XXVII.

Lo! still hot Vasques urges on,With flashing eye and flushing cheek.What would he have? what does he seek?He does not heed the gold a whit,He does not deign to look at it;But now his gleaming steel is drawn,And now he leans, would hail again,—He opes his swollen lips in vain.But look you! See! A lifted hand,And Vasques beckons his command.He cannot speak, he leans, and heBends low upon his saddle-bow.And now his blade drops to his knee,And now he falters, now comes on,And now his head is bended low;And now his rein, his steel, is gone;Now faint as any child is he,And now his steed sinks to the knee.

Lo! still hot Vasques urges on,

With flashing eye and flushing cheek.

What would he have? what does he seek?

He does not heed the gold a whit,

He does not deign to look at it;

But now his gleaming steel is drawn,

And now he leans, would hail again,—

He opes his swollen lips in vain.

But look you! See! A lifted hand,And Vasques beckons his command.He cannot speak, he leans, and heBends low upon his saddle-bow.And now his blade drops to his knee,And now he falters, now comes on,And now his head is bended low;And now his rein, his steel, is gone;Now faint as any child is he,And now his steed sinks to the knee.

But look you! See! A lifted hand,

And Vasques beckons his command.

He cannot speak, he leans, and he

Bends low upon his saddle-bow.

And now his blade drops to his knee,

And now he falters, now comes on,

And now his head is bended low;

And now his rein, his steel, is gone;

Now faint as any child is he,

And now his steed sinks to the knee.

The sun hung molten in mid space,Like some great star fix'd in its place.From out the gleaming spaces roseA sheen of gossamer and danced,As Morgan slow and still advancedBefore his far-receding foes.Right on and on the still black lineDrove straight through gleaming sand and shine,By spar and beam and mast and stray,And waif of sea and cast-away.The far peaks faded from their sight,The mountain walls fell down like night,And nothing now was to be seenSave but the dim sun hung in sheenOf fairy garments all blood-red,—The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead.A black man tumbled from his steed.He clutch'd in death the moving sands.He caught the round earth in his hands,He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim....The great sad mother did not heedHis hold, but pass'd right on from him,And ere he died grew far and dim.

The sun hung molten in mid space,Like some great star fix'd in its place.From out the gleaming spaces roseA sheen of gossamer and danced,As Morgan slow and still advancedBefore his far-receding foes.

The sun hung molten in mid space,

Like some great star fix'd in its place.

From out the gleaming spaces rose

A sheen of gossamer and danced,

As Morgan slow and still advanced

Before his far-receding foes.

Right on and on the still black lineDrove straight through gleaming sand and shine,By spar and beam and mast and stray,And waif of sea and cast-away.

Right on and on the still black line

Drove straight through gleaming sand and shine,

By spar and beam and mast and stray,

And waif of sea and cast-away.

The far peaks faded from their sight,The mountain walls fell down like night,And nothing now was to be seenSave but the dim sun hung in sheenOf fairy garments all blood-red,—The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead.

The far peaks faded from their sight,

The mountain walls fell down like night,

And nothing now was to be seen

Save but the dim sun hung in sheen

Of fairy garments all blood-red,—

The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead.

A black man tumbled from his steed.He clutch'd in death the moving sands.He caught the round earth in his hands,He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim....The great sad mother did not heedHis hold, but pass'd right on from him,And ere he died grew far and dim.

A black man tumbled from his steed.

He clutch'd in death the moving sands.

He caught the round earth in his hands,

He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim....

The great sad mother did not heed

His hold, but pass'd right on from him,

And ere he died grew far and dim.

The sun seem'd broken loose at last,And settled slowly to the west,Half hidden as he fell a-rest,Yet, like the flying Parthian, castHis keenest arrows as he pass'd.On, on, the black men slowly drewTheir length, like some great serpent throughThe sands, and left a hollow'd groove:They march'd, they scarcely seem'd to move.How patient in their muffled tread!How like the dead march of the dead!At last the slow black line was check'd,An instant only; now againIt moved, it falter'd now, and nowIt settled in its sandy bed,And steeds stood rooted to the plain.Then all stood still, and men somehowLook'd down and with averted head;Look'd down, nor dared look up, nor reck'dOf any thing, of ill or good,But bowed and stricken still they stood.Like some brave band that dared the fierceAnd bristled steel of gather'd host,These daring men had dared to pierceThis awful vastness, dead and gray.And now at last brought well at bayThey stood,—but each stood to his post;Each man an unencompassed host.Then one dismounted, waved a hand,'Twas Morgan's stern and still command.There fell a clash, like loosen'd chain,And men dismounting loosed the rein.Then every steed stood loosed and free;And some stepp'd slow and mute aside,And some sank to the sands and died,And some stood still as shadows be,And men stood gazing silently.

The sun seem'd broken loose at last,And settled slowly to the west,Half hidden as he fell a-rest,Yet, like the flying Parthian, castHis keenest arrows as he pass'd.

The sun seem'd broken loose at last,

And settled slowly to the west,

Half hidden as he fell a-rest,

Yet, like the flying Parthian, cast

His keenest arrows as he pass'd.

On, on, the black men slowly drewTheir length, like some great serpent throughThe sands, and left a hollow'd groove:They march'd, they scarcely seem'd to move.How patient in their muffled tread!How like the dead march of the dead!

On, on, the black men slowly drew

Their length, like some great serpent through

The sands, and left a hollow'd groove:

They march'd, they scarcely seem'd to move.

How patient in their muffled tread!

How like the dead march of the dead!

At last the slow black line was check'd,An instant only; now againIt moved, it falter'd now, and nowIt settled in its sandy bed,And steeds stood rooted to the plain.Then all stood still, and men somehowLook'd down and with averted head;Look'd down, nor dared look up, nor reck'dOf any thing, of ill or good,But bowed and stricken still they stood.

At last the slow black line was check'd,

An instant only; now again

It moved, it falter'd now, and now

It settled in its sandy bed,

And steeds stood rooted to the plain.

Then all stood still, and men somehow

Look'd down and with averted head;

Look'd down, nor dared look up, nor reck'd

Of any thing, of ill or good,

But bowed and stricken still they stood.

Like some brave band that dared the fierceAnd bristled steel of gather'd host,These daring men had dared to pierceThis awful vastness, dead and gray.And now at last brought well at bayThey stood,—but each stood to his post;Each man an unencompassed host.

Like some brave band that dared the fierce

And bristled steel of gather'd host,

These daring men had dared to pierce

This awful vastness, dead and gray.

And now at last brought well at bay

They stood,—but each stood to his post;

Each man an unencompassed host.

Then one dismounted, waved a hand,'Twas Morgan's stern and still command.There fell a clash, like loosen'd chain,And men dismounting loosed the rein.

Then one dismounted, waved a hand,

'Twas Morgan's stern and still command.

There fell a clash, like loosen'd chain,

And men dismounting loosed the rein.

Then every steed stood loosed and free;And some stepp'd slow and mute aside,And some sank to the sands and died,And some stood still as shadows be,And men stood gazing silently.

Then every steed stood loosed and free;

And some stepp'd slow and mute aside,

And some sank to the sands and died,

And some stood still as shadows be,

And men stood gazing silently.

Old Morgan turn'd and raised his hand,And laid it level with his eyes,And look'd far back along the land.He saw a dark dust still uprise,Still surely tend to where he lay.He did not curse, he did not say,He did not even look surprise,But silent turned to her his eyes.Nay, he was over-gentle now,He wiped a time his Titan brow,Then sought dark Ina in her place,Put out his arms, put down his faceAnd look'd in hers.She reach'd her hands,She lean'd, she fell upon his breast;He reach'd his arms around; she layAs lies a bird in leafy nest.And he look'd out across the sands,And then his face fell down, he smiled,And softly said, "My child, my child!"Then bent his head and strode away.And as he strode he turn'd his head,He sidewise cast his brief commands;He led right on across the sands.They rose and follow'd where he led.

