that hath been

Your blood's inheritance....

Your heirs

Know not your tombs. The great ploughshares

Cleave softly through the mellow loam

Where you have made eternal home

And set no sign.

Your epitaphs

Are writ in furrows. Beauty laughs

While through the green ways wandering

Beside her love, slow gathering

White starry-hearted May-time blooms

Above your lowly levell'd tombs;

And then below the spotted sky

She stops, she leans, she wonders why

The ground is heaved and broken so,

And why the grasses darker grow

And droop and trail like wounded wing.

Yea, Time, the grand old harvester,Has gather'd you from wood and plain.We call to you again, again;The rush and rumble of the carComes back in answer. Deep and wideThe wheels of progress have pass'd on;The silent pioneer is gone.His ghost is moving down the trees,And now we push the memoriesOf bluff, bold men who dared and diedIn foremost battle, quite aside.

Yea, Time, the grand old harvester,

Has gather'd you from wood and plain.

We call to you again, again;

The rush and rumble of the car

Comes back in answer. Deep and wide

The wheels of progress have pass'd on;

The silent pioneer is gone.

His ghost is moving down the trees,

And now we push the memories

Of bluff, bold men who dared and died

In foremost battle, quite aside.

O perfect Eden of the earth,In poppies sown, in harvest set!O sires, mothers of my West!How shall we count your proud bequest?But yesterday ye gave us birth;We eat your hard-earn'd bread to-day,Not toil nor spin nor make regret,But praise our petty selves and sayHow great we are, and all forgetThe still endurance of the rudeUnpolish'd sons of solitude.

O perfect Eden of the earth,

In poppies sown, in harvest set!

O sires, mothers of my West!

How shall we count your proud bequest?

But yesterday ye gave us birth;

We eat your hard-earn'd bread to-day,

Not 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.

And one was glad at morn, but one,The tall old sea-king, grim and gray,Look'd back to where his cabins layAnd seem'd to hesitate.He roseAt 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 feetSeem'd scarce to touch the flying sand;The reins were in the reaching hand.They rode like men gone mad, they fled,All day and many days they ran,And in the rear a gray old manKept watch, and ever turn'd his head,Half eager and half angry, backAlong their dusty desert track.And one look'd back, but no man spoke,They rode, they swallow'd up the plain;The sun sank low, he look'd again,With lifted hand and shaded eyes.Then far arear he saw uprise,As if from giant's stride or stroke,Dun dust-like puffs of battle-smoke.He turn'd, his left hand clutch'd the rein,He struck awest his high right hand,His arms were like the limbs of oak,They knew too well the man's command,They mounted, plunged ahead again,And one look'd back, but no man spoke,Of all that sullen iron band,That reached along that barren land.O weary days of weary blue,Without one changing breath, withoutOne single cloud-ship sailing throughThe blue seas bending round aboutIn one unbroken blotless hue.Yet on they fled, and one look'd backFor ever down their distant track.The tent is pitch'd, the blanket spread,The earth receives the weary head,The night rolls west, the east is gray,The tent is struck, they mount, away;They ride for life the livelong day,They sweep the long grass in their track,And one leads on, and one looks back.What scenes they pass'd, what camps at morn,What weary columns kept the road;What herds of troubled cattle low'd,And trumpeted like lifted horn;And everywhere, or road or rest,All things were pointing to the west;A weary, long, and lonesome track,And all led on, but one look'd back.They climb'd the rock-built breasts of earth,The Titan-fronted, blowy steepsThat cradled Time.... Where Freedom keepsHer flag of white blown stars unfurl'd,They turn'd about, they saw the birthOf sudden dawn upon the world;Again they gazed; they saw the faceOf God, and named it boundless space.And they descended and did roamThrough levell'd distances set roundBy room. They saw the SilencesMove 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 domeOf God's cathedral, built of stars.They pitch'd the tent, where rivers runAs if to drown the falling sun.They saw the snowy mountains roll'd,And heaved along the nameless landsLike mighty billows; saw the goldOf awful sunsets; saw the blushOf sudden dawn, and felt the hushOf heaven when the day sat down,And hid his face in dusky hands.The long and lonesome nights! the tentThat nestled soft in sweep of grass,The hills against the firmamentWhere 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 spentAnd buried in its bloody place,The dead man lying on his face!The clouds of dust, their cloud by day;Their pillar of unfailing fireThe far North star. And high, and higher....They climb'd so high it seem'd eftsoonThat they must face the falling moon,That like some flame-lit ruin layThrown 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, cameAt night to name the moving stars.In heaven's face they pictured formsOf beasts, of fishes of the sea.They mark'd the Great Bear wearilyRise up and drag his clinking chainOf stars around the starry main.What lines of yoked and patient steers!What weary thousands pushing west!What restless pilgrims seeking rest,As if from out the edge of years!What great yoked brutes with briskets low,With wrinkled necks like buffalo,With round, brown, liquid, pleading eyes,That turn'd so slow and sad to you,That shone like love's eyes soft with tears,That seem'd to plead, and make repliesThe while they bow'd their necks and drewThe 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 sodWith stolid sense of majesty,And stately stepp'd and stately trod,As if 'twas something still to beKings even in captivity.

