IITHE AWAKENING
No one may say what time elapsed, or whenThe slumberous shadow lifted over Hugh:But some globose immensity of blueEnfolded him at last, within whose lightHe seemed to float, as some faint swimmer might,A deep beneath and overhead a deep.So one late plunged into the lethal sleep,A spirit diver fighting for his breath,Swoops through the many-fathomed glooms of death,Emerging in a daylight strange and new.Rousing a languid wonder, came on HughThe quiet, steep-arched splendor of the day.Agrope for some dim memory, he layUpon his back, and watched a lucent fleeceFade in the blue profundity of peaceAs did the memory he sought in vain.Then with a stirring of mysterious pain,Old habit of the body bade him rise;But when he would obey, the hollow skiesBroke as a bubble punctured, and went out.Again he woke, and with a drowsy doubt,Remote unto his horizontal gazeHe saw the world’s end kindle to a blazeAnd up the smoky steep pale heralds run.And when at length he knew it for the sun,Dawn found the darkling reaches of his mind,Where in the twilight he began to findStrewn shards and torsos of familiar things.As from the rubble in a place of kingsMen school the dream to build the past anew,So out of dream and fragment builded Hugh,And came upon the reason of his plight:The bear’s attack—the shot—and then the nightWherein men talked as ghosts above a grave.Some consciousness of will the memory gave:He would get up. The painful effort spentMade the wide heavens billow as a tentWind-struck, the shaken prairie sag and roll.Some moments with an effort at controlHe swayed, half raised upon his arms, untilThe dizzy cosmos righted, and was still.Then would he stand erect and be againThe man he was: an overwhelming painSmote him to earth, and one unruly limbRefused the weight and crumpled under him.Sickened with torture he lay huddled there,Gazing about him with a great despairProportioned to the might that felt the chain.Far-flung as dawn, collusive sky and plainStared bleak denial back.Why strive at all?—That vacancy about him like a wall,Yielding as light, a granite scarp to climb!Some little waiting on the creep of time,Abandonment to circumstance; and then—Here flashed a sudden thought of Henry’s menInto his mind and drove the gloom away.They would be riding westward with the day!How strange he had forgot! That battered legOr some scalp wound, had set his wits a-beg!Was this Hugh Glass to whimper like a squaw?Grimly amused, he raised his head and saw—The empty distance: listened long and heard—Naught but the twitter of a lonely birdThat emphasized the hush.Was something wrong?‘Twas not the Major’s way to dally long,And surely they had camped not far behind.Now woke a query in his troubled mind—Where was his horse? Again came creeping backThe circumstances of the bear’s attack.He had dismounted, thinking at the springTo spend the night—and then the grisly thing—Of course the horse had bolted; plain enough!But why was all the soil about so roughAs though a herd of horses had been there?The riddle vexed him till his vacant stareFell on a heap of earth beside a pit.What did that mean? He wormed his way to it,The newly wakened wonder dulling pain.No paw of beast had scooped it—that was plain.‘Twas squared; indeed, ‘twas like a grave, he thought.A grave—a grave—the mental echo wroughtSick fancies! Who had risen from the dead?Who, lying there, had heard above his headThe ghostly talkers deaf unto his shout?Now searching all the region round about,As though the answer were a lurking thing,He saw along the margin of the springAn ash-heap and the litter of a camp.Suspicion, like a little smoky lampThat daubs the murk but cannot fathom it,Flung blear grotesques before his groping wit.Had Rees been there? And he alive? Who then?And were he dead, it might be Henry’s men!How many suns had risen while he slept?The smoky glow flared wildly, and he crept,The dragged limb throbbing, till at length he foundThe trail of many horses westward bound;And in one breath the groping light becameA gloom-devouring ecstasy of flame,A dazing conflagration of belief!Plunged deeper than the seats of hate and grief,He gazed about for aught that might denySuch baseness: saw the non-committal sky,The prairie apathetic in a shroud,The bland complacence of a vagrant cloud—World-wide connivance! Smilingly the sunApproved a land wherein such deeds were done;And careless