Old Morgan turn'd and raised his hand,

And laid it level with his eyes,

And look'd far back along the land.

He saw a dark dust still uprise,

Still surely tend to where he lay.

He did not curse, he did not say,

He did not even look surprise,

But silent turned to her his eyes.

Nay, he was over-gentle now,He wiped a time his Titan brow,Then sought dark Ina in her place,Put out his arms, put down his faceAnd look'd in hers.

Nay, he was over-gentle now,

He wiped a time his Titan brow,

Then sought dark Ina in her place,

Put out his arms, put down his face

And look'd in hers.

She reach'd her hands,She lean'd, she fell upon his breast;He reach'd his arms around; she layAs lies a bird in leafy nest.And he look'd out across the sands,And then his face fell down, he smiled,And softly said, "My child, my child!"Then bent his head and strode away.

She reach'd her hands,

She lean'd, she fell upon his breast;

He reach'd his arms around; she lay

As lies a bird in leafy nest.

And he look'd out across the sands,

And then his face fell down, he smiled,

And softly said, "My child, my child!"

Then bent his head and strode away.

And as he strode he turn'd his head,He sidewise cast his brief commands;He led right on across the sands.They rose and follow'd where he led.

And as he strode he turn'd his head,

He sidewise cast his brief commands;

He led right on across the sands.

They rose and follow'd where he led.

'Twas so like night, the sun was dim,Some black men settled down to rest,But none made murmur or request.The dead were dead, and that were best;The living leaning follow'd him,In huddled heaps, half nude, and grim.The day through high mid-heaven rodeAcross the sky, the dim red day;Awest the warlike day-god strodeWith shoulder'd shield away, away.The savage, warlike day bent low,As reapers bend in gathering grain,As archer bending bends yew bow,And flush'd and fretted as in pain.Then down his shoulder slid his shield,So huge, so awful, so blood-redAnd batter'd as from battle-field:It settled, sunk to his left hand,Sunk down and down, it touch'd the sand,Then day along the land lay dead,Without one candle at his head.

'Twas so like night, the sun was dim,

Some black men settled down to rest,

But none made murmur or request.

The dead were dead, and that were best;

The living leaning follow'd him,

In huddled heaps, half nude, and grim.

The day through high mid-heaven rodeAcross the sky, the dim red day;Awest the warlike day-god strodeWith shoulder'd shield away, away.

The day through high mid-heaven rode

Across the sky, the dim red day;

Awest the warlike day-god strode

With shoulder'd shield away, away.

The savage, warlike day bent low,As reapers bend in gathering grain,As archer bending bends yew bow,And flush'd and fretted as in pain.

The savage, warlike day bent low,

As reapers bend in gathering grain,

As archer bending bends yew bow,

And flush'd and fretted as in pain.

Then down his shoulder slid his shield,So huge, so awful, so blood-redAnd batter'd as from battle-field:It settled, sunk to his left hand,Sunk down and down, it touch'd the sand,Then day along the land lay dead,Without one candle at his head.

Then down his shoulder slid his shield,

So huge, so awful, so blood-red

And batter'd as from battle-field:

It settled, sunk to his left hand,

Sunk down and down, it touch'd the sand,

Then day along the land lay dead,

Without one candle at his head.

And now the moon wheel'd white and vast,A round, unbroken, marbled moon,And touch'd the far bright buttes of snow,Then climb'd their shoulders over soon;And there she seem'd to sit at last,To hang, to hover there, to grow,Grow vaster than vast peaks of snow.Grow whiter than the snow's own breast,Grow softer than September's noon,Until the snow-peaks seem'd at bestBut one wide, shining, shatter'd moon.She sat the battlements of time;She shone in mail of frost and rime,A time, and then rose up and stoodIn heaven in sad widowhood.The faded moon fell wearily,And then the sun right suddenlyRose up full arm'd, and rushing cameAcross the land like flood of flame.

And now the moon wheel'd white and vast,

A round, unbroken, marbled moon,

And touch'd the far bright buttes of snow,

Then climb'd their shoulders over soon;

And there she seem'd to sit at last,

To hang, to hover there, to grow,

Grow vaster than vast peaks of snow.

Grow whiter than the snow's own breast,Grow softer than September's noon,Until the snow-peaks seem'd at bestBut one wide, shining, shatter'd moon.

Grow whiter than the snow's own breast,

Grow softer than September's noon,

Until the snow-peaks seem'd at best

But one wide, shining, shatter'd moon.

She sat the battlements of time;She shone in mail of frost and rime,A time, and then rose up and stoodIn heaven in sad widowhood.

She sat the battlements of time;

She shone in mail of frost and rime,

A time, and then rose up and stood

In heaven in sad widowhood.

The faded moon fell wearily,And then the sun right suddenlyRose up full arm'd, and rushing cameAcross the land like flood of flame.

The faded moon fell wearily,

And then the sun right suddenly

Rose up full arm'd, and rushing came

Across the land like flood of flame.

The sun roll'd on. Lo! hills uproseAs push'd against the arching skies,—As if to meet the timid sun—Rose sharp from out the sultry dun,Set well with wood, and brier, and rose,And seem'd to hold the free reposeOf lands where rocky summits rise,Or unfenced fields of Paradise.The black men look'd up from the sandsAgainst the dim, uncertain skies,As men that disbelieved their eyes,And would have laugh'd; they wept instead,With shoulders heaved, with bowing headHid down between their two black hands.They stood and gazed. Lo! like the callOf spring-time promises, the treesLean'd from their lifted mountain wall,And stood clear cut against the skiesAs if they grew in pistol-shot.Yet all the mountains answer'd not,And yet there came no cooling breeze,Nor soothing sense of windy trees.At last old Morgan, looking throughHis shaded fingers, let them go,And let his load fall down as dead.He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snowAs was his wont, then bowing low,Took up his life, and moaning said,"Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and weStand blinded in a burning sea."O sweet deceit when minds despair!O mad deceit of man betray'd!O mother Nature, thou art fair,But thou art false as man or maid.Yea, many lessons, mother Earth,Have we thy children learn'd of theeIn sweet deceit.... The sudden birthOf hope that dies mocks destiny.O mother Earth, thy promisesAre fallen leaves; they lie forgot!Such lessons! How could we learn less?We are but children, blame us not.

The sun roll'd on. Lo! hills uprose

As push'd against the arching skies,—

As if to meet the timid sun—

Rose sharp from out the sultry dun,

Set well with wood, and brier, and rose,

And seem'd to hold the free repose

Of lands where rocky summits rise,

Or unfenced fields of Paradise.

The black men look'd up from the sandsAgainst the dim, uncertain skies,As men that disbelieved their eyes,And would have laugh'd; they wept instead,With shoulders heaved, with bowing headHid down between their two black hands.

The black men look'd up from the sands

Against the dim, uncertain skies,

As men that disbelieved their eyes,

And would have laugh'd; they wept instead,

With shoulders heaved, with bowing head

Hid down between their two black hands.

They stood and gazed. Lo! like the callOf spring-time promises, the treesLean'd from their lifted mountain wall,And stood clear cut against the skiesAs if they grew in pistol-shot.Yet all the mountains answer'd not,And yet there came no cooling breeze,Nor soothing sense of windy trees.

They stood and gazed. Lo! like the call

Of spring-time promises, the trees

Lean'd from their lifted mountain wall,

And stood clear cut against the skies

As if they grew in pistol-shot.

Yet all the mountains answer'd not,

And yet there came no cooling breeze,

Nor soothing sense of windy trees.

