XIX.

A distant shout! quick oaths! alarms!The black men start up suddenly,Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms,And bare bright arms all instantly.But he, he slowly turns, and heLooks all his full soul in her face.He does not shout, he does not say,But sits serenely in his placeA time, then slowly turns, looks backBetween the trim-bough'd tamarack,And up the winding mountain way,To where the long strong grasses lay.He raised his glass in his two hands,Then in his left hand let it fall,Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er,Then reach'd his glass, waved cold commands,Then tapp'd his stirrup as before,Stood in the stirrup stern and tall,Then ran his hand along the maneHalf 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 keelOn listless seas where breakers reel.He toss'd again his iron handAbove 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 steepThey 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 hazeThat shone like some vast sea ablaze,That seem'd to gleam, to glint, to glowAs if it mark'd the shores of hell.Then Morgan stood alone, look'd backFrom off the fierce wall where he stood,And watch'd his dusk approaching foe.He saw him creep along his track,Saw him descending from the wood,And smiled to see how worn and slow.Then when his foemen hounding cameIn 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 aloudDefiance like a stormy flood,And shouted, "Vasques!" called his name,And dared him to the desert flame.

A distant shout! quick oaths! alarms!The black men start up suddenly,Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms,And bare bright arms all instantly.

A distant shout! quick oaths! alarms!

The black men start up suddenly,

Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms,

And bare bright arms all instantly.

But he, he slowly turns, and heLooks all his full soul in her face.He does not shout, he does not say,But sits serenely in his placeA time, then slowly turns, looks backBetween the trim-bough'd tamarack,And up the winding mountain way,To where the long strong grasses lay.

But he, he slowly turns, and he

Looks all his full soul in her face.

He does not shout, he does not say,

But sits serenely in his place

A time, then slowly turns, looks back

Between the trim-bough'd tamarack,

And up the winding mountain way,

To where the long strong grasses lay.

He raised his glass in his two hands,Then in his left hand let it fall,Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er,Then reach'd his glass, waved cold commands,Then tapp'd his stirrup as before,Stood in the stirrup stern and tall,Then ran his hand along the maneHalf nervous-like, and that was all.

He raised his glass in his two hands,

Then in his left hand let it fall,

Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er,

Then reach'd his glass, waved cold commands,

Then tapp'd his stirrup as before,

Stood in the stirrup stern and tall,

Then ran his hand along the mane

Half nervous-like, and that was all.

His head half settled on his breast,His face a-beard like bird a-nest,And then he roused himself, he spoke,He reach'd an arm like arm of oak,He struck a-west his great broad hand,And seem'd to hurl his hot command.

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 keelOn listless seas where breakers reel.

He clutch'd his rein, struck sharp his heel,

Look'd at his men, and smiled half sad,

Half desperate, then hitch'd his steel,

And all his stormy presence had,

As if he kept once more his keel

On listless seas where breakers reel.

He toss'd again his iron handAbove the deep, steep desert space,Above the burning seas of sand,And look'd his black men in the face.

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 steepThey dropped toward the dried-up deep.

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 hazeThat shone like some vast sea ablaze,That seem'd to gleam, to glint, to glowAs if it mark'd the shores of hell.

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 backFrom off the fierce wall where he stood,And watch'd his dusk approaching foe.He saw him creep along his track,Saw him descending from the wood,And smiled to see how worn and slow.

Then Morgan stood alone, look'd back

From off the fierce wall where he stood,

And watch'd his dusk approaching foe.

He saw him creep along his track,

Saw him descending from the wood,

And smiled to see how worn and slow.

Then when his foemen hounding cameIn 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 aloudDefiance like a stormy flood,And shouted, "Vasques!" called his name,And dared him to the desert flame.

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.

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 holdControl of his one wild desireTo meet old Morgan, in his ire.He cursed aloud, he shook his reinAbove the desert darkling deep,And urged his steed toward the steep,But urged his weary steed in vain.Old Morgan heard his oath and shout,And Morgan turn'd his head once more,And wheel'd his stout steed short about,Then seem'd to count their numbers o'er.And then his right hand touch'd his steel,And then he tapp'd his iron heelAnd seem'd to fight with thought.At last,As if the final die was cast,And cast as carelessly as oneWould toss a white coin in the sun,He touch'd his rein once more, and thenHis pistol laid with idle heedProne down the toss'd mane of his steed,And he rode down the rugged wayTow'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 crazedFrom mountain fruits that he had pluck'dWhile winding through the wooded waysAbove the steep.But others sayThat he had turn'd aside and suck'dSweet poison from the honey dewsThat lie like manna all the dayOn dewy leaves so crystal fairAnd temptingly that none refuse;That thus made mad the man did dareConfront the desert and despair.Then other mountain men explain,That when one looks upon this seaOf glowing sand, he looks again,Again, through gossamers that runIn scintillations of the sunAlong this white eternity,And looks until the brain is dazed,Bewilder'd, and the man is crazed.Then one, a grizzled mountaineer,A thin and sinewy old man,With face all wrinkle-wrought, and tan,And presence silent and austere,Does tell a tale, with reaching faceAnd bated breath, of this weird place,Of many a stalwart mountaineerAnd Piute tall who perish'd here.He tells a tale with whisper'd breathOf 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 downThrough 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 hairWhen he is done, and shuts his eyes,So satisfied and so self-wise,As if to say, "'Tis nothing rare,This following the luring fairTo death, and bound in thorny thong;'Twas ever thus; the old, old song."

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 reinAbove the desert darkling deep,And urged his steed toward the steep,But urged his weary steed in vain.

He cursed aloud, he shook his rein

Above the desert darkling deep,

And urged his steed toward the steep,

But urged his weary steed in vain.

Old Morgan heard his oath and shout,And Morgan turn'd his head once more,And wheel'd his stout steed short about,Then seem'd to count their numbers o'er.

Old Morgan heard his oath and shout,

And Morgan turn'd his head once more,

And wheel'd his stout steed short about,

Then seem'd to count their numbers o'er.