breezes, like a troop of youth,Unawed before the presence of such truth,Went scampering amid the tousled brush.Then bye and bye came on him with a rushHis weakness and the consciousness of pain,While, with the chill insistence of a rainThat pelts the sodden wreck of Summer’s end,His manifest betrayal by a friendBeat in upon him. Jamie had been there;And Jamie—Jamie—Jamie did not care!What no man yet had witnessed, the wide skyLooked down and saw; a light wind idling byHeard what no ear of mortal yet had heard:For he—whose name was like a magic wordTo conjure the remote heroic moodOf valiant deed and splendid fortitude,Wherever two that shared a fire might be,—Gave way to grief and wept unmanfully.Yet not as they for whom tears fall like dewTo green a frosted heart again, wept Hugh.So thewed to strive, so engined to prevailAnd make harsh fate the zany of a tale,His own might shook and tore him.For a spanHe lay, a gray old ruin of a manWith all his years upon him like a snow.And then at length, as from the long ago,Remote beyond the other side of wrong,The old love came like some remembered songWhereof the strain is sweet, the burden sad.A retrospective vision of the ladGrew up in him, as in a foggy nightThe witchery of semilunar lightMysteriously quickens all the air.Some memory of wind-blown golden hair,The boyish laugh, the merry eyes of blue,Wrought marvelously in the heart of Hugh,As under snow the dæmon of the Spring.And momently it seemed a little thingTo suffer; nor might treachery recallThe miracle of being loved at all,The privilege of loving to the end.And thereupon a longing for his friendMade life once more a struggle for a prize—To look again upon the merry eyes,To see again the wind-blown golden hair.Aye, one should lavish very tender careUpon the vessel of a hope so great,Lest it be shattered, and the precious freight,As water on the arid waste, poured out.Yet, though he longed to live, a subtle doubtStill turned on him the weapon of his pain:Now, as before, collusive sky and plainOutstared his purpose for a puny thing.Praying to live, he crawled back to the spring,With something in his heart like gratitudeThat by good luck his gun might furnish food,His blanket, shelter, and his flint, a fire.For, after all, what thing do men desireTo be or have, but these condition it?These with a purpose and a little wit,And howsoever smitten, one might rise,Push back the curtain of the curving skies,And come upon the living dream at last.Exhausted, by the spring he lay and castDull eyes about him. What did it portend?Naught but the footprints of a fickle friend,A yawning grave and ashes met his eyes!Scarce feeling yet the shock of a surprise,He searched about him for his flint and knife;Knew vaguely that his seeking was for life,And that the place was empty where he sought.No food, no fire, no shelter! Dully wroughtThe bleak negation in him, slowly creptTo where, despite the pain, his love had keptA shrine for Jamie undefiled of doubt.Then suddenly conviction, like a shout,Aroused him. Jamie—Jamie was a thief!The very difficulty of beliefWas fuel for the simmering of rage;That grew and grew, the more he strove to gageThe underlying motive of the deed.Untempered youth might fail a friend in need;But here had wrought some devil of the will,Some heartless thing, too cowardly to kill,That left to Nature what it dared not do!So bellowsed, all the kindled soul of HughBecame a still white hell of brooding ire,And through his veins regenerating fireRan, driving out the lethargy of pain.Now once again he scanned the yellow plain,Conspirant with the overbending skies;And lo, the one was blue as Jamie’s eyes,The other of the color of his hair—Twin hues of falseness merging to a stare,As though such guilt, thus visibly immense,Regarded its effect with insolence!Alas for those who fondly place aboveThe act of loving, what they chance to love;Who prize the goal more dearly than the way!For time shall plunder them, and change betray,And life shall find them vulnerable still.A bitter-sweet narcotic to the will,Hugh’s love increased the peril of his plight;But anger broke the slumber of his might,Quickened the heart and warmed the blood that ranDefiance for the treachery of Man,Defiance for the meaning of his pain,Defiance for the distance of the plainThat seemed to gloat, ‘You can not master me.’And for one burning moment he felt freeTo