At last old Morgan, looking throughHis shaded fingers, let them go,And let his load fall down as dead.He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snowAs was his wont, then bowing low,Took up his life, and moaning said,"Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and weStand blinded in a burning sea."

At last old Morgan, looking through

His shaded fingers, let them go,

And let his load fall down as dead.

He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snow

As was his wont, then bowing low,

Took up his life, and moaning said,

"Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and we

Stand blinded in a burning sea."

O sweet deceit when minds despair!O mad deceit of man betray'd!O mother Nature, thou art fair,But thou art false as man or maid.

O sweet deceit when minds despair!

O mad deceit of man betray'd!

O mother Nature, thou art fair,

But thou art false as man or maid.

Yea, many lessons, mother Earth,Have we thy children learn'd of theeIn sweet deceit.... The sudden birthOf hope that dies mocks destiny.

Yea, many lessons, mother Earth,

Have we thy children learn'd of thee

In sweet deceit.... The sudden birth

Of hope that dies mocks destiny.

O mother Earth, thy promisesAre fallen leaves; they lie forgot!Such lessons! How could we learn less?We are but children, blame us not.

O mother Earth, thy promises

Are fallen leaves; they lie forgot!

Such lessons! How could we learn less?

We are but children, blame us not.

Again they move, but where or howIt recks them little, nothing now.Yet Morgan leads them as before,But totters now; he bends, and heIs like a broken ship a-sea,—A ship that knows not any shore,And knows it shall not anchor more.Some leaning shadows crooning creptThrough desolation, crown'd in dust.And had the mad pursuer keptHis path, and cherished his pursuit?There lay no choice. Advance he must:Advance, and eat his ashen fruit.Yet on and on old Morgan led.His black men totter'd to and fro,A leaning, huddled heap of woe;Then one fell down, then two fell dead;Yet not one moaning word was said.They made no sign, they said no word,Nor lifted once black, helpless hands;And all the time no sound was heardSave but the dull, dead, muffled treadOf shuffled feet in shining sands.Again the still moon rose and stoodAbove the dim, dark belt of wood,Above the buttes, above the snow,And bent a sad, sweet face below.She reach'd along the level plainHer long, white fingers. Then againShe reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands,Then reach'd far out until she touch'dA heap that lay with doubled hands,Reach'd from its sable self, and clutch'dWith death.O tenderlyThat black, that dead and hollow faceWas kiss'd at midnight....What if I sayThe long, white moonbeams reaching there,Caressing idle hands of clay,And resting on the wrinkled hairAnd great lips push'd in sullen pout,Were God's own fingers reaching outFrom heaven to that lonesome place?

Again they move, but where or how

It recks them little, nothing now.

Yet Morgan leads them as before,

But totters now; he bends, and he

Is like a broken ship a-sea,—

A ship that knows not any shore,

And knows it shall not anchor more.

Some leaning shadows crooning creptThrough desolation, crown'd in dust.And had the mad pursuer keptHis path, and cherished his pursuit?There lay no choice. Advance he must:Advance, and eat his ashen fruit.

Some leaning shadows crooning crept

Through desolation, crown'd in dust.

And had the mad pursuer kept

His path, and cherished his pursuit?

There lay no choice. Advance he must:

Advance, and eat his ashen fruit.

Yet on and on old Morgan led.His black men totter'd to and fro,A leaning, huddled heap of woe;Then one fell down, then two fell dead;Yet not one moaning word was said.

Yet on and on old Morgan led.

His black men totter'd to and fro,

A leaning, huddled heap of woe;

Then one fell down, then two fell dead;

Yet not one moaning word was said.

They made no sign, they said no word,Nor lifted once black, helpless hands;And all the time no sound was heardSave but the dull, dead, muffled treadOf shuffled feet in shining sands.

They made no sign, they said no word,

Nor lifted once black, helpless hands;

And all the time no sound was heard

Save but the dull, dead, muffled tread

Of shuffled feet in shining sands.

Again the still moon rose and stoodAbove the dim, dark belt of wood,Above the buttes, above the snow,And bent a sad, sweet face below.

Again the still moon rose and stood

Above the dim, dark belt of wood,

Above the buttes, above the snow,

And bent a sad, sweet face below.

She reach'd along the level plainHer long, white fingers. Then againShe reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands,Then reach'd far out until she touch'dA heap that lay with doubled hands,Reach'd from its sable self, and clutch'dWith death.O tenderlyThat black, that dead and hollow faceWas kiss'd at midnight....What if I sayThe long, white moonbeams reaching there,Caressing idle hands of clay,And resting on the wrinkled hairAnd great lips push'd in sullen pout,Were God's own fingers reaching outFrom heaven to that lonesome place?

She reach'd along the level plain

Her long, white fingers. Then again

She reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands,

Then reach'd far out until she touch'd

A heap that lay with doubled hands,

Reach'd from its sable self, and clutch'd

With death.

O tenderly

That black, that dead and hollow face

Was kiss'd at midnight....

What if I say

The long, white moonbeams reaching there,

Caressing idle hands of clay,

And resting on the wrinkled hair

And great lips push'd in sullen pout,

Were God's own fingers reaching out

From heaven to that lonesome place?

By waif and stray and cast-away,Such as are seen in seas withdrawn,Old Morgan led in silence on,And sometime lifting up his headTo guide his footsteps as he led,He deem'd he saw a great ship layHer keel along the sea-wash'd sand,As with her captain's old command.The stars were seal'd; and then a hazeOf gossamer fill'd all the west,So like in Indian summer days,And veil'd all things.And then the moonGrew pale, and faint, and far. She died,And now nor star nor any signFell out of heaven.OversoonSome black men fell. Then at their sideSome one sat down to watch, to rest ...To rest, to watch, or what you will,The man sits resting, watching still.

By waif and stray and cast-away,

Such as are seen in seas withdrawn,

Old Morgan led in silence on,

And sometime lifting up his head

To guide his footsteps as he led,

He deem'd he saw a great ship lay

Her keel along the sea-wash'd sand,

As with her captain's old command.

The stars were seal'd; and then a hazeOf gossamer fill'd all the west,So like in Indian summer days,And veil'd all things.And then the moonGrew pale, and faint, and far. She died,And now nor star nor any signFell out of heaven.OversoonSome black men fell. Then at their sideSome one sat down to watch, to rest ...To rest, to watch, or what you will,The man sits resting, watching still.

The stars were seal'd; and then a haze

Of gossamer fill'd all the west,

So like in Indian summer days,

And veil'd all things.

And then the moon

Grew pale, and faint, and far. She died,

And now nor star nor any sign

Fell out of heaven.

Oversoon

Some black men fell. Then at their side

Some one sat down to watch, to rest ...

To rest, to watch, or what you will,

The man sits resting, watching still.