And then his right hand touch'd his steel,And then he tapp'd his iron heelAnd seem'd to fight with thought.At last,As if the final die was cast,And cast as carelessly as oneWould toss a white coin in the sun,He touch'd his rein once more, and thenHis pistol laid with idle heedProne down the toss'd mane of his steed,And he rode down the rugged wayTow'rd where the wide, white desert lay,By broken gorge and cavern'd den,And join'd his band of midnight men.

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 crazedFrom mountain fruits that he had pluck'dWhile winding through the wooded waysAbove the steep.But others sayThat he had turn'd aside and suck'dSweet poison from the honey dewsThat lie like manna all the dayOn dewy leaves so crystal fairAnd temptingly that none refuse;That thus made mad the man did dareConfront the desert and despair.

Some say the gray old man had crazed

From mountain fruits that he had pluck'd

While winding through the wooded ways

Above the steep.

But others say

That he had turn'd aside and suck'd

Sweet poison from the honey dews

That lie like manna all the day

On dewy leaves so crystal fair

And temptingly that none refuse;

That thus made mad the man did dare

Confront the desert and despair.

Then other mountain men explain,That when one looks upon this seaOf glowing sand, he looks again,Again, through gossamers that runIn scintillations of the sunAlong this white eternity,And looks until the brain is dazed,Bewilder'd, and the man is crazed.

Then other mountain men explain,

That when one looks upon this sea

Of glowing sand, he looks again,

Again, through gossamers that run

In scintillations of the sun

Along this white eternity,

And looks until the brain is dazed,

Bewilder'd, and the man is crazed.

Then one, a grizzled mountaineer,A thin and sinewy old man,With face all wrinkle-wrought, and tan,And presence silent and austere,Does tell a tale, with reaching faceAnd bated breath, of this weird place,Of many a stalwart mountaineerAnd Piute tall who perish'd here.

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 breathOf 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 downThrough burning sands to certain death;And then he catches short his breath.

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 hairWhen he is done, and shuts his eyes,So satisfied and so self-wise,As if to say, "'Tis nothing rare,This following the luring fairTo death, and bound in thorny thong;'Twas ever thus; the old, old song."

He tells: Nay, this is all too long;

Enough. The old man shakes his hair

When he is done, and shuts his eyes,

So satisfied and so self-wise,

As if to say, "'Tis nothing rare,

This following the luring fair

To death, and bound in thorny thong;

'Twas ever thus; the old, old song."

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 throughIts wastes, and learn how limitless,How shoreless lie the distances,Before you come to question thisOr 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 blueAnd 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 fitAnd dignified is silence, whenYou hear the petty jeers of menWho point, and show their pointless wit.The vastness of that voiceless plain,Its awful solitudes remainThenceforth for aye a part of you,And you are of the favored few,For you have learn'd your littleness,And heed not names that name you less.Some silent red men cross your track;Some sun-tann'd trappers come and go;Some rolling seas of buffaloBreak thunder-like and far awayAgainst the foot-hills, breaking backLike breakers of some troubled bay;But not a voice the long, lone day.Some white-tail'd antelope blow bySo airy-like; some foxes shyAnd shadow-like shoot to and froLike weavers' shuttles, as you pass;And now and then from out the grassYou hear some lone bird cluck, and callA sharp keen call for her lost brood,That only makes the solitude,That mantles like some sombre pall,Seem deeper still, and that is all.A wide domain of mysteriesAnd signs that men misunderstand!A land of space and dreams; a landOf sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas!A land of caves and caravans,And lonely wells and pools;A landThat hath its purposes and plans,That seems so like dead Palestine,Save that its wastes have no confineTill push'd against the levell'd skies;A land from out whose depths shall riseThe new-time prophets.Yea, the landFrom out whose awful depths shall come,All clad in skins, with dusty feet,A man fresh from his Maker's hand,A singer singing oversweet,A charmer charming very wise;And then all men shall not be dumb.Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say,"Take heed, for I prepare the wayFor weary feet."Lo! from this landOf Jordan streams and sea-wash'd sand,The Christ shall come when next the raceOf man shall look upon his face.

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 blueAnd 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.

The solemn silence of that plain,

Where unmanned tempests ride and reign,

It awes and it possesses you.

'Tis, oh! so eloquent.

The blue

And bended skies seem built for it,

With rounded roof all fashioned fit,

And frescoed clouds, quaint-wrought and true;

While all else seems so far, so vain,

An idle tale but illy told,

Before this land so lone and old.

Its story is of God alone,For man has lived and gone away,And left but little heaps of stone,And all seems some long yesterday.

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 fitAnd dignified is silence, whenYou hear the petty jeers of menWho point, and show their pointless wit.

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 remainThenceforth for aye a part of you,And you are of the favored few,For you have learn'd your littleness,And heed not names that name you less.

The vastness of that voiceless plain,

Its awful solitudes remain

Thenceforth for aye a part of you,

And you are of the favored few,

For you have learn'd your littleness,

And heed not names that name you less.

Some silent red men cross your track;Some sun-tann'd trappers come and go;Some rolling seas of buffaloBreak thunder-like and far awayAgainst the foot-hills, breaking backLike breakers of some troubled bay;But not a voice the long, lone day.

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 bySo airy-like; some foxes shyAnd shadow-like shoot to and froLike weavers' shuttles, as you pass;And now and then from out the grassYou hear some lone bird cluck, and callA sharp keen call for her lost brood,That only makes the solitude,That mantles like some sombre pall,Seem deeper still, and that is all.

Some white-tail'd antelope blow by

So airy-like; some foxes shy

And shadow-like shoot to and fro

Like weavers' shuttles, as you pass;

And now and then from out the grass

You hear some lone bird cluck, and call

A sharp keen call for her lost brood,

That only makes the solitude,

That mantles like some sombre pall,

Seem deeper still, and that is all.

A wide domain of mysteriesAnd signs that men misunderstand!A land of space and dreams; a landOf sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas!

A wide domain of mysteries

And signs that men misunderstand!

A land of space and dreams; a land

Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas!