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 feetSeem'd scarce to touch the flying sand;The reins were in the reaching hand.

His steeds were steady, strong, and fleet,

The best in all the wide west land,

Their manes were in the air, their feet

Seem'd scarce to touch the flying sand;

The reins were in the reaching hand.

They rode like men gone mad, they fled,All day and many days they ran,And in the rear a gray old manKept watch, and ever turn'd his head,Half eager and half angry, backAlong their dusty desert track.

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.

And one look'd back, but no man spoke,

They rode, they swallow'd up the plain;

The sun sank low, he look'd again,

With lifted hand and shaded eyes.

Then far arear he saw uprise,

As if from giant's stride or stroke,

Dun dust-like puffs of battle-smoke.

He turn'd, his left hand clutch'd the rein,He struck awest his high right hand,His arms were like the limbs of oak,They knew too well the man's command,They mounted, plunged ahead again,And one look'd back, but no man spoke,Of all that sullen iron band,That reached along that barren land.

He turn'd, his left hand clutch'd the rein,

He struck awest his high right hand,

His arms were like the limbs of oak,

They knew too well the man's command,

They mounted, plunged ahead again,

And one look'd back, but no man spoke,

Of all that sullen iron band,

That reached along that barren land.

O weary days of weary blue,Without one changing breath, withoutOne single cloud-ship sailing throughThe blue seas bending round aboutIn one unbroken blotless hue.Yet on they fled, and one look'd backFor ever down their distant track.

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.

The tent is pitch'd, the blanket spread,

The earth receives the weary head,

The night rolls west, the east is gray,

The tent is struck, they mount, away;

They ride for life the livelong day,

They sweep the long grass in their track,

And one leads on, and one looks back.

What scenes they pass'd, what camps at morn,What weary columns kept the road;What herds of troubled cattle low'd,And trumpeted like lifted horn;And everywhere, or road or rest,All things were pointing to the west;A weary, long, and lonesome track,And all led on, but one look'd back.

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 steepsThat cradled Time.... Where Freedom keepsHer flag of white blown stars unfurl'd,They turn'd about, they saw the birthOf sudden dawn upon the world;Again they gazed; they saw the faceOf God, and named it boundless space.

They climb'd the rock-built breasts of earth,

The Titan-fronted, blowy steeps

That cradled Time.... Where Freedom keeps

Her flag of white blown stars unfurl'd,

They turn'd about, they saw the birth

Of sudden dawn upon the world;

Again they gazed; they saw the face

Of God, and named it boundless space.

And they descended and did roamThrough levell'd distances set roundBy room. They saw the SilencesMove 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 domeOf God's cathedral, built of stars.

And they descended and did roam

Through levell'd distances set round

By room. They saw the Silences

Move by and beckon: saw the forms,

The very beards, of burly storms,

And heard them talk like sounding seas.

On unnamed heights bleak-blown and brown,

And torn like battlements of Mars,

They saw the darknesses come down,

Like curtains loosen'd from the dome

Of God's cathedral, built of stars.