The day glared through the eastern rimOf rocky peaks, as prison bars;With light as dim as distant starsThe sultry sunbeams filter'd downThrough misty phantoms weird and dim,Through shifting shapes bat-wing'd brown.Like some vast ruin wrapp'd in flameThe sun fell down before them now.Behind them wheel'd white peaks of snow,As they proceeded.Gray and grimAnd awful objects went and cameBefore them then. They pierced at lastThe desert's middle depths, and lo!There loom'd from out the desert vastA lonely ship, well-built and trim,And perfect all in hull and mast.No storm had stain'd it any whit,No seasons set their teeth in it.Her masts were white as ghosts, and tall;Her decks were as of yesterday.The rains, the elements, and allThe moving things that bring decayBy fair green lands or fairer seas,Had touch'd not here for centuries.Lo! date had lost all reckoning,And Time had long forgotten allIn this lost land, and no new thingOr old could anywise befall,Or morrows, or a yesterday,For Time went by the other way.The ages have not any courseAcross this untrack'd waste.The skyWears here one blue, unbending hue,The heavens one unchanging mood.The far still stars they filter throughThe heavens, falling bright and boldAgainst the sands as beams of gold.The wide, white moon forgets her force;The very sun rides round and high,As if to shun this solitude.What dreams of gold or conquest drewThe oak-built sea-king to these seas,Ere Earth, old Earth, unsatisfied,Rose up and shook man in disgustFrom off her wearied breast, and threwAnd smote his cities down, and driedThese measured, town-set seas to dust?Who trod these decks?What captain knewThe straits that led to lands like these?Blew south-sea breeze or north-sea breeze?What spiced winds whistled through this sail?What banners stream'd above these seas?And what strange seaman answer'd backTo other sea-king's beck and hail,That blew across his foamy track!Sought Jason here the golden fleece?Came Trojan ship or ships of Greece?Came decks dark-mann'd from sultry Ind,Woo'd here by spacious wooing wind?So like a grand, sweet woman, whenA great love moves her soul to men?Came here strong ships of SolomonIn quest of Ophir by Cathay?...Sit down and dream of seas withdrawn,And every sea-breath drawn away....Sit down, sit down!What is the goodThat we go on still fashioningGreat iron ships or walls of wood,High masts of oak, or any thing?Lo! all things moving must go by.The sea lies dead. Behold, this landSits desolate in dust besideHis snow-white, seamless shroud of sand;The very clouds have wept and died,And only God is in the sky.

The day glared through the eastern rim

Of rocky peaks, as prison bars;

With light as dim as distant stars

The sultry sunbeams filter'd down

Through misty phantoms weird and dim,

Through shifting shapes bat-wing'd brown.

Like some vast ruin wrapp'd in flameThe sun fell down before them now.Behind them wheel'd white peaks of snow,As they proceeded.Gray and grimAnd awful objects went and cameBefore them then. They pierced at lastThe desert's middle depths, and lo!There loom'd from out the desert vastA lonely ship, well-built and trim,And perfect all in hull and mast.

Like some vast ruin wrapp'd in flame

The sun fell down before them now.

Behind them wheel'd white peaks of snow,

As they proceeded.

Gray and grim

And awful objects went and came

Before them then. They pierced at last

The desert's middle depths, and lo!

There loom'd from out the desert vast

A lonely ship, well-built and trim,

And perfect all in hull and mast.

No storm had stain'd it any whit,No seasons set their teeth in it.Her masts were white as ghosts, and tall;Her decks were as of yesterday.The rains, the elements, and allThe moving things that bring decayBy fair green lands or fairer seas,Had touch'd not here for centuries.

No storm had stain'd it any whit,

No seasons set their teeth in it.

Her masts were white as ghosts, and tall;

Her decks were as of yesterday.

The rains, the elements, and all

The moving things that bring decay

By fair green lands or fairer seas,

Had touch'd not here for centuries.

Lo! date had lost all reckoning,And Time had long forgotten allIn this lost land, and no new thingOr old could anywise befall,Or morrows, or a yesterday,For Time went by the other way.

Lo! date had lost all reckoning,

And Time had long forgotten all

In this lost land, and no new thing

Or old could anywise befall,

Or morrows, or a yesterday,

For Time went by the other way.

The ages have not any courseAcross this untrack'd waste.The skyWears here one blue, unbending hue,The heavens one unchanging mood.The far still stars they filter throughThe heavens, falling bright and boldAgainst the sands as beams of gold.The wide, white moon forgets her force;The very sun rides round and high,As if to shun this solitude.

The ages have not any course

Across this untrack'd waste.

The sky

Wears here one blue, unbending hue,

The heavens one unchanging mood.

The far still stars they filter through

The heavens, falling bright and bold

Against the sands as beams of gold.

The wide, white moon forgets her force;

The very sun rides round and high,

As if to shun this solitude.

What dreams of gold or conquest drewThe oak-built sea-king to these seas,Ere Earth, old Earth, unsatisfied,Rose up and shook man in disgustFrom off her wearied breast, and threwAnd smote his cities down, and driedThese measured, town-set seas to dust?Who trod these decks?What captain knewThe straits that led to lands like these?

What dreams of gold or conquest drew

The oak-built sea-king to these seas,

Ere Earth, old Earth, unsatisfied,

Rose up and shook man in disgust

From off her wearied breast, and threw

And smote his cities down, and dried

These measured, town-set seas to dust?

Who trod these decks?

What captain knew

The straits that led to lands like these?

Blew south-sea breeze or north-sea breeze?What spiced winds whistled through this sail?What banners stream'd above these seas?And what strange seaman answer'd backTo other sea-king's beck and hail,That blew across his foamy track!

Blew south-sea breeze or north-sea breeze?

What spiced winds whistled through this sail?

What banners stream'd above these seas?

And what strange seaman answer'd back

To other sea-king's beck and hail,

That blew across his foamy track!

Sought Jason here the golden fleece?Came Trojan ship or ships of Greece?Came decks dark-mann'd from sultry Ind,Woo'd here by spacious wooing wind?So like a grand, sweet woman, whenA great love moves her soul to men?

Sought Jason here the golden fleece?

Came Trojan ship or ships of Greece?

Came decks dark-mann'd from sultry Ind,

Woo'd here by spacious wooing wind?

So like a grand, sweet woman, when

A great love moves her soul to men?

Came here strong ships of SolomonIn quest of Ophir by Cathay?...Sit down and dream of seas withdrawn,And every sea-breath drawn away....Sit down, sit down!What is the goodThat we go on still fashioningGreat iron ships or walls of wood,High masts of oak, or any thing?

Came here strong ships of Solomon

In quest of Ophir by Cathay?...

Sit down and dream of seas withdrawn,

And every sea-breath drawn away....

Sit down, sit down!

What is the good

That we go on still fashioning

Great iron ships or walls of wood,

High masts of oak, or any thing?

Lo! all things moving must go by.The sea lies dead. Behold, this landSits desolate in dust besideHis snow-white, seamless shroud of sand;The very clouds have wept and died,And only God is in the sky.

Lo! all things moving must go by.

The sea lies dead. Behold, this land

Sits desolate in dust beside

His snow-white, seamless shroud of sand;

The very clouds have wept and died,

And only God is in the sky.

The sands lay heaved, as heaved by waves,As fashion'd in a thousand graves:And wrecks of storm blown here and there,And dead men scatter'd everywhere;And strangely clad they seem'd to beJust as they sank in that old sea.The mermaid with her splendid hairHad clung about a wreck's beam there;And sung her song of sweet despair,The time she saw the seas withdrawnAnd all her home and glory gone:Had sung her melancholy dirge,Above the last receding surge,And, looking down the rippled tide,Had sung, and with her song had died.The monsters of the sea lay boundIn strange contortions. Coil'd aroundA mast half heaved above the sand,The great sea-serpent's folds were found,As solid as ship's iron band.And basking in the burning sunThere rose the great whale's skeleton.A thousand sea things stretch'd acrossTheir weary and bewilder'd way:Great unnamed monsters wrinkled layWith sunken eyes and shrunken form.The strong sea-horse that rode the stormWith mane as light and white as floss,Lay tangled in his mane of moss.And anchor, hull, and cast-away,And all things that the miser deepDoth in his darkling locker keep,To right and left around them lay.Yea, coins lay there on either hand,Lay shining in the silver sand;As plenty in the wide sands layAs stars along the Milky Way.And golden coin, and golden cup,And golden cruse, and golden plate,And all that great seas swallow up,Right in their dreadful pathway lay....The hungry and insatiateOld sea, made hoary white with time,And wrinkled cross with many a crime,With all his treasured thefts was there,His sins, his very soul laid bare,As if it were the Judgment Day.