A land of caves and caravans,And lonely wells and pools;A landThat hath its purposes and plans,That seems so like dead Palestine,Save that its wastes have no confineTill push'd against the levell'd skies;A land from out whose depths shall riseThe new-time prophets.Yea, the landFrom out whose awful depths shall come,All clad in skins, with dusty feet,A man fresh from his Maker's hand,A singer singing oversweet,A charmer charming very wise;And then all men shall not be dumb.

A land of caves and caravans,

And lonely wells and pools;

A land

That hath its purposes and plans,

That seems so like dead Palestine,

Save that its wastes have no confine

Till push'd against the levell'd skies;

A land from out whose depths shall rise

The new-time prophets.

Yea, the land

From out whose awful depths shall come,

All clad in skins, with dusty feet,

A man fresh from his Maker's hand,

A singer singing oversweet,

A charmer charming very wise;

And then all men shall not be dumb.

Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say,"Take heed, for I prepare the wayFor weary feet."Lo! from this landOf Jordan streams and sea-wash'd sand,The Christ shall come when next the raceOf man shall look upon his face.

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.

Pursuer and pursued! who knowsThe why he left the breezy pine,The fragrant tamarack and vine,Red rose and precious yellow rose!Nay, Vasques held the vantage groundAbove 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 deepAnd lonesome deserts far profound,That know not sight of man, or sound.Hot Vasques stood upon the rim,High, bold, and fierce with crag and spire.He saw a far gray eagle swim,He saw a black hawk wheel, retire,And shun that desert wide a-wing,But saw no other living thing.High in the full sun's gold and flameHe halting and half waiting cameAnd stood below the belt of wood,Then moved along the broken hillAnd looked below.And long he stoodWith lips set firm and brow a-frown,And warring with his iron will.He mark'd the black line winding downAs if into the doors of death.And as he gazed a breath aroseAs from his far-retreating foes,So hot it almost took his breath.His black eye flashed an angry fire,He stood upon the mountain brow,With lifted arm like oaken bough;The hot pursuer halting stoodIrresolute, in nettled ire;Then look'd against the cooling wood,Then strode he sullen to and fro,Then turned and long he gazed below.The sands flash'd back like fields of snow,Like far blown seas that flood and flow.The while the rounded sky rose higher,And cleaving through the upper space,The flush'd sun settled to his place,Like some far hemisphere of fire.And yet again he gazed. And now,Far off and faint, he saw or guess'dHe saw, beyond the sands a-west,A dim and distant lifting beachThat daring men might dare and reach:Dim shapes of toppled peaks with pine,And water'd foot-hills dark like wine,And fruits on many a bended bough.The leader turn'd and shook his head."And shall we turn aside," he said,"Or dare this hell?" The men stood stillAs 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 plainFlash'd back like billows.Even nowHe saw rise up remote, 'mid sea,'Mid space, 'mid wastes, 'mid nothingness,A ship becalm'd as in distress.The dim sign pass'd as suddenly,A gossamer of golden tress,Thrown over some still middle sea,And then his eager eyes grew dazed,—He brought his two hands to his face.Again he raised his head, and gazedWith flashing eyes and visage fierceFar out, and resolute to pierceThe far, far, faint receding reachOf space and touch its farther beach.He saw but space, unbounded space;Eternal space and nothingness.Then all wax'd anger'd as they gazedFar out upon the shoreless land,And clench'd their doubled hands and raisedTheir long bare arms, but utter'd not.At last one started from the band,His bosom heaved as billows heave,Great heaving bosom, broad and brown:He raised his arm, push'd up his sleeve,Push'd bare his arm, strode up and down,With hat pushed back, and flushed and hot,And shot sharp oaths like cannon shot.Again the man stood still, againHe strode the height like hoary storm,Then shook his fists, and then his formDid 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 pierceThe awful depths that lay below.He had as well look'd on that seaThat keeps Samoa's coral islesAmid ten thousand watery miles,Bound round by one eternity;Bound round by realms of nothingness,In love with their own loneliness.He saw but space, unbounded space,And brought his brown hands to his face.There roll'd away to left, to right,Unbroken walls as black as night,And back of these there distant roseSteep cones of everlasting snows.At last he was resolved, his formSeem'd like a pine blown rampt with storm.He mounted, clutch'd his reins, and thenTurn'd sharp and savage to his men;And silent then led down the wayTo night that knows not night nor day.

Pursuer and pursued! who knowsThe why he left the breezy pine,The fragrant tamarack and vine,Red rose and precious yellow rose!

Pursuer and pursued! who knows

The why he left the breezy pine,

The fragrant tamarack and vine,

Red rose and precious yellow rose!

Nay, Vasques held the vantage groundAbove 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 deepAnd lonesome deserts far profound,That know not sight of man, or sound.

Nay, Vasques held the vantage ground

Above him by the wooded steep,

And right nor left no passage lay,

And there was left him but that way,—

The way through blood, or to the deep

And lonesome deserts far profound,

That know not sight of man, or sound.

Hot Vasques stood upon the rim,High, bold, and fierce with crag and spire.He saw a far gray eagle swim,He saw a black hawk wheel, retire,And shun that desert wide a-wing,But saw no other living thing.

Hot Vasques stood upon the rim,

High, bold, and fierce with crag and spire.

He saw a far gray eagle swim,

He saw a black hawk wheel, retire,

And shun that desert wide a-wing,

But saw no other living thing.

High in the full sun's gold and flameHe halting and half waiting cameAnd stood below the belt of wood,Then moved along the broken hillAnd looked below.And long he stoodWith lips set firm and brow a-frown,And warring with his iron will.He mark'd the black line winding downAs if into the doors of death.And as he gazed a breath aroseAs from his far-retreating foes,So hot it almost took his breath.

High in the full sun's gold and flame

He halting and half waiting came

And stood below the belt of wood,

Then moved along the broken hill

And looked below.

And long he stood

With lips set firm and brow a-frown,

And warring with his iron will.

He mark'd the black line winding down

As if into the doors of death.

And as he gazed a breath arose

As from his far-retreating foes,

So hot it almost took his breath.