They pitch'd the tent, where rivers runAs if to drown the falling sun.They saw the snowy mountains roll'd,And heaved along the nameless landsLike mighty billows; saw the goldOf awful sunsets; saw the blushOf sudden dawn, and felt the hushOf heaven when the day sat down,And hid his face in dusky hands.

They pitch'd the tent, where rivers run

As if to drown the falling sun.

They saw the snowy mountains roll'd,

And heaved along the nameless lands

Like mighty billows; saw the gold

Of awful sunsets; saw the blush

Of sudden dawn, and felt the hush

Of heaven when the day sat down,

And hid his face in dusky hands.

The long and lonesome nights! the tentThat nestled soft in sweep of grass,The hills against the firmamentWhere scarce the moving moon could pass;The cautious camp, the smother'd light,The silent sentinel at night!

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 spentAnd buried in its bloody place,The dead man lying on his face!

The wild beasts howling from the hill;

The troubled cattle bellowing;

The savage prowling by the spring,

Then sudden passing swift and still,

And bended as a bow is bent.

The arrow sent; the arrow spent

And buried in its bloody place,

The dead man lying on his face!

The clouds of dust, their cloud by day;Their pillar of unfailing fireThe far North star. And high, and higher....They climb'd so high it seem'd eftsoonThat they must face the falling moon,That like some flame-lit ruin layThrown down before their weary way.

The clouds of dust, their cloud by day;

Their pillar of unfailing fire

The far North star. And high, and higher....

They climb'd so high it seem'd eftsoon

That they must face the falling moon,

That like some flame-lit ruin lay

Thrown down before their weary way.

They learn'd to read the sign of storms,The moon's wide circles, sunset bars,And storm-provoking blood and flame;And, like the Chaldean shepherds, cameAt night to name the moving stars.In heaven's face they pictured formsOf beasts, of fishes of the sea.They mark'd the Great Bear wearilyRise up and drag his clinking chainOf stars around the starry main.

They learn'd to read the sign of storms,

The moon's wide circles, sunset bars,

And storm-provoking blood and flame;

And, like the Chaldean shepherds, came

At night to name the moving stars.

In heaven's face they pictured forms

Of beasts, of fishes of the sea.

They mark'd the Great Bear wearily

Rise up and drag his clinking chain

Of stars around the starry main.

What lines of yoked and patient steers!What weary thousands pushing west!What restless pilgrims seeking rest,As if from out the edge of years!

What lines of yoked and patient steers!

What weary thousands pushing west!

What restless pilgrims seeking rest,

As if from out the edge of years!

What great yoked brutes with briskets low,With wrinkled necks like buffalo,With round, brown, liquid, pleading eyes,That turn'd so slow and sad to you,That shone like love's eyes soft with tears,That seem'd to plead, and make repliesThe while they bow'd their necks and drewThe creaking load; and look'd at you.Their sable briskets swept the ground,Their cloven feet kept solemn sound.

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 sodWith stolid sense of majesty,And stately stepp'd and stately trod,As if 'twas something still to beKings even in captivity.

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.

And why did these same sunburnt menLet Morgan gain the plain, and thenPursue 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 knownLest it should keep its secret bed;Mostlike they thought to best prevailAnd conquer with united handsAlone upon the lonesome sands;Mostlike they had as much to dread;Mostlike—but I must tell my tale.And Morgan, ever looking back,Push'd on, push'd up his mountain track,Past camp, past train, past caravan,Past flying beast, past failing man,Past brave men battling with a foeThat circled them with lance and bowAnd feather'd arrows all a-wing;Till months unmeasured came and ranThe calendar with him, as thoughOld Time had lost all reckoning;Then passed for aye the creaking trains,And pioneers that named the plains.Those brave old bricks of Forty-nine!What lives they lived! what deaths they died!A thousand cañons, darkling wideBelow Sierra's slopes of pine,Receive them now.And they who diedAlong the far, dim, desert route.Their ghosts are many.Let them keepTheir vast possessions.The Piute,The tawny warrior, will disputeNo 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 boreThe burthen of that frightful year,Who toil'd, but did not gather store,They shall not be forgotten.DrearAnd white, the plains of ShoshoneeShall point us to that farther shore,And long white shining lines of bones,Make needless sign or white mile-stones.The wild man's yell, the groaning wheel;The train that moved like drifting barge;The dust that rose up like a cloud,Like smoke of distant battle! LoudThe great whips rang like shot, and steelOf antique fashion, crude and large,Flash'd back as in some battle charge.They sought, yea, they did find their restAlong that long and lonesome way,These brave men buffeting the WestWith lifted faces.Full were theyOf great endeavor. Brave and trueAs stern Crusader clad in steel,They died a-field as it was fit.Made strong with hope, they dared to doAchievement that a host to-dayWould stagger at, stand back and reel,Defeated at the thought of it.What brave endeavor to endure!What patient hope, when hope was past!What still surrender at the last,A thousand leagues from hope! how pureThey lived, how proud they died!How generous with life!The wideAnd gloried age of chivalryHath not one page like this to me.Let all these golden days go by,In sunny summer weather. IBut 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 graveFrom eastmost to the westmost wave.Yea, I remember! The still tearsThat o'er uncoffin'd faces fell!The final, silent, sad farewell!God! these are with me all the years!They shall be with me ever. IShall not forget. I hold a trust.They are a part of my existence.WhenAdown the shining iron trackYou 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 menWho made a pathway with their dust.