The sands lay heaved, as heaved by waves,

As fashion'd in a thousand graves:

And wrecks of storm blown here and there,

And dead men scatter'd everywhere;

And strangely clad they seem'd to be

Just as they sank in that old sea.

The mermaid with her splendid hairHad clung about a wreck's beam there;And sung her song of sweet despair,The time she saw the seas withdrawnAnd all her home and glory gone:

The mermaid with her splendid hair

Had clung about a wreck's beam there;

And sung her song of sweet despair,

The time she saw the seas withdrawn

And all her home and glory gone:

Had sung her melancholy dirge,Above the last receding surge,And, looking down the rippled tide,Had sung, and with her song had died.

Had sung her melancholy dirge,

Above the last receding surge,

And, looking down the rippled tide,

Had sung, and with her song had died.

The monsters of the sea lay boundIn strange contortions. Coil'd aroundA mast half heaved above the sand,The great sea-serpent's folds were found,As solid as ship's iron band.And basking in the burning sunThere rose the great whale's skeleton.

The monsters of the sea lay bound

In strange contortions. Coil'd around

A mast half heaved above the sand,

The great sea-serpent's folds were found,

As solid as ship's iron band.

And basking in the burning sun

There rose the great whale's skeleton.

A thousand sea things stretch'd acrossTheir weary and bewilder'd way:Great unnamed monsters wrinkled layWith sunken eyes and shrunken form.The strong sea-horse that rode the stormWith mane as light and white as floss,Lay tangled in his mane of moss.

A thousand sea things stretch'd across

Their weary and bewilder'd way:

Great unnamed monsters wrinkled lay

With sunken eyes and shrunken form.

The strong sea-horse that rode the storm

With mane as light and white as floss,

Lay tangled in his mane of moss.

And anchor, hull, and cast-away,And all things that the miser deepDoth in his darkling locker keep,To right and left around them lay.

And anchor, hull, and cast-away,

And all things that the miser deep

Doth in his darkling locker keep,

To right and left around them lay.

Yea, coins lay there on either hand,Lay shining in the silver sand;As plenty in the wide sands layAs stars along the Milky Way.

Yea, coins lay there on either hand,

Lay shining in the silver sand;

As plenty in the wide sands lay

As stars along the Milky Way.

And golden coin, and golden cup,And golden cruse, and golden plate,And all that great seas swallow up,Right in their dreadful pathway lay....The hungry and insatiateOld sea, made hoary white with time,And wrinkled cross with many a crime,With all his treasured thefts was there,His sins, his very soul laid bare,As if it were the Judgment Day.

And golden coin, and golden cup,

And golden cruse, and golden plate,

And all that great seas swallow up,

Right in their dreadful pathway lay....

The hungry and insatiate

Old sea, made hoary white with time,

And wrinkled cross with many a crime,

With all his treasured thefts was there,

His sins, his very soul laid bare,

As if it were the Judgment Day.

And now the tawny night fell soon,And there was neither star nor moon;And yet it seem'd it was not night.There fell a phosphorescent light,There rose from white sands and dead menA soft light, white and fair as whenThe Spirit of Jehovah movedUpon the water's conscious face,And made it His abiding-place.O mighty waters unreproved!Thou deep! where the Jehovah movedEre soul of man was called to be!O seas! that were created notAs man, as earth, as light, as aughtThat is. O sea! thou art to meA terror, death, eternity.

And now the tawny night fell soon,

And there was neither star nor moon;

And yet it seem'd it was not night.

There fell a phosphorescent light,

There rose from white sands and dead men

A soft light, white and fair as when

The Spirit of Jehovah moved

Upon the water's conscious face,

And made it His abiding-place.

O mighty waters unreproved!Thou deep! where the Jehovah movedEre soul of man was called to be!O seas! that were created notAs man, as earth, as light, as aughtThat is. O sea! thou art to meA terror, death, eternity.

O mighty waters unreproved!

Thou deep! where the Jehovah moved

Ere soul of man was called to be!

O seas! that were created not

As man, as earth, as light, as aught

That is. O sea! thou art to me

A terror, death, eternity.

I do recall some sad days spent,By borders of the Orient,Days sweet as sad to memory ...'Twould make a tale. It matters not ...I sought the loneliest seas; I soughtThe solitude of ruins, and forgotMine own lone life and littlenessBefore this fair land's mute distress,That sat within this changeful sea.Slow sailing through the reedy isles,By unknown banks, through unknown bays,Some sunny, summer yesterdays,Where Nature's beauty still beguiles,I saw the storied yellow sailAnd lifted prow of steely mail.'Tis all that's left Torcello now,—A pirate's yellow sail, a prow.Below the far, faint peaks of snow,And grass-grown causeways well below,I touched Torcello.Once a-land,I took a sea-shell in my hand,And blew like any trumpeter.I felt the fig-leaves lift and stirOn trees that reached from ruined wallAbove my head, but that was all.Back from the farther island shoreCame echoes trooping; nothing more.Lo! here stood Adria once, and hereAttila came with sword and flame,And set his throne of hollowed stoneIn her high mart.And it remainsStill lord o'er all. Where once the tearsOf mute petition fell, the rainsOf heaven fall. Lo! all aloneThere lifts this massive empty throne!The sea has changed his meed, his mood,And made this sedgy solitude.By cattle paths grass-grown and worn,Through marbled streets all stain'd and tornBy time and battle, there I walked.A bent old beggar, white as oneFor better fruitage blossoming,Came on. And as he came he talkedUnto himself; for there are noneIn all his island, old and dim,To answer back or question him.I turned, retraced my steps once more.The hot miasma steamed and roseIn deadly vapor from the reedsThat grew from out the shallow shore,Where peasants say the sea-horse feeds,And Neptune shapes his horn and blows.I climb'd and sat that throne of stoneTo contemplate, to dream, to reign;Ay, reign above myself; to callThe people of the past againBefore me as I sat aloneIn all my kingdom.There were kineThat browsed along the reedy brine,And now and then a tusky boarWould shake the high reeds of the shore,A bird blow by,—but that was all.I watched the lonesome sea-gull pass.I did remember and forget;The past rolled by; I stood alone.I sat the shapely chiselled stoneThat stands in tall sweet grasses set;Ay, girdle deep in long strong grass,And green Alfalfa.Very fairThe heavens were, and still and blue,For Nature knows no changes there.The Alps of Venice, far awayLike some half-risen half moon lay.How sweet the grasses at my feet!The smell of clover over sweet.I heard the hum of bees. The bloomOf clover-tops and cherry-treesWere being rifled by the bees,And these were building in a tomb.The fair Alfalfa; such as hasUsurped the Occident, and growsWith all the sweetness of the roseOn Sacramento's sundown hills,Is there, and that mid island fillsWith fragrance. Yet the smell of deathComes riding in on every breath.Lo! death that is not death, but rest:To step aside, to watch and waitBeside the wave, outside the gate,With all life's pulses in your breast:To absolutely rest, to prayIn some lone mountain while you may.That sad sweet fragrance. It had sense,And sound, and voice. It was a partOf that which had possessed my heart,And would not of my will go hence.'Twas Autumn's breath; 'twas dear as kissOf any worshipped woman is.Some snails have climb'd the throne and writTheir silver monograms on itIn unknown tongues.I sat thereon,I dreamed until the day was gone;I blew again my pearly shell,—Blew long and strong, and loud and well;I puffed my cheeks, I blew, as whenHorn'd satyrs danced the delight of men.Some mouse-brown cows that fed withinLooked up. A cowherd rose hard by,My single subject, clad in skin,Nor yet half clad. I caught his eye,He stared at me, then turned and fled.He frightened fled, and as he ran,Like wild beast from the face of man,Across his shoulder threw his head.He gathered up his skin of goatAbout his breast and hairy throat.He stopped, and then this subject true,Mine only one in lands like theseMade desolate by changeful seas,Came back and asked me for asou.