rise and conquer in a wind of rage.But as a tiger, conscious of the cage,A-smoulder with a purpose, broods and waits,So with the sullen patience that is hate’sHugh taught his wrath to bide expedience.Now cognizant of every quickened sense,Thirst came upon him. Leaning to the spring,He stared with fascination on a thingThat rose from giddy deeps to share the draught—A face, it was, so tortured that it laughed,A ghastly mask that Murder well might wear;And while as one they drank together there,It was as though the deed he meant to doTook shape and came to kiss the lips of Hugh,Lest that revenge might falter. Hunger woke;And from the bush with leafage gray as smoke,Wherein like flame the bullberries glinted red(Scarce sweeter than the heart of him they fed),Hugh feasted.And the hours of waiting crept,A-gloom, a-glow; and though he waked or slept,The pondered purpose or a dream that wrought,By night, the murder of his waking thought,Sustained him till he felt his strength returned.And then at length the longed-for morning burnedAnd beckoned down the vast way he should crawl—That waste to be surmounted as a wall,Sky-rims and yet more sky-rims steep to climb—That simulacrum of enduring Time—The hundred empty miles ‘twixt him and whereThe stark Missouri ran!Yet why not dare?Despite the useless leg, he could not dieOne hairsbreadth farther from the earth and sky,Or more remote from kindness.
No one may say what time elapsed, or whenThe slumberous shadow lifted over Hugh:But some globose immensity of blueEnfolded him at last, within whose lightHe seemed to float, as some faint swimmer might,A deep beneath and overhead a deep.So one late plunged into the lethal sleep,A spirit diver fighting for his breath,Swoops through the many-fathomed glooms of death,Emerging in a daylight strange and new.Rousing a languid wonder, came on HughThe quiet, steep-arched splendor of the day.Agrope for some dim memory, he layUpon his back, and watched a lucent fleeceFade in the blue profundity of peaceAs did the memory he sought in vain.Then with a stirring of mysterious pain,Old habit of the body bade him rise;But when he would obey, the hollow skiesBroke as a bubble punctured, and went out.Again he woke, and with a drowsy doubt,Remote unto his horizontal gazeHe saw the world’s end kindle to a blazeAnd up the smoky steep pale heralds run.And when at length he knew it for the sun,Dawn found the darkling reaches of his mind,Where in the twilight he began to findStrewn shards and torsos of familiar things.As from the rubble in a place of kingsMen school the dream to build the past anew,So out of dream and fragment builded Hugh,And came upon the reason of his plight:The bear’s attack—the shot—and then the nightWherein men talked as ghosts above a grave.Some consciousness of will the memory gave:He would get up. The painful effort spentMade the wide heavens billow as a tentWind-struck, the shaken prairie sag and roll.Some moments with an effort at controlHe swayed, half raised upon his arms, untilThe dizzy cosmos righted, and was still.Then would he stand erect and be againThe man he was: an overwhelming painSmote him to earth, and one unruly limbRefused the weight and crumpled under him.Sickened with torture he lay huddled there,Gazing about him with a great despairProportioned to the might that felt the chain.Far-flung as dawn, collusive sky and plainStared bleak denial back.Why strive at all?—That vacancy about him like a wall,Yielding as light, a granite scarp to climb!Some little waiting on the creep of time,Abandonment to circumstance; and then—Here flashed a sudden thought of Henry’s menInto his mind and drove the gloom away.They would be riding westward with the day!How strange he had forgot! That battered legOr some scalp wound, had set his wits a-beg!Was this Hugh Glass to whimper like a squaw?Grimly amused, he raised his head and saw—The empty distance: listened long and heard—Naught but the twitter of a lonely birdThat emphasized the hush.Was something wrong?‘Twas not the Major’s way to dally long,And surely they had camped not far behind.Now woke a query in his troubled mind—Where was his horse? Again came creeping backThe circumstances of the bear’s attack.He had dismounted, thinking at the springTo spend the night—and then the grisly thing—Of course the horse had bolted; plain enough!But why was all the soil about so roughAs though a herd of horses had been there?The riddle vexed him till his vacant stareFell on a heap of earth beside a pit.What did that mean? He wormed his way to it,The newly wakened wonder dulling pain.No paw of beast had scooped it—that was plain.