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 knownLest it should keep its secret bed;Mostlike they thought to best prevailAnd conquer with united handsAlone upon the lonesome sands;Mostlike they had as much to dread;Mostlike—but I must tell my tale.

Mostlike they sought his gold alone,

And fear'd to make their quarrel known

Lest it should keep its secret bed;

Mostlike they thought to best prevail

And conquer with united hands

Alone upon the lonesome sands;

Mostlike they had as much to dread;

Mostlike—but I must tell my tale.

And Morgan, ever looking back,Push'd on, push'd up his mountain track,Past camp, past train, past caravan,Past flying beast, past failing man,Past brave men battling with a foeThat circled them with lance and bowAnd feather'd arrows all a-wing;Till months unmeasured came and ranThe calendar with him, as thoughOld Time had lost all reckoning;Then passed for aye the creaking trains,And pioneers that named the plains.

And Morgan, ever looking back,

Push'd on, push'd up his mountain track,

Past camp, past train, past caravan,

Past flying beast, past failing man,

Past brave men battling with a foe

That circled them with lance and bow

And feather'd arrows all a-wing;

Till months unmeasured came and ran

The calendar with him, as though

Old Time had lost all reckoning;

Then passed for aye the creaking trains,

And pioneers that named the plains.

Those brave old bricks of Forty-nine!What lives they lived! what deaths they died!A thousand cañons, darkling wideBelow Sierra's slopes of pine,Receive them now.And they who diedAlong the far, dim, desert route.Their ghosts are many.Let them keepTheir vast possessions.The Piute,The tawny warrior, will disputeNo 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.

Those brave old bricks of Forty-nine!

What lives they lived! what deaths they died!

A thousand cañons, darkling wide

Below Sierra's slopes of pine,

Receive them now.

And they who died

Along the far, dim, desert route.

Their ghosts are many.

Let them keep

Their vast possessions.

The Piute,

The tawny warrior, will dispute

No boundary with these. And I,

Who saw them live, who felt them die,

Say, let their unploughed ashes sleep,

Untouched by man, by plain or steep.

The bearded, sunbrown'd men who boreThe burthen of that frightful year,Who toil'd, but did not gather store,They shall not be forgotten.DrearAnd white, the plains of ShoshoneeShall point us to that farther shore,And long white shining lines of bones,Make needless sign or white mile-stones.

The bearded, sunbrown'd men who bore

The burthen of that frightful year,

Who toil'd, but did not gather store,

They shall not be forgotten.

Drear

And white, the plains of Shoshonee

Shall point us to that farther shore,

And long white shining lines of bones,

Make needless sign or white mile-stones.

The wild man's yell, the groaning wheel;The train that moved like drifting barge;The dust that rose up like a cloud,Like smoke of distant battle! LoudThe great whips rang like shot, and steelOf antique fashion, crude and large,Flash'd back as in some battle charge.