I do recall some sad days spent,

By borders of the Orient,

Days sweet as sad to memory ...

'Twould make a tale. It matters not ...

I sought the loneliest seas; I sought

The solitude of ruins, and forgot

Mine own lone life and littleness

Before this fair land's mute distress,

That sat within this changeful sea.

Slow sailing through the reedy isles,By unknown banks, through unknown bays,Some sunny, summer yesterdays,Where Nature's beauty still beguiles,I saw the storied yellow sailAnd lifted prow of steely mail.'Tis all that's left Torcello now,—A pirate's yellow sail, a prow.

Slow sailing through the reedy isles,

By unknown banks, through unknown bays,

Some sunny, summer yesterdays,

Where Nature's beauty still beguiles,

I saw the storied yellow sail

And lifted prow of steely mail.

'Tis all that's left Torcello now,—

A pirate's yellow sail, a prow.

Below the far, faint peaks of snow,And grass-grown causeways well below,I touched Torcello.Once a-land,I took a sea-shell in my hand,And blew like any trumpeter.I felt the fig-leaves lift and stirOn trees that reached from ruined wallAbove my head, but that was all.Back from the farther island shoreCame echoes trooping; nothing more.

Below the far, faint peaks of snow,

And grass-grown causeways well below,

I touched Torcello.

Once a-land,

I took a sea-shell in my hand,

And blew like any trumpeter.

I felt the fig-leaves lift and stir

On trees that reached from ruined wall

Above my head, but that was all.

Back from the farther island shore

Came echoes trooping; nothing more.

Lo! here stood Adria once, and hereAttila came with sword and flame,And set his throne of hollowed stoneIn her high mart.And it remainsStill lord o'er all. Where once the tearsOf mute petition fell, the rainsOf heaven fall. Lo! all aloneThere lifts this massive empty throne!The sea has changed his meed, his mood,And made this sedgy solitude.

Lo! here stood Adria once, and here

Attila came with sword and flame,

And set his throne of hollowed stone

In her high mart.

And it remains

Still lord o'er all. Where once the tears

Of mute petition fell, the rains

Of heaven fall. Lo! all alone

There lifts this massive empty throne!

The sea has changed his meed, his mood,

And made this sedgy solitude.

By cattle paths grass-grown and worn,Through marbled streets all stain'd and tornBy time and battle, there I walked.A bent old beggar, white as oneFor better fruitage blossoming,Came on. And as he came he talkedUnto himself; for there are noneIn all his island, old and dim,To answer back or question him.

By cattle paths grass-grown and worn,

Through marbled streets all stain'd and torn

By time and battle, there I walked.

A bent old beggar, white as one

For better fruitage blossoming,

Came on. And as he came he talked

Unto himself; for there are none

In all his island, old and dim,

To answer back or question him.

I turned, retraced my steps once more.The hot miasma steamed and roseIn deadly vapor from the reedsThat grew from out the shallow shore,Where peasants say the sea-horse feeds,And Neptune shapes his horn and blows.

I turned, retraced my steps once more.

The hot miasma steamed and rose

In deadly vapor from the reeds

That grew from out the shallow shore,

Where peasants say the sea-horse feeds,

And Neptune shapes his horn and blows.

I climb'd and sat that throne of stoneTo contemplate, to dream, to reign;Ay, reign above myself; to callThe people of the past againBefore me as I sat aloneIn all my kingdom.There were kineThat browsed along the reedy brine,And now and then a tusky boarWould shake the high reeds of the shore,A bird blow by,—but that was all.

I climb'd and sat that throne of stone

To contemplate, to dream, to reign;

Ay, reign above myself; to call

The people of the past again

Before me as I sat alone

In all my kingdom.

There were kine

That browsed along the reedy brine,

And now and then a tusky boar

Would shake the high reeds of the shore,

A bird blow by,—but that was all.

I watched the lonesome sea-gull pass.I did remember and forget;The past rolled by; I stood alone.I sat the shapely chiselled stoneThat stands in tall sweet grasses set;Ay, girdle deep in long strong grass,And green Alfalfa.Very fairThe heavens were, and still and blue,For Nature knows no changes there.The Alps of Venice, far awayLike some half-risen half moon lay.

I watched the lonesome sea-gull pass.

I did remember and forget;

The past rolled by; I stood alone.

I sat the shapely chiselled stone

That stands in tall sweet grasses set;

Ay, girdle deep in long strong grass,

And green Alfalfa.

Very fair

The heavens were, and still and blue,

For Nature knows no changes there.

The Alps of Venice, far away

Like some half-risen half moon lay.

How sweet the grasses at my feet!The smell of clover over sweet.I heard the hum of bees. The bloomOf clover-tops and cherry-treesWere being rifled by the bees,And these were building in a tomb.

How sweet the grasses at my feet!

The smell of clover over sweet.

I heard the hum of bees. The bloom

Of clover-tops and cherry-trees

Were being rifled by the bees,

And these were building in a tomb.

The fair Alfalfa; such as hasUsurped the Occident, and growsWith all the sweetness of the roseOn Sacramento's sundown hills,Is there, and that mid island fillsWith fragrance. Yet the smell of deathComes riding in on every breath.

The fair Alfalfa; such as has

Usurped the Occident, and grows

With all the sweetness of the rose

On Sacramento's sundown hills,

Is there, and that mid island fills

With fragrance. Yet the smell of death

Comes riding in on every breath.

Lo! death that is not death, but rest:To step aside, to watch and waitBeside the wave, outside the gate,With all life's pulses in your breast:To absolutely rest, to prayIn some lone mountain while you may.

Lo! death that is not death, but rest:

To step aside, to watch and wait

Beside the wave, outside the gate,

With all life's pulses in your breast:

To absolutely rest, to pray

In some lone mountain while you may.

That sad sweet fragrance. It had sense,And sound, and voice. It was a partOf that which had possessed my heart,And would not of my will go hence.'Twas Autumn's breath; 'twas dear as kissOf any worshipped woman is.

That sad sweet fragrance. It had sense,

And sound, and voice. It was a part

Of that which had possessed my heart,

And would not of my will go hence.

'Twas Autumn's breath; 'twas dear as kiss

Of any worshipped woman is.

Some snails have climb'd the throne and writTheir silver monograms on itIn unknown tongues.I sat thereon,I dreamed until the day was gone;I blew again my pearly shell,—Blew long and strong, and loud and well;I puffed my cheeks, I blew, as whenHorn'd satyrs danced the delight of men.

Some snails have climb'd the throne and writ

Their silver monograms on it

In unknown tongues.

I sat thereon,

I dreamed until the day was gone;

I blew again my pearly shell,—

Blew long and strong, and loud and well;

I puffed my cheeks, I blew, as when

Horn'd satyrs danced the delight of men.

Some mouse-brown cows that fed withinLooked up. A cowherd rose hard by,My single subject, clad in skin,Nor yet half clad. I caught his eye,He stared at me, then turned and fled.He frightened fled, and as he ran,Like wild beast from the face of man,Across his shoulder threw his head.He gathered up his skin of goatAbout his breast and hairy throat.He stopped, and then this subject true,Mine only one in lands like theseMade desolate by changeful seas,Came back and asked me for asou.

Some mouse-brown cows that fed within

Looked up. A cowherd rose hard by,

My single subject, clad in skin,

Nor yet half clad. I caught his eye,

He stared at me, then turned and fled.

He frightened fled, and as he ran,

Like wild beast from the face of man,

Across his shoulder threw his head.

He gathered up his skin of goat

About his breast and hairy throat.

He stopped, and then this subject true,

Mine only one in lands like these

Made desolate by changeful seas,

Came back and asked me for asou.