His black eye flashed an angry fire,He stood upon the mountain brow,With lifted arm like oaken bough;The hot pursuer halting stoodIrresolute, in nettled ire;Then look'd against the cooling wood,Then strode he sullen to and fro,Then turned and long he gazed below.

His black eye flashed an angry fire,

He stood upon the mountain brow,

With lifted arm like oaken bough;

The hot pursuer halting stood

Irresolute, in nettled ire;

Then look'd against the cooling wood,

Then strode he sullen to and fro,

Then turned and long he gazed below.

The sands flash'd back like fields of snow,Like far blown seas that flood and flow.The while the rounded sky rose higher,And cleaving through the upper space,The flush'd sun settled to his place,Like some far hemisphere of fire.

The sands flash'd back like fields of snow,

Like far blown seas that flood and flow.

The while the rounded sky rose higher,

And cleaving through the upper space,

The flush'd sun settled to his place,

Like some far hemisphere of fire.

And yet again he gazed. And now,Far off and faint, he saw or guess'dHe saw, beyond the sands a-west,A dim and distant lifting beachThat daring men might dare and reach:Dim shapes of toppled peaks with pine,And water'd foot-hills dark like wine,And fruits on many a bended bough.

And yet again he gazed. And now,

Far off and faint, he saw or guess'd

He saw, beyond the sands a-west,

A dim and distant lifting beach

That daring men might dare and reach:

Dim shapes of toppled peaks with pine,

And water'd foot-hills dark like wine,

And fruits on many a bended bough.

The leader turn'd and shook his head."And shall we turn aside," he said,"Or dare this hell?" The men stood stillAs leaning on his sterner will.

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 plainFlash'd back like billows.Even nowHe saw rise up remote, 'mid sea,'Mid space, 'mid wastes, 'mid nothingness,A ship becalm'd as in distress.

And then he stopp'd and turn'd again,

And held his broad hand to his brow,

And looked intent and eagerly.

The far white levels of the plain

Flash'd back like billows.

Even now

He saw rise up remote, 'mid sea,

'Mid space, 'mid wastes, 'mid nothingness,

A ship becalm'd as in distress.

The dim sign pass'd as suddenly,A gossamer of golden tress,Thrown over some still middle sea,And then his eager eyes grew dazed,—He brought his two hands to his face.Again he raised his head, and gazedWith flashing eyes and visage fierceFar out, and resolute to pierceThe far, far, faint receding reachOf space and touch its farther beach.He saw but space, unbounded space;Eternal space and nothingness.

The dim sign pass'd as suddenly,

A gossamer of golden tress,

Thrown over some still middle sea,

And then his eager eyes grew dazed,—

He brought his two hands to his face.

Again he raised his head, and gazed

With flashing eyes and visage fierce

Far out, and resolute to pierce

The far, far, faint receding reach

Of space and touch its farther beach.

He saw but space, unbounded space;

Eternal space and nothingness.

Then all wax'd anger'd as they gazedFar out upon the shoreless land,And clench'd their doubled hands and raisedTheir long bare arms, but utter'd not.At last one started from the band,His bosom heaved as billows heave,Great heaving bosom, broad and brown:He raised his arm, push'd up his sleeve,Push'd bare his arm, strode up and down,With hat pushed back, and flushed and hot,And shot sharp oaths like cannon shot.

Then all wax'd anger'd as they gazed

Far out upon the shoreless land,

And clench'd their doubled hands and raised

Their long bare arms, but utter'd not.

At last one started from the band,

His bosom heaved as billows heave,

Great heaving bosom, broad and brown:

He raised his arm, push'd up his sleeve,

Push'd bare his arm, strode up and down,

With hat pushed back, and flushed and hot,

And shot sharp oaths like cannon shot.

Again the man stood still, againHe strode the height like hoary storm,Then shook his fists, and then his formDid writhe as if it writhed with pain.

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 pierceThe awful depths that lay below.

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 seaThat keeps Samoa's coral islesAmid ten thousand watery miles,Bound round by one eternity;Bound round by realms of nothingness,In love with their own loneliness.He saw but space, unbounded space,And brought his brown hands to his face.

He had as well look'd on that sea

That keeps Samoa's coral isles

Amid ten thousand watery miles,

Bound round by one eternity;

Bound round by realms of nothingness,

In love with their own loneliness.

He saw but space, unbounded space,

And brought his brown hands to his face.

There roll'd away to left, to right,Unbroken walls as black as night,And back of these there distant roseSteep cones of everlasting snows.

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 formSeem'd like a pine blown rampt with storm.He mounted, clutch'd his reins, and thenTurn'd sharp and savage to his men;And silent then led down the wayTo night that knows not night nor day.

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.