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 restAlong that long and lonesome way,These brave men buffeting the WestWith lifted faces.Full were theyOf great endeavor. Brave and trueAs stern Crusader clad in steel,They died a-field as it was fit.Made strong with hope, they dared to doAchievement that a host to-dayWould stagger at, stand back and reel,Defeated at the thought of it.

They sought, yea, they did find their rest

Along that long and lonesome way,

These brave men buffeting the West

With lifted faces.

Full were they

Of great endeavor. Brave and true

As stern Crusader clad in steel,

They died a-field as it was fit.

Made strong with hope, they dared to do

Achievement that a host to-day

Would stagger at, stand back and reel,

Defeated at the thought of it.

What brave endeavor to endure!What patient hope, when hope was past!What still surrender at the last,A thousand leagues from hope! how pureThey lived, how proud they died!How generous with life!The wideAnd gloried age of chivalryHath not one page like this to me.

What brave endeavor to endure!

What patient hope, when hope was past!

What still surrender at the last,

A thousand leagues from hope! how pure

They lived, how proud they died!

How generous with life!

The wide

And gloried age of chivalry

Hath not one page like this to me.

Let all these golden days go by,In sunny summer weather. IBut 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 graveFrom eastmost to the westmost wave.

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 tearsThat o'er uncoffin'd faces fell!The final, silent, sad farewell!God! these are with me all the years!They shall be with me ever. IShall not forget. I hold a trust.They are a part of my existence.WhenAdown the shining iron trackYou 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 menWho made a pathway with their dust.

Yea, I remember! The still tears

That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell!

The final, silent, sad farewell!

God! these are with me all the years!

They shall be with me ever. I

Shall not forget. I hold a trust.

They are a part of my existence.

When

Adown the shining iron track

You sweep, and fields of corn flash back,

And herds of lowing steers move by,

And men laugh loud, in mute distrust,

I turn to other days, to men

Who made a pathway with their dust.

At last he pass'd all men or signOf man. Yet still his long black lineWas push'd and pointed for the west;The sea, the utmost sea, and rest.He climbed, descended, climbed again,Until he stood at last as lone,As solitary and unknown,As some lost ship upon the main.O there was grandeur in his air,An old-time splendor in his eye,When he had climb'd the bleak, the high,The rock-built bastions of the plain,And thrown a-back his blown white hair,And halting turn'd to look again.And long, from out his lofty place,He look'd far down the fading plainFor his pursuers, but in vain.Yea, he was glad. Across his faceA careless smile was seen to play,The first for many a stormy day.He turn'd to Ina, dark and fairAs 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 thenLed leisurely against the west.And why should he, who dared to die,Who more than once with hissing breathHad set his teeth and pray'd for death,Have fled these men, or wherefore flyBefore them now? why not defy?His midnight men were strong and true,And not unused to strife, and knewThe masonry of steel right well,And all its signs that lead to hell.It might have been his youth had wroughtSome wrong his years would now repairThat made him fly and still forbear;It might have been he only soughtTo lead them to some fatal snareAnd 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 fairWas this man's child, an only thingTo love in all the universe,And that the old man's iron willKept pirate's child from pirate still.These rovers had a world their own,Had laws, lived lives, went ways unknown.I trow it was not shame or fearOf any man or any thingThat death in any shape might bring.It might have been some lofty senseOf his own truth and innocence,And virtues lofty and severe—Nay, nay! what need of reasons here?They touch'd a fringe of tossing treesThat bound a mountain's brow like bay,And through the fragrant boughs a breezeBlew salt-flood freshness.Far away,From mountain brow to desert baseLay chaos, space, unbounded space,In one vast belt of purple bound.The black men cried, "The sea!" They bow'dTheir black heads in their hard black hands.They wept for joy.They laugh'd, and brokeThe silence of an age, and spokeOf rest at last; and, group'd in bands,They threw their long black arms aboutEach other's necks, and laugh'd aloud,Then wept again with laugh and shout.Yet Morgan spake no word, but ledHis band with oft-averted headRight through the cooling trees, till heStood out upon the lofty browAnd mighty mountain wall.And nowThe men who shouted, "Lo, the sea!"Rode in the sun; but silently:Stood in the sun, then look'd below.They look'd but once, then look'd away,Then look'd each other in the face.They could not lift their brows, nor say,But held their heads, nor spake, for lo!Nor sea, nor voice of sea, nor breathOf sea, but only sand and death,And one eternity of spaceConfronted them with fiery face.'Twas vastness even as a sea,So still it sang in symphonies;But yet without the sense of seas,Save depth, and space, and distances.'Twas all so shoreless, so profound,It seem'd it were earth's utter bound.'Twas like the dim edge of death is,'Twas hades, hell, eternity!