‘Twas squared; indeed, ‘twas like a grave, he thought.A grave—a grave—the mental echo wroughtSick fancies! Who had risen from the dead?Who, lying there, had heard above his headThe ghostly talkers deaf unto his shout?Now searching all the region round about,As though the answer were a lurking thing,He saw along the margin of the springAn ash-heap and the litter of a camp.Suspicion, like a little smoky lampThat daubs the murk but cannot fathom it,Flung blear grotesques before his groping wit.Had Rees been there? And he alive? Who then?And were he dead, it might be Henry’s men!How many suns had risen while he slept?The smoky glow flared wildly, and he crept,The dragged limb throbbing, till at length he foundThe trail of many horses westward bound;And in one breath the groping light becameA gloom-devouring ecstasy of flame,A dazing conflagration of belief!Plunged deeper than the seats of hate and grief,He gazed about for aught that might denySuch baseness: saw the non-committal sky,The prairie apathetic in a shroud,The bland complacence of a vagrant cloud—World-wide connivance! Smilingly the sunApproved a land wherein such deeds were done;And careless breezes, like a troop of youth,Unawed before the presence of such truth,Went scampering amid the tousled brush.Then bye and bye came on him with a rushHis weakness and the consciousness of pain,While, with the chill insistence of a rainThat pelts the sodden wreck of Summer’s end,His manifest betrayal by a friendBeat in upon him. Jamie had been there;And Jamie—Jamie—Jamie did not care!What no man yet had witnessed, the wide skyLooked down and saw; a light wind idling byHeard what no ear of mortal yet had heard:For he—whose name was like a magic wordTo conjure the remote heroic moodOf valiant deed and splendid fortitude,Wherever two that shared a fire might be,—Gave way to grief and wept unmanfully.Yet not as they for whom tears fall like dewTo green a frosted heart again, wept Hugh.So thewed to strive, so engined to prevailAnd make harsh fate the zany of a tale,His own might shook and tore him.For a spanHe lay, a gray old ruin of a manWith all his years upon him like a snow.And then at length, as from the long ago,Remote beyond the other side of wrong,The old love came like some remembered songWhereof the strain is sweet, the burden sad.A retrospective vision of the ladGrew up in him, as in a foggy nightThe witchery of semilunar lightMysteriously quickens all the air.Some memory of wind-blown golden hair,The boyish laugh, the merry eyes of blue,Wrought marvelously in the heart of Hugh,As under snow the dæmon of the Spring.And momently it seemed a little thingTo suffer; nor might treachery recallThe miracle of being loved at all,The privilege of loving to the end.And thereupon a longing for his friendMade life once more a struggle for a prize—To look again upon the merry eyes,To see again the wind-blown golden hair.Aye, one should lavish very tender careUpon the vessel of a hope so great,Lest it be shattered, and the precious freight,As water on the arid waste, poured out.Yet, though he longed to live, a subtle doubtStill turned on him the weapon of his pain:Now, as before, collusive sky and plainOutstared his purpose for a puny thing.Praying to live, he crawled back to the spring,With something in his heart like gratitudeThat by good luck his gun might furnish food,His blanket, shelter, and his flint, a fire.For, after all, what thing do men desireTo be or have, but these condition it?These with a purpose and a little wit,And howsoever smitten, one might rise,Push back the curtain of the curving skies,And come upon the living dream at last.Exhausted, by the spring he lay and castDull eyes about him. What did it portend?Naught but the footprints of a fickle friend,A yawning grave and ashes met his eyes!Scarce feeling yet the shock of a surprise,He searched about him for his flint and knife;Knew vaguely that his seeking was for life,And that the place was empty where he sought.No food, no fire, no shelter! Dully wroughtThe bleak negation in him, slowly creptTo where, despite the pain, his love had keptA shrine for Jamie undefiled of doubt.Then suddenly conviction, like