And yet again through the watery milesOf reeds I rowed till the desolate islesOf the black bead-makers of Venice are not.I touched where a single sharp tower is shotTo heaven, and torn by thunder and rentAs if it had been Time's battlement.A city lies dead, and this great gravestoneStands at its head like a ghost alone.Some cherry-trees grow here, and hereAn old church, simple and severeIn ancient aspect, stands aloneAmid the ruin and decay, all grownIn moss and grasses.Old and quaint,With antique cuts of martyr'd saint,The gray church stands with stooping knees,Defying the decay of seas.Her pictured Hell, with flames blown high,In bright mosaics wrought and setWhen man first knew the Nubian art,Her bearded saints, as black as jet;Her quaint Madonna, dim with rainAnd touch of pious lips of pain,So touched my lonesome soul, that IGazed long, then came and gazed again,And loved, and took her to my heart.Nor monk in black, nor Capuchin,Nor priest of any creed was seen.A sun-browned woman, old and tall,And still as any shadow is,Stole forth from out the mossy wallWith massive keys to show me this:Came slowly forth, and following,Three birds—and all with drooping wing.Three mute brown babes of hers; and they—O, they were beautiful as sleep,Or death, below the troubled deep.And on the pouting lips of theseRed corals of the silent seas,Sweet birds, the everlasting sealOf silence that the God has setOn this dead island, sits for aye.I would forget, yet not forgetTheir helpless eloquence. They creepSomehow into my heart, and keepOne bleak, cold corner, jewel set.They steal my better self awayTo them, as little birds that dayStole fruits from out the cherry-trees.So helpless and so wholly still,So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise,That I did love, despite my will.One little maid of ten,—such eyes,So large and lonely, so divine,—Such pouting lips, such peachy cheek,—Did lift her perfect eyes to mine,Until our souls did touch and speak;Stood by me all that perfect day,Yet not one sweet word could she say.She turned her melancholy eyesSo constant to my own, that IForgot the going clouds, the sky,Found fellowship, took bread and wine,And so her little soul and mineStood very near together there.And O, I found her very fair.Yet not one soft word could she say:What did she think of all that day?The sometime song of gondolierIs heard afar. The fishermenBetimes draw net by ruined shore,In full spring time when east winds fall;Then traders row with muffled oar,Tedesca or the turban'd Turk,The pirate, at some midnight workBy watery wall,—but that is all.

And yet again through the watery miles

Of reeds I rowed till the desolate isles

Of the black bead-makers of Venice are not.

I touched where a single sharp tower is shot

To heaven, and torn by thunder and rent

As if it had been Time's battlement.

A city lies dead, and this great gravestone

Stands at its head like a ghost alone.

Some cherry-trees grow here, and hereAn old church, simple and severeIn ancient aspect, stands aloneAmid the ruin and decay, all grownIn moss and grasses.Old and quaint,With antique cuts of martyr'd saint,The gray church stands with stooping knees,Defying the decay of seas.

Some cherry-trees grow here, and here

An old church, simple and severe

In ancient aspect, stands alone

Amid the ruin and decay, all grown

In moss and grasses.

Old and quaint,

With antique cuts of martyr'd saint,

The gray church stands with stooping knees,

Defying the decay of seas.

Her pictured Hell, with flames blown high,In bright mosaics wrought and setWhen man first knew the Nubian art,Her bearded saints, as black as jet;Her quaint Madonna, dim with rainAnd touch of pious lips of pain,So touched my lonesome soul, that IGazed long, then came and gazed again,And loved, and took her to my heart.

Her pictured Hell, with flames blown high,

In bright mosaics wrought and set

When man first knew the Nubian art,

Her bearded saints, as black as jet;

Her quaint Madonna, dim with rain

And touch of pious lips of pain,

So touched my lonesome soul, that I

Gazed long, then came and gazed again,

And loved, and took her to my heart.

Nor monk in black, nor Capuchin,Nor priest of any creed was seen.A sun-browned woman, old and tall,And still as any shadow is,Stole forth from out the mossy wallWith massive keys to show me this:Came slowly forth, and following,Three birds—and all with drooping wing.

Nor monk in black, nor Capuchin,

Nor priest of any creed was seen.

A sun-browned woman, old and tall,

And still as any shadow is,

Stole forth from out the mossy wall

With massive keys to show me this:

Came slowly forth, and following,

Three birds—and all with drooping wing.

Three mute brown babes of hers; and they—O, they were beautiful as sleep,Or death, below the troubled deep.And on the pouting lips of theseRed corals of the silent seas,Sweet birds, the everlasting sealOf silence that the God has setOn this dead island, sits for aye.

Three mute brown babes of hers; and they—

O, they were beautiful as sleep,

Or death, below the troubled deep.

And on the pouting lips of these

Red corals of the silent seas,

Sweet birds, the everlasting seal

Of silence that the God has set

On this dead island, sits for aye.

I would forget, yet not forgetTheir helpless eloquence. They creepSomehow into my heart, and keepOne bleak, cold corner, jewel set.They steal my better self awayTo them, as little birds that dayStole fruits from out the cherry-trees.

I would forget, yet not forget

Their helpless eloquence. They creep

Somehow into my heart, and keep

One bleak, cold corner, jewel set.

They steal my better self away

To them, as little birds that day

Stole fruits from out the cherry-trees.

So helpless and so wholly still,So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise,That I did love, despite my will.One little maid of ten,—such eyes,So large and lonely, so divine,—Such pouting lips, such peachy cheek,—Did lift her perfect eyes to mine,Until our souls did touch and speak;Stood by me all that perfect day,Yet not one sweet word could she say.

So helpless and so wholly still,

So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise,

That I did love, despite my will.

One little maid of ten,—such eyes,

So large and lonely, so divine,—

Such pouting lips, such peachy cheek,—

Did lift her perfect eyes to mine,

Until our souls did touch and speak;

Stood by me all that perfect day,

Yet not one sweet word could she say.

She turned her melancholy eyesSo constant to my own, that IForgot the going clouds, the sky,Found fellowship, took bread and wine,And so her little soul and mineStood very near together there.And O, I found her very fair.Yet not one soft word could she say:What did she think of all that day?

She turned her melancholy eyes

So constant to my own, that I

Forgot the going clouds, the sky,

Found fellowship, took bread and wine,

And so her little soul and mine

Stood very near together there.

And O, I found her very fair.

Yet not one soft word could she say:

What did she think of all that day?

The sometime song of gondolierIs heard afar. The fishermenBetimes draw net by ruined shore,In full spring time when east winds fall;Then traders row with muffled oar,Tedesca or the turban'd Turk,The pirate, at some midnight workBy watery wall,—but that is all.

The sometime song of gondolier

Is heard afar. The fishermen

Betimes draw net by ruined shore,

In full spring time when east winds fall;

Then traders row with muffled oar,

Tedesca or the turban'd Turk,

The pirate, at some midnight work

By watery wall,—but that is all.

Remote, around the lonesome ship,Old Morgan moved, but knew it not,For neither star nor moon fell down ...I trow that was a lonesome spotHe found, where boat and ship did dipIn sands like some half-sunken town,And all things rose bat-winged and brown.At last before the leader layA form that in the night did seemA slain Goliath.As in a dream,He drew aside in his slow pace,And look'd. He saw a sable face,A friend that fell that very day,Thrown straight across his wearied way.He falter'd now. His iron heart,That never yet refused its part,Began to fail him; and his strengthShook at his knees, as shakes the windA shatter'd ship.His scatter'd mindRanged up and down the land. At lengthHe turn'd, as ships turn, tempest toss'd,For now he knew that he was lost,And sought in vain the moon, the stars,In vain the battle-star of Mars.Again he moved. And now againHe paused, he peer'd along the plain,Another form before him lay.He stood, and statue-white he stood,He trembled like a stormy wood,—It was a foeman brown and gray.He lifted up his head again,Again he search'd the great profoundFor moon, for star, but sought in vain.He kept his circle round and round;The great ship lifting from the sandAnd pointing heavenward like a hand.