Like some great serpent black and still,Old Morgan's men stole down the hill.Far down the steep they wound and woundUntil the black line touched that landOf gleaming white and silver sandThat knows not human sight or sound.How broken plunged the steep descent;How barren! Desolate, and rentBy 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 dreamedIn eons ere they touched this land,And found their proud souls foot and handBound to the flesh and stung with pain.An ugly skeleton it seem'dOf its own self. The fiery rainOf red volcanoes here had sownThe 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 strownWith cinders, lo! the dead earth layAs 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 bluffThat lifted, from its sea-mark'd base,Great walls with characters cut roughAnd deep by some long-perish'd race;And lo! strange beasts unnamed, unknown,Stood hewn and limn'd upon the stone.The iron hoofs sank here and there,Plough'd deep in ashes, broke anewOld broken idols, and laid bareOld bits of vessels that had grown,As countless ages cycled through,Imbedded with the common stone.A mournful land as land can beBeneath their feet in ashes lay,Beside that dread and dried-up sea;A city older than that grayAnd grass-grown tower builded whenConfusion cursed the tongues of men.Beneath, before, a city layThat in her majesty had shamedThe wolf-nursed conqueror of old;Below, before, and far awayThere reach'd the white arm of a bay,A broad bay shrunk to sand and stone,Where ships had rode and breakers roll'dWhen Babylon was yet unnamed,And Nimrod's hunting-fields unknown.Some serpents slid from out the grassThat grew in tufts by shatter'd stone,Then hid beneath some broken massThat Time had eaten as a boneIs eaten by some savage beast;An everlasting palace feast.A dull-eyed rattlesnake that layAll 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 creptFlat-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 massOf brown, burnt cactus ruled the land,And topt the hillocks of hot sand,Where scarce the hornèd toad could pass.Then stunted sage on either hand,All loud with odors, spread the land.The sun rose right above, and fellAs falling molten as they pass'd.Some low-built junipers at last,The last that o'er the desert look'd,Thick-bough'd, and black as shapes of hellWhere dumb owls sat with bent bills hook'dBeneath their wings awaiting night,Rose up, then faded from the sight:Then not another living thingCrept 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 swimAlong thy gleaming waste of sandsAnd shoreless limits of dead lands?Dread Azteckee! Dead Azteckee!White place of ghosts, give up thy dead:Give back to Time thy buried hosts!The new world's tawny Ishmaelite,The roving tent-born Shoshonee,Who shuns thy shores as death, at night,Because thou art so white, so dread,Because thou art so ghostly white,Because thou hast thy buried hosts,Has named thy shores "the place of ghosts."Thy white uncertain sands are whiteWith bones of thy unburied deadThat will not perish from the sight.They drown but perish not,—ah me!What dread unsightly sights are spreadAlong this lonesome dried-up sea.White Azteckee, give up to meOf all thy prison'd dead but one,That now lies bleaching in the sun,To tell what strange allurements lieWithin this dried-up oldest sea,To tempt men to its heart and die.Old, hoar, and dried-up sea! so old!So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold!Yea, thou art old and hoary whiteWith time, and ruin of all things;And on thy lonesome borders nightSits brooding as with wounded wings.The winds that toss'd thy waves and blewAcross thy breast the blowing sail,And cheer'd the hearts of cheering crewFrom farther seas, no more prevail.Thy white-wall'd cities all lie prone,With but a pyramid, a stone,Set head and foot in sands to tellThe tired stranger where they fell.The patient ox that bended lowHis neck, and drew slow up and downThy thousand freights through rock-built townIs now the free-born buffalo.No longer of the timid fold,The mountain sheep leaps free and boldHis high-built summit and looks downFrom battlements of buried town.Thine ancient steeds know not the rein;They lord the land; they come, they goAt will; they laugh at man; they blowA 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 sandsOf awful, silent Africa.Long gazing on her mighty shades,I did recall a semblance thereOf thee. I mused where story fadesFrom her dark brow and found her fair.A slave, and old, within her veinsThere runs that warm, forbidden bloodThat no man dares to dignifyIn elevated song.The chainsThat held her race but yesterdayHold still the hands of men. ForbidIs Ethiop.The turbid floodOf prejudice lies stagnant still,And all the world is tainted. WillAnd wit lie broken as a lanceAgainst the brazen mailed faceOf old opinion.None advanceSteel-clad and glad to the attack,With trumpet and with song. Look back!Beneath yon pyramids lie hidThe 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 kingsNew-born and known but yesterday,And Norman blood presumes to say....Nay, ye who boast ancestral nameAnd vaunt deeds dignified by timeMust not despise her.Who hath wornSince time began a face that isSo all-enduring, old like this—A face like Africa's?Behold!The Sphinx is Africa. The bondOf silence is upon her.OldAnd 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-tombOf Time; beyond tradition, loomAnd lift ghostlike from out the gloomHer thousand cities, battle-tornAnd gray with story and with time.Her very ruins are sublime,Her thrones with mosses overborneMake velvets for the feet of Time.She points a hand and cries: "Go readThe letter'd obelisks that lordOld Rome, and know my name and deed.My archives these, and plunder'd whenI had grown weary of all men."We turn to these; we cry: "Abhorr'dOld Sphinx, behold, we cannot read!"And yet my dried-up desert seaWas populous with blowing sail,And set with city, white-wall'd town,All mann'd with armies bright with mail,Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat downTo gaze into eternity,Or Egypt knew her natal hour,Or Africa had name or power.

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 rentBy earthquake's shock, the land lay dead,With dust and ashes on its head.

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 dreamedIn eons ere they touched this land,And found their proud souls foot and handBound to the flesh and stung with pain.An ugly skeleton it seem'dOf its own self. The fiery rainOf red volcanoes here had sownThe death of cities of the plain.

'Twas as some old world overthrown,

Where Theseus fought and Sappho dreamed

In eons ere they touched this land,

And found their proud souls foot and hand

Bound to the flesh and stung with pain.

An ugly skeleton it seem'd

Of its own self. The fiery rain

Of red volcanoes here had sown

The death of cities of the plain.

The very devastation gleamed.All burnt and black, and rent and seam'd,Ay, vanquished quite and overthrown,And torn with thunder-stroke, and strownWith cinders, lo! the dead earth layAs waiting for the judgment day.

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."

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 bluffThat lifted, from its sea-mark'd base,Great walls with characters cut roughAnd deep by some long-perish'd race;And lo! strange beasts unnamed, unknown,Stood hewn and limn'd upon the stone.

They wound below a savage bluff

That lifted, from its sea-mark'd base,

Great walls with characters cut rough

And deep by some long-perish'd race;

And lo! strange beasts unnamed, unknown,

Stood hewn and limn'd upon the stone.

The iron hoofs sank here and there,Plough'd deep in ashes, broke anewOld broken idols, and laid bareOld bits of vessels that had grown,As countless ages cycled through,Imbedded with the common 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 beBeneath their feet in ashes lay,Beside that dread and dried-up sea;A city older than that grayAnd grass-grown tower builded whenConfusion cursed the tongues of men.

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 layThat in her majesty had shamedThe wolf-nursed conqueror of old;Below, before, and far awayThere reach'd the white arm of a bay,A broad bay shrunk to sand and stone,Where ships had rode and breakers roll'dWhen Babylon was yet unnamed,And Nimrod's hunting-fields unknown.