a shout,Aroused him. Jamie—Jamie was a thief!The very difficulty of beliefWas fuel for the simmering of rage;That grew and grew, the more he strove to gageThe underlying motive of the deed.Untempered youth might fail a friend in need;But here had wrought some devil of the will,Some heartless thing, too cowardly to kill,That left to Nature what it dared not do!So bellowsed, all the kindled soul of HughBecame a still white hell of brooding ire,And through his veins regenerating fireRan, driving out the lethargy of pain.Now once again he scanned the yellow plain,Conspirant with the overbending skies;And lo, the one was blue as Jamie’s eyes,The other of the color of his hair—Twin hues of falseness merging to a stare,As though such guilt, thus visibly immense,Regarded its effect with insolence!Alas for those who fondly place aboveThe act of loving, what they chance to love;Who prize the goal more dearly than the way!For time shall plunder them, and change betray,And life shall find them vulnerable still.A bitter-sweet narcotic to the will,Hugh’s love increased the peril of his plight;But anger broke the slumber of his might,Quickened the heart and warmed the blood that ranDefiance for the treachery of Man,Defiance for the meaning of his pain,Defiance for the distance of the plainThat seemed to gloat, ‘You can not master me.’And for one burning moment he felt freeTo rise and conquer in a wind of rage.But as a tiger, conscious of the cage,A-smoulder with a purpose, broods and waits,So with the sullen patience that is hate’sHugh taught his wrath to bide expedience.Now cognizant of every quickened sense,Thirst came upon him. Leaning to the spring,He stared with fascination on a thingThat rose from giddy deeps to share the draught—A face, it was, so tortured that it laughed,A ghastly mask that Murder well might wear;And while as one they drank together there,It was as though the deed he meant to doTook shape and came to kiss the lips of Hugh,Lest that revenge might falter. Hunger woke;And from the bush with leafage gray as smoke,Wherein like flame the bullberries glinted red(Scarce sweeter than the heart of him they fed),Hugh feasted.And the hours of waiting crept,A-gloom, a-glow; and though he waked or slept,The pondered purpose or a dream that wrought,By night, the murder of his waking thought,Sustained him till he felt his strength returned.And then at length the longed-for morning burnedAnd beckoned down the vast way he should crawl—That waste to be surmounted as a wall,Sky-rims and yet more sky-rims steep to climb—That simulacrum of enduring Time—The hundred empty miles ‘twixt him and whereThe stark Missouri ran!Yet why not dare?Despite the useless leg, he could not dieOne hairsbreadth farther from the earth and sky,Or more remote from kindness.
No one may say what time elapsed, or whenThe slumberous shadow lifted over Hugh:But some globose immensity of blueEnfolded him at last, within whose lightHe seemed to float, as some faint swimmer might,A deep beneath and overhead a deep.So one late plunged into the lethal sleep,A spirit diver fighting for his breath,Swoops through the many-fathomed glooms of death,Emerging in a daylight strange and new.
No one may say what time elapsed, or when
The slumberous shadow lifted over Hugh:
But some globose immensity of blue
Enfolded him at last, within whose light
He seemed to float, as some faint swimmer might,
A deep beneath and overhead a deep.
So one late plunged into the lethal sleep,
A spirit diver fighting for his breath,
Swoops through the many-fathomed glooms of death,
Emerging in a daylight strange and new.
Rousing a languid wonder, came on HughThe quiet, steep-arched splendor of the day.Agrope for some dim memory, he layUpon his back, and watched a lucent fleeceFade in the blue profundity of peaceAs did the memory he sought in vain.Then with a stirring of mysterious pain,Old habit of the body bade him rise;But when he would obey, the hollow skiesBroke as a bubble punctured, and went out.
Rousing a languid wonder, came on Hugh
The quiet, steep-arched splendor of the day.
Agrope for some dim memory, he lay
Upon his back, and watched a lucent fleece
Fade in the blue profundity of peace
As did the memory he sought in vain.
Then with a stirring of mysterious pain,
Old habit of the body bade him rise;
But when he would obey, the hollow skies
Broke as a bubble punctured, and went out.