Remote, around the lonesome ship,

Old Morgan moved, but knew it not,

For neither star nor moon fell down ...

I trow that was a lonesome spot

He found, where boat and ship did dip

In sands like some half-sunken town,

And all things rose bat-winged and brown.

At last before the leader layA form that in the night did seemA slain Goliath.As in a dream,He drew aside in his slow pace,And look'd. He saw a sable face,A friend that fell that very day,Thrown straight across his wearied way.

At last before the leader lay

A form that in the night did seem

A slain Goliath.

As in a dream,

He drew aside in his slow pace,

And look'd. He saw a sable face,

A friend that fell that very day,

Thrown straight across his wearied way.

He falter'd now. His iron heart,That never yet refused its part,Began to fail him; and his strengthShook at his knees, as shakes the windA shatter'd ship.His scatter'd mindRanged up and down the land. At lengthHe turn'd, as ships turn, tempest toss'd,For now he knew that he was lost,And sought in vain the moon, the stars,In vain the battle-star of Mars.

He falter'd now. His iron heart,

That never yet refused its part,

Began to fail him; and his strength

Shook at his knees, as shakes the wind

A shatter'd ship.

His scatter'd mind

Ranged up and down the land. At length

He turn'd, as ships turn, tempest toss'd,

For now he knew that he was lost,

And sought in vain the moon, the stars,

In vain the battle-star of Mars.

Again he moved. And now againHe paused, he peer'd along the plain,Another form before him lay.He stood, and statue-white he stood,He trembled like a stormy wood,—It was a foeman brown and gray.

Again he moved. And now again

He paused, he peer'd along the plain,

Another form before him lay.

He stood, and statue-white he stood,

He trembled like a stormy wood,—

It was a foeman brown and gray.

He lifted up his head again,Again he search'd the great profoundFor moon, for star, but sought in vain.He kept his circle round and round;The great ship lifting from the sandAnd pointing heavenward like a hand.

He lifted up his head again,

Again he search'd the great profound

For moon, for star, but sought in vain.

He kept his circle round and round;

The great ship lifting from the sand

And pointing heavenward like a hand.

And still he crept along the plain,Yet where his foeman dead againLay in his way he moved around,And soft as if on sacred ground,And did not touch him anywhere.It might have been he had a dread,In his half-crazed and fever'd brain,His mortal foe might wake againIf he should dare to touch him there.He circled round the lonesome shipLike some wild beast within a wall,That keeps his paces round and round.The very stillness had a sound;He saw strange somethings rise and dip;He felt the weirdness like a pallCome down and cover him.It seem'dTo take a form, take many forms,To talk to him, to reach out arms;Yet on he kept, and silent kept,And as he led he lean'd and slept,And as he slept he talk'd and dream'd.Then shadows follow'd, stopp'd, and stoodBewildered, wandered back again,Came on and then fell to the sandAnd sinking died.Then other menDid wag their woolly heads and laugh,Then bend their necks and seem to quaffOf cooling waves that careless flowWhere woods and long strong grasses grow.Yet on wound Morgan, leaning low,With head upon his breast, and slowAs hand upon a dial plate.He did not turn his course or quail,He did not falter, did not fail,Turn right or left or hesitate.Some far-off sounds had lost their way,And seem'd to call to him and prayFor help, as if they were affright.It was not day, it seem'd not night,But that dim land that lies betweenThe mournful, faithful face of nightAnd loud and gold-bedazzled day;A night that was not felt but seen.There seem'd not then the ghost of sound.He stepp'd as soft as step the dead;Yet on he led in solemn tread,Bewilder'd, blinded, round and round,About the great black ship that roseTall-masted as that ship that blowsHer ghost below lost Panama,—The tallest mast man ever saw.Two leaning shadows follow'd him,Their eyes were red, their teeth shone white,Their limbs did lift as shadows swim.Then one went left and one went right,And in the night pass'd out of night;Pass'd through the portals black, unknown,And Morgan totter'd on alone.

And still he crept along the plain,

Yet where his foeman dead again

Lay in his way he moved around,

And soft as if on sacred ground,

And did not touch him anywhere.

It might have been he had a dread,

In his half-crazed and fever'd brain,

His mortal foe might wake again

If he should dare to touch him there.

He circled round the lonesome shipLike some wild beast within a wall,That keeps his paces round and round.The very stillness had a sound;He saw strange somethings rise and dip;He felt the weirdness like a pallCome down and cover him.

He circled round the lonesome ship

Like some wild beast within a wall,

That keeps his paces round and round.

The very stillness had a sound;

He saw strange somethings rise and dip;

He felt the weirdness like a pall

Come down and cover him.

It seem'dTo take a form, take many forms,To talk to him, to reach out arms;Yet on he kept, and silent kept,And as he led he lean'd and slept,And as he slept he talk'd and dream'd.

It seem'd

To take a form, take many forms,

To talk to him, to reach out arms;

Yet on he kept, and silent kept,

And as he led he lean'd and slept,

And as he slept he talk'd and dream'd.

Then shadows follow'd, stopp'd, and stoodBewildered, wandered back again,Came on and then fell to the sandAnd sinking died.Then other menDid wag their woolly heads and laugh,Then bend their necks and seem to quaffOf cooling waves that careless flowWhere woods and long strong grasses grow.

Then shadows follow'd, stopp'd, and stood

Bewildered, wandered back again,

Came on and then fell to the sand

And sinking died.

Then other men

Did wag their woolly heads and laugh,

Then bend their necks and seem to quaff

Of cooling waves that careless flow

Where woods and long strong grasses grow.

Yet on wound Morgan, leaning low,With head upon his breast, and slowAs hand upon a dial plate.He did not turn his course or quail,He did not falter, did not fail,Turn right or left or hesitate.

Yet on wound Morgan, leaning low,

With head upon his breast, and slow

As hand upon a dial plate.

He did not turn his course or quail,

He did not falter, did not fail,

Turn right or left or hesitate.

Some far-off sounds had lost their way,And seem'd to call to him and prayFor help, as if they were affright.It was not day, it seem'd not night,But that dim land that lies betweenThe mournful, faithful face of nightAnd loud and gold-bedazzled day;A night that was not felt but seen.

Some far-off sounds had lost their way,

And seem'd to call to him and pray

For help, as if they were affright.

It was not day, it seem'd not night,

But that dim land that lies between

The mournful, faithful face of night

And loud and gold-bedazzled day;

A night that was not felt but seen.

There seem'd not then the ghost of sound.He stepp'd as soft as step the dead;Yet on he led in solemn tread,Bewilder'd, blinded, round and round,About the great black ship that roseTall-masted as that ship that blowsHer ghost below lost Panama,—The tallest mast man ever saw.

There seem'd not then the ghost of sound.

He stepp'd as soft as step the dead;

Yet on he led in solemn tread,

Bewilder'd, blinded, round and round,

About the great black ship that rose

Tall-masted as that ship that blows

Her ghost below lost Panama,—

The tallest mast man ever saw.

Two leaning shadows follow'd him,Their eyes were red, their teeth shone white,Their limbs did lift as shadows swim.Then one went left and one went right,And in the night pass'd out of night;Pass'd through the portals black, unknown,And Morgan totter'd on alone.

Two leaning shadows follow'd him,

Their eyes were red, their teeth shone white,

Their limbs did lift as shadows swim.

Then one went left and one went right,

And in the night pass'd out of night;

Pass'd through the portals black, unknown,

And Morgan totter'd on alone.

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