Beneath, before, a city lay

That in her majesty had shamed

The wolf-nursed conqueror of old;

Below, before, and far away

There reach'd the white arm of a bay,

A broad bay shrunk to sand and stone,

Where ships had rode and breakers roll'd

When Babylon was yet unnamed,

And Nimrod's hunting-fields unknown.

Some serpents slid from out the grassThat grew in tufts by shatter'd stone,Then hid beneath some broken massThat Time had eaten as a boneIs eaten by some savage beast;An everlasting palace feast.

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 layAll 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 creptFlat-bellied down the dusty way ...'Twas all the dead land had to say.

A dull-eyed rattlesnake that lay

All loathsome, yellow-skinn'd, and slept,

Coil'd tight as pine-knot, in the sun,

With flat head through the centre run,

Struck blindly back, then rattling crept

Flat-bellied down the dusty way ...

'Twas all the dead land had to say.

Two pink-eyed hawks, wide-wing'd and gray,Scream'd savagely, and, circling high,And screaming still in mad dismay,Grew dim and died against the sky ...'Twas all the heavens had to say.

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 massOf brown, burnt cactus ruled the land,And topt the hillocks of hot sand,Where scarce the hornèd toad could pass.Then stunted sage on either hand,All loud with odors, spread the land.

The grasses fail'd, and then a mass

Of brown, burnt cactus ruled the land,

And topt the hillocks of hot sand,

Where scarce the hornèd toad could pass.

Then stunted sage on either hand,

All loud with odors, spread the land.

The sun rose right above, and fellAs falling molten as they pass'd.Some low-built junipers at last,The last that o'er the desert look'd,Thick-bough'd, and black as shapes of hellWhere dumb owls sat with bent bills hook'dBeneath their wings awaiting night,Rose up, then faded from the sight:Then not another living thingCrept on the sand or kept the wing.

The sun rose right above, and fell

As falling molten as they pass'd.

Some low-built junipers at last,

The last that o'er the desert look'd,

Thick-bough'd, and black as shapes of hell

Where dumb owls sat with bent bills hook'd

Beneath their wings awaiting night,

Rose up, then faded from the sight:

Then not another living thing

Crept on the sand or kept the wing.

White Azteckee! Dead Azteckee!Vast sepulchre of buried sea!What dim ghosts hover on thy rim,What stately-manner'd shadows swimAlong thy gleaming waste of sandsAnd shoreless limits of dead lands?

White Azteckee! Dead Azteckee!

Vast sepulchre of buried sea!

What dim ghosts hover on thy rim,

What stately-manner'd shadows swim

Along thy gleaming waste of sands

And shoreless limits of dead lands?

Dread Azteckee! Dead Azteckee!White place of ghosts, give up thy dead:Give back to Time thy buried hosts!The new world's tawny Ishmaelite,The roving tent-born Shoshonee,Who shuns thy shores as death, at night,Because thou art so white, so dread,Because thou art so ghostly white,Because thou hast thy buried hosts,Has named thy shores "the place of ghosts."

Dread Azteckee! Dead Azteckee!

White place of ghosts, give up thy dead:

Give back to Time thy buried hosts!

The new world's tawny Ishmaelite,

The roving tent-born Shoshonee,

Who shuns thy shores as death, at night,

Because thou art so white, so dread,

Because thou art so ghostly white,

Because thou hast thy buried hosts,

Has named thy shores "the place of ghosts."

Thy white uncertain sands are whiteWith bones of thy unburied deadThat will not perish from the sight.They drown but perish not,—ah me!What dread unsightly sights are spreadAlong this lonesome dried-up sea.

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 meOf all thy prison'd dead but one,That now lies bleaching in the sun,To tell what strange allurements lieWithin this dried-up oldest sea,To tempt men to its heart and die.

White Azteckee, give up to me

Of all thy prison'd dead but one,

That now lies bleaching in the sun,

To tell what strange allurements lie

Within this dried-up oldest sea,

To tempt men to its heart and die.

Old, hoar, and dried-up sea! so old!So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold!Yea, thou art old and hoary whiteWith time, and ruin of all things;And on thy lonesome borders nightSits brooding as with wounded wings.

Old, hoar, and dried-up sea! so old!

So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold!

Yea, thou art old and hoary white

With time, and ruin of all things;

And on thy lonesome borders night

Sits brooding as with wounded wings.

The winds that toss'd thy waves and blewAcross thy breast the blowing sail,And cheer'd the hearts of cheering crewFrom farther seas, no more prevail.

The winds that toss'd thy waves and blew

Across thy breast the blowing sail,

And cheer'd the hearts of cheering crew

From farther seas, no more prevail.

Thy white-wall'd cities all lie prone,With but a pyramid, a stone,Set head and foot in sands to tellThe tired stranger where they fell.

Thy white-wall'd cities all lie prone,

With but a pyramid, a stone,

Set head and foot in sands to tell

The tired stranger where they fell.

The patient ox that bended lowHis neck, and drew slow up and downThy thousand freights through rock-built townIs now the free-born buffalo.

The patient ox that bended low

His neck, and drew slow up and down

Thy thousand freights through rock-built town

Is now the free-born buffalo.

No longer of the timid fold,The mountain sheep leaps free and boldHis high-built summit and looks downFrom battlements of buried town.

No longer of the timid fold,

The mountain sheep leaps free and bold

His high-built summit and looks down

From battlements of buried town.

Thine ancient steeds know not the rein;They lord the land; they come, they goAt will; they laugh at man; they blowA cloud of black steeds o'er the plain.

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.

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 sandsOf awful, silent Africa.

O! thou art very old. I lay,

Made dumb with awe and wonderment,

Beneath a palm before my tent,

With idle and discouraged hands,

Not many days agone, on sands

Of awful, silent Africa.

Long gazing on her mighty shades,I did recall a semblance thereOf thee. I mused where story fadesFrom her dark brow and found her fair.

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 veinsThere runs that warm, forbidden bloodThat no man dares to dignifyIn elevated song.