At last he pass'd all men or signOf man. Yet still his long black lineWas push'd and pointed for the west;The sea, the utmost sea, and rest.

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.

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.

O there was grandeur in his air,

An old-time splendor in his eye,

When he had climb'd the bleak, the high,

The rock-built bastions of the plain,

And thrown a-back his blown white hair,

And halting turn'd to look again.

And long, from out his lofty place,He look'd far down the fading plainFor his pursuers, but in vain.Yea, he was glad. Across his faceA careless smile was seen to play,The first for many a stormy day.

And long, from out his lofty place,

He look'd far down the fading plain

For his pursuers, but in vain.

Yea, he was glad. Across his face

A careless smile was seen to play,

The first for many a stormy day.

He turn'd to Ina, dark and fairAs 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 thenLed leisurely against the west.

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 breathHad set his teeth and pray'd for death,Have fled these men, or wherefore flyBefore them now? why not defy?

And why should he, who dared to die,

Who more than once with hissing breath

Had set his teeth and pray'd for death,

Have fled these men, or wherefore fly

Before them now? why not defy?

His midnight men were strong and true,And not unused to strife, and knewThe masonry of steel right well,And all its signs that lead to hell.

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 wroughtSome wrong his years would now repairThat made him fly and still forbear;It might have been he only soughtTo lead them to some fatal snareAnd let them die by piece-meal there.

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 fairWas this man's child, an only thingTo love in all the universe,And that the old man's iron willKept pirate's child from pirate still.These rovers had a world their own,Had laws, lived lives, went ways unknown.

It might have been that his own blood,

A brother, son, pursued with curse.

It might have been this woman fair

Was this man's child, an only thing

To love in all the universe,

And that the old man's iron will

Kept pirate's child from pirate still.

These rovers had a world their own,

Had laws, lived lives, went ways unknown.

I trow it was not shame or fearOf any man or any thingThat death in any shape might bring.It might have been some lofty senseOf his own truth and innocence,And virtues lofty and severe—Nay, nay! what need of reasons here?

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 treesThat bound a mountain's brow like bay,And through the fragrant boughs a breezeBlew salt-flood freshness.Far away,From mountain brow to desert baseLay chaos, space, unbounded space,In one vast belt of purple bound.The black men cried, "The sea!" They bow'dTheir black heads in their hard black hands.They wept for joy.They laugh'd, and brokeThe silence of an age, and spokeOf rest at last; and, group'd in bands,They threw their long black arms aboutEach other's necks, and laugh'd aloud,Then wept again with laugh and shout.

They touch'd a fringe of tossing trees

That bound a mountain's brow like bay,

And through the fragrant boughs a breeze

Blew salt-flood freshness.

Far away,

From mountain brow to desert base

Lay chaos, space, unbounded space,

In one vast belt of purple bound.

The black men cried, "The sea!" They bow'd

Their black heads in their hard black hands.

They wept for joy.

They laugh'd, and broke

The silence of an age, and spoke

Of rest at last; and, group'd in bands,

They threw their long black arms about

Each other's necks, and laugh'd aloud,

Then wept again with laugh and shout.

Yet Morgan spake no word, but ledHis band with oft-averted headRight through the cooling trees, till heStood out upon the lofty browAnd mighty mountain wall.And nowThe men who shouted, "Lo, the sea!"Rode in the sun; but silently:Stood in the sun, then look'd below.They look'd but once, then look'd away,Then look'd each other in the face.They could not lift their brows, nor say,But held their heads, nor spake, for lo!Nor sea, nor voice of sea, nor breathOf sea, but only sand and death,And one eternity of spaceConfronted them with fiery face.

Yet Morgan spake no word, but led

His band with oft-averted head

Right through the cooling trees, till he

Stood out upon the lofty brow

And mighty mountain wall.