A slave, and old, within her veins

There runs that warm, forbidden blood

That no man dares to dignify

In elevated song.

The chainsThat held her race but yesterdayHold still the hands of men. ForbidIs Ethiop.

The chains

That held her race but yesterday

Hold still the hands of men. Forbid

Is Ethiop.

The turbid floodOf prejudice lies stagnant still,And all the world is tainted. WillAnd wit lie broken as a lanceAgainst the brazen mailed faceOf old opinion.

The turbid flood

Of prejudice lies stagnant still,

And all the world is tainted. Will

And wit lie broken as a lance

Against the brazen mailed face

Of old opinion.

None advanceSteel-clad and glad to the attack,With trumpet and with song. Look back!Beneath yon pyramids lie hidThe histories of her great race.Old Nilus rolls right sullen by,With all his secrets.

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 kingsNew-born and known but yesterday,And Norman blood presumes to say....

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 nameAnd vaunt deeds dignified by timeMust not despise her.Who hath wornSince time began a face that isSo all-enduring, old like this—A face like Africa's?Behold!The Sphinx is Africa. The bondOf silence is upon her.OldAnd 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.

Nay, ye who boast ancestral name

And vaunt deeds dignified by time

Must not despise her.

Who hath worn

Since time began a face that is

So all-enduring, old like this—

A face like Africa's?

Behold!

The Sphinx is Africa. The bond

Of silence is upon her.

Old

And white with tombs, and rent and shorn;

With raiment wet with tears, and torn,

And trampled on, yet all untamed;

All naked now, yet not ashamed,—

The mistress of the young world's prime,

Whose obelisks still laugh at Time,

And lift to heaven her fair name,

Sleeps satisfied upon her fame.

Beyond the Sphinx, and still beyond,Beyond the tawny desert-tombOf Time; beyond tradition, loomAnd lift ghostlike from out the gloomHer thousand cities, battle-tornAnd gray with story and with time.Her very ruins are sublime,Her thrones with mosses overborneMake velvets for the feet of Time.

Beyond the Sphinx, and still beyond,

Beyond the tawny desert-tomb

Of Time; beyond tradition, loom

And lift ghostlike from out the gloom

Her thousand cities, battle-torn

And gray with story and with time.

Her very ruins are sublime,

Her thrones with mosses overborne

Make velvets for the feet of Time.

She points a hand and cries: "Go readThe letter'd obelisks that lordOld Rome, and know my name and deed.My archives these, and plunder'd whenI had grown weary of all men."We turn to these; we cry: "Abhorr'dOld Sphinx, behold, we cannot read!"

She points a hand and cries: "Go read

The letter'd obelisks that lord

Old Rome, and know my name and deed.

My archives these, and plunder'd when

I had grown weary of all men."

We turn to these; we cry: "Abhorr'd

Old Sphinx, behold, we cannot read!"

And yet my dried-up desert seaWas populous with blowing sail,And set with city, white-wall'd town,All mann'd with armies bright with mail,Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat downTo gaze into eternity,Or Egypt knew her natal hour,Or Africa had name or power.

And yet my dried-up desert sea

Was populous with blowing sail,

And set with city, white-wall'd town,

All mann'd with armies bright with mail,

Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat down

To gaze into eternity,

Or Egypt knew her natal hour,

Or Africa had name or power.

Away upon the sandy seas,The gleaming, burning, boundless plain.How solemn-like, how still, as whenThe mighty-minded GenoeseDrew three tall ships and led his menFrom land they might not meet again.The black men rode in front by two,The fair one follow'd close, and keptHer face held down as if she wept;But Morgan kept the rear, and threwHis flowing, swaying beard abackAnon along their lonesome track.They rode against the level sun,And spake not he or any one.The weary day fell down to rest,A star upon his mantled breast,Ere scarce the sun fell out of space,And Venus glimmer'd in his place.Yea, all the stars shone just as fair,And constellations kept their round,And look'd from out the great profound,And marched, and countermarch'd, and shoneUpon that desolation there,Why just the same as if proud manStrode up and down array'd in goldAnd purple as in days of old,And reckon'd all of his own plan,Or made at least for man aloneAnd 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 layTo 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 sandLay down before them where they pass'd,—A broken beam, half-buried mast,A spar or bar, such as might beBlown crosswise, tumbled on the strandOf some sail-crowded stormy sea.

Away upon the sandy seas,The gleaming, burning, boundless plain.How solemn-like, how still, as whenThe mighty-minded GenoeseDrew three tall ships and led his menFrom land they might not meet again.

Away upon the sandy seas,

The gleaming, burning, boundless plain.

How solemn-like, how still, as when

The mighty-minded Genoese

Drew three tall ships and led his men

From land they might not meet again.

The black men rode in front by two,The fair one follow'd close, and keptHer face held down as if she wept;But Morgan kept the rear, and threwHis flowing, swaying beard abackAnon along their lonesome track.

The black men rode in front by two,

The fair one follow'd close, and kept

Her face held down as if she wept;

But Morgan kept the rear, and threw

His flowing, swaying beard aback

Anon along their lonesome track.

They rode against the level sun,And spake not he or any one.

They rode against the level sun,

And spake not he or any one.

The weary day fell down to rest,A star upon his mantled breast,Ere scarce the sun fell out of space,And Venus glimmer'd in his place.

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 shoneUpon that desolation there,Why just the same as if proud manStrode up and down array'd in goldAnd purple as in days of old,And reckon'd all of his own plan,Or made at least for man aloneAnd man's dominion from a throne.

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 layTo right, to left, and in his way,Strange objects looming in the dark,Some like a mast, or ark, or bark.

Yet on push'd Morgan silently,

And straight as strong ship on a sea;

And ever as he rode there lay

To right, to left, and in his way,

Strange objects looming in the dark,

Some like a mast, or ark, or bark.

And things half hidden in the sandLay down before them where they pass'd,—A broken beam, half-buried mast,A spar or bar, such as might beBlown crosswise, tumbled on the strandOf some sail-crowded stormy sea.

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.

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 oneDid look, and lift his hand, and shadeHis 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 runSome splendid race through seas, and wonThe right to rest in salt flood bay,—And lay until the level sunUprose, 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 sightAs if blown out or born of night.It is enough, they turn; away!The sun is high, the sands are hotTo touch, and all the tawny plain,That glistens white with salt sea sand,Sinks white and open as they treadAnd trudge, with half-averted head,As if to swallow them amain.They look, as men look back to landWhen 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 slidWhite-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 chidHim back and check'd his tenderness;But when the black man turn'd his headHis poor mute friend had fallen dead.The very air hung white with heat,And white, and fair, and far awayA lifted, shining snow-shaft layAs if to mock their mad retreat.The white, salt sands beneath their feetDid 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 landThat sit their statue steeds upon.The men were silent as men dead.The sun hung centred overhead,Nor seem'd to move. It molten hungLike some great central burner swungFrom lofty beams with golden barsIn sacristy set round with stars.

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.

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 oneDid look, and lift his hand, and shadeHis brow and look, and look dismay'd.

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 runSome splendid race through seas, and wonThe right to rest in salt flood bay,—And lay until the level sunUprose, and then she fell away,As mists melt in the full of day.

Lo! looming up before the sun,

Before their eyes, yet far away,

A ship with many a tall mast lay,—

Lay resting, as if she had run

Some splendid race through seas, and won

The right to rest in salt flood bay,—

And lay until the level sun

Uprose, and then she fell away,

As mists melt in the full of day.

Old Morgan lifts his bony hand,He does not speak or make command,—Short time for wonder, doubt, delay;Dark objects sudden heave in sightAs if blown out or born of night.It is enough, they turn; away!

Old Morgan lifts his bony hand,

He does not speak or make command,—

Short time for wonder, doubt, delay;

Dark objects sudden heave in sight

As if blown out or born of night.

It is enough, they turn; away!

The sun is high, the sands are hotTo touch, and all the tawny plain,That glistens white with salt sea sand,Sinks white and open as they treadAnd trudge, with half-averted head,As if to swallow them amain.They look, as men look back to landWhen standing out to stormy sea,But still keep face and murmur not;Keep stern and still as destiny,Or iron king of Germany.

The sun is high, the sands are hot

To touch, and all the tawny plain,

That glistens white with salt sea sand,

Sinks white and open as they tread

And trudge, with half-averted head,

As if to swallow them amain.

They look, as men look back to land

When standing out to stormy sea,

But still keep face and murmur not;

Keep stern and still as destiny,

Or iron king of Germany.

It was a sight! A slim dog slidWhite-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 chidHim back and check'd his tenderness;But when the black man turn'd his headHis poor mute friend had fallen dead.

It was a sight! A slim dog slid

White-mouth'd and still along the sand,

The pleading picture of distress.

He stopp'd, leap'd up to lick a hand,

A hard black hand that sudden chid

Him back and check'd his tenderness;

But when the black man turn'd his head

His poor mute friend had fallen dead.

The very air hung white with heat,And white, and fair, and far awayA lifted, shining snow-shaft layAs if to mock their mad retreat.

The very air hung white with heat,

And white, and fair, and far away

A lifted, shining snow-shaft lay

As if to mock their mad retreat.

The white, salt sands beneath their feetDid 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 landThat sit their statue steeds upon.

The white, salt sands beneath their feet

Did make the black men loom as grand,

From out the lifting, heaving heat,

As they rode sternly on and on,

As any bronze men in the land

That sit their statue steeds upon.

The men were silent as men dead.The sun hung centred overhead,Nor seem'd to move. It molten hungLike some great central burner swungFrom lofty beams with golden barsIn sacristy set round with stars.

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.

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 foundThe man within a pistol-shot.He hail'd, but Morgan answer'd not,He hail'd, then came a feeble shot,And strangely, in that vastness there,It seem'd to scarcely fret the air,But fell down harmless anywhere.He fiercely hail'd; and then there fellA horse. And then a man fell down,And in the sea-sand seem'd to drown.Then Vasques cursed, but scarce could tellThe sound of his own voice, and allIn 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 threwThe 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 oneDid shine as if itself a sun.Then leaning backward from his place,He hurl'd them in his foemen's face,Then drew again, and so kept on,Till goblets, gold, and all were gone.Yea, strew'd them out upon the sandsAs men upon a frosty morn,In Mississippi's fertile lands,Hurl out great, yellow ears of cornTo hungry swine with hurried hands.

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 foundThe man within a pistol-shot.

Why, flame could hardly be more hot;

Yet on the mad pursuer came,

Across the gleaming yielding ground,

Right on, as if he fed on flame,

Right on until the mid-day found

The man within a pistol-shot.

He hail'd, but Morgan answer'd not,He hail'd, then came a feeble shot,And strangely, in that vastness there,It seem'd to scarcely fret the air,But fell down harmless anywhere.

He hail'd, but Morgan answer'd not,

He hail'd, then came a feeble shot,

And strangely, in that vastness there,

It seem'd to scarcely fret the air,

But fell down harmless anywhere.

He fiercely hail'd; and then there fellA horse. And then a man fell down,And in the sea-sand seem'd to drown.Then Vasques cursed, but scarce could tellThe sound of his own voice, and allIn mad confusion seem'd to fall.

He fiercely hail'd; and then there fell

A horse. And then a man fell down,

And in the sea-sand seem'd to drown.

Then Vasques cursed, but scarce could tell

The sound of his own voice, and all

In mad confusion seem'd to fall.

Yet on push'd Morgan, silent on,And as he rode he lean'd and drew,From his catenas, gold, and threwThe bright coins in the glaring sun.But Vasques did not heed a whit,He scarcely deign'd to scowl at it.

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 oneDid shine as if itself a sun.

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.

Then leaning backward from his place,

He hurl'd them in his foemen's face,

Then drew again, and so kept on,

Till goblets, gold, and all were gone.

Yea, strew'd them out upon the sandsAs men upon a frosty morn,In Mississippi's fertile lands,Hurl out great, yellow ears of cornTo hungry swine with hurried hands.

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.

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