And now

The men who shouted, "Lo, the sea!"

Rode in the sun; but silently:

Stood in the sun, then look'd below.

They look'd but once, then look'd away,

Then look'd each other in the face.

They could not lift their brows, nor say,

But held their heads, nor spake, for lo!

Nor sea, nor voice of sea, nor breath

Of sea, but only sand and death,

And one eternity of space

Confronted them with fiery face.

'Twas vastness even as a sea,So still it sang in symphonies;But yet without the sense of seas,Save depth, and space, and distances.'Twas all so shoreless, so profound,It seem'd it were earth's utter bound.'Twas like the dim edge of death is,'Twas hades, hell, eternity!

'Twas vastness even as a sea,

So still it sang in symphonies;

But yet without the sense of seas,

Save depth, and space, and distances.

'Twas all so shoreless, so profound,

It seem'd it were earth's utter bound.

'Twas like the dim edge of death is,

'Twas hades, hell, eternity!

Then Morgan hesitating stood,Look'd down the deep and steep descentWith wilder'd brow and wonderment,Then gazed against the cooling wood.And she beside him gazed at this,Then turn'd her great, sad eyes to his;He shook his head and look'd away,Then sadly smiled, and still did say,"To-morrow, child, another day."O thou to-morrow! Mystery!O day that ever runs before!What has thine hidden hand in storeFor mine, to-morrow, and for me?O thou to-morrow! what hast thouIn store to make me bear the now?O day in which we shall forgetThe tangled troubles of to-day!O day that laughs at duns, at debt!O day of promises to pay!O shelter from all present storm!O day in which we shall reform!O day of all days for reform!Convenient day of promises!Hold back the shadow of the storm.O bless'd to-morrow! Chiefest friend,Let not thy mystery be less,But lead us blindfold to the end.

Then Morgan hesitating stood,Look'd down the deep and steep descentWith wilder'd brow and wonderment,Then gazed against the cooling wood.

Then Morgan hesitating stood,

Look'd down the deep and steep descent

With wilder'd brow and wonderment,

Then gazed against the cooling wood.

And she beside him gazed at this,Then turn'd her great, sad eyes to his;He shook his head and look'd away,Then sadly smiled, and still did say,"To-morrow, child, another day."

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 storeFor mine, to-morrow, and for me?O thou to-morrow! what hast thouIn store to make me bear the now?

O thou to-morrow! Mystery!

O day that ever runs before!

What has thine hidden hand in store

For mine, to-morrow, and for me?

O thou to-morrow! what hast thou

In store to make me bear the now?

O day in which we shall forgetThe tangled troubles of to-day!O day that laughs at duns, at debt!O day of promises to pay!O shelter from all present storm!O day in which we shall reform!

O day in which we shall forget

The tangled troubles of to-day!

O day that laughs at duns, at debt!

O day of promises to pay!

O shelter from all present storm!

O day in which we shall reform!

O day of all days for reform!Convenient day of promises!Hold back the shadow of the storm.O bless'd to-morrow! Chiefest friend,Let not thy mystery be less,But lead us blindfold to the end.

O day of all days for reform!

Convenient day of promises!

Hold back the shadow of the storm.

O bless'd to-morrow! Chiefest friend,

Let not thy mystery be less,

But lead us blindfold to the end.

Old Morgan eyed his men, look'd backAgainst the groves of tamarack,Then tapp'd his stirrup-foot, and stray'dHis hard left hand along the maneOf his strong steed, and careless play'dHis 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 hairBack from her brow, and kiss'd her there.Yea, touch'd her softly, as if sheHad been some priceless, tender flower,Yet touch'd her as one taking leaveOf his one love in lofty towerBefore descending to the seaOf battle on his battle eve.

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 hairBack from her brow, and kiss'd her there.

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 sheHad been some priceless, tender flower,Yet touch'd her as one taking leaveOf his one love in lofty towerBefore descending to the seaOf battle on his battle eve.

Yea, touch'd her softly, as if she

Had been some priceless, tender flower,

Yet touch'd her as one taking leave

Of his one love in lofty tower

Before descending to the sea

Of battle on his battle eve.

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