Again he woke, and with a drowsy doubt,Remote unto his horizontal gazeHe saw the world’s end kindle to a blazeAnd up the smoky steep pale heralds run.And when at length he knew it for the sun,Dawn found the darkling reaches of his mind,Where in the twilight he began to findStrewn shards and torsos of familiar things.As from the rubble in a place of kingsMen school the dream to build the past anew,So out of dream and fragment builded Hugh,And came upon the reason of his plight:The bear’s attack—the shot—and then the nightWherein men talked as ghosts above a grave.
Again he woke, and with a drowsy doubt,
Remote unto his horizontal gaze
He saw the world’s end kindle to a blaze
And up the smoky steep pale heralds run.
And when at length he knew it for the sun,
Dawn found the darkling reaches of his mind,
Where in the twilight he began to find
Strewn shards and torsos of familiar things.
As from the rubble in a place of kings
Men school the dream to build the past anew,
So out of dream and fragment builded Hugh,
And came upon the reason of his plight:
The bear’s attack—the shot—and then the night
Wherein men talked as ghosts above a grave.
Some consciousness of will the memory gave:He would get up. The painful effort spentMade the wide heavens billow as a tentWind-struck, the shaken prairie sag and roll.Some moments with an effort at controlHe swayed, half raised upon his arms, untilThe dizzy cosmos righted, and was still.Then would he stand erect and be againThe man he was: an overwhelming painSmote him to earth, and one unruly limbRefused the weight and crumpled under him.
Some consciousness of will the memory gave:
He would get up. The painful effort spent
Made the wide heavens billow as a tent
Wind-struck, the shaken prairie sag and roll.
Some moments with an effort at control
He swayed, half raised upon his arms, until
The dizzy cosmos righted, and was still.
Then would he stand erect and be again
The man he was: an overwhelming pain
Smote him to earth, and one unruly limb
Refused the weight and crumpled under him.
Sickened with torture he lay huddled there,Gazing about him with a great despairProportioned to the might that felt the chain.Far-flung as dawn, collusive sky and plainStared bleak denial back.Why strive at all?—That vacancy about him like a wall,Yielding as light, a granite scarp to climb!Some little waiting on the creep of time,Abandonment to circumstance; and then—
Sickened with torture he lay huddled there,
Gazing about him with a great despair
Proportioned to the might that felt the chain.
Far-flung as dawn, collusive sky and plain
Stared bleak denial back.
Why strive at all?—
That vacancy about him like a wall,
Yielding as light, a granite scarp to climb!
Some little waiting on the creep of time,
Abandonment to circumstance; and then—
Here flashed a sudden thought of Henry’s menInto his mind and drove the gloom away.They would be riding westward with the day!How strange he had forgot! That battered legOr some scalp wound, had set his wits a-beg!Was this Hugh Glass to whimper like a squaw?Grimly amused, he raised his head and saw—The empty distance: listened long and heard—Naught but the twitter of a lonely birdThat emphasized the hush.Was something wrong?‘Twas not the Major’s way to dally long,And surely they had camped not far behind.Now woke a query in his troubled mind—Where was his horse? Again came creeping backThe circumstances of the bear’s attack.He had dismounted, thinking at the springTo spend the night—and then the grisly thing—Of course the horse had bolted; plain enough!But why was all the soil about so roughAs though a herd of horses had been there?The riddle vexed him till his vacant stareFell on a heap of earth beside a pit.What did that mean? He wormed his way to it,The newly wakened wonder dulling pain.No paw of beast had scooped it—that was plain.‘Twas squared; indeed, ‘twas like a grave, he thought.A grave—a grave—the mental echo wroughtSick fancies! Who had risen from the dead?Who, lying there, had heard above his headThe ghostly talkers deaf unto his shout?
Here flashed a sudden thought of Henry’s men
Into his mind and drove the gloom away.
They would be riding westward with the day!
How strange he had forgot! That battered leg
Or some scalp wound, had set his wits a-beg!
Was this Hugh Glass to whimper like a squaw?
Grimly amused, he raised his head and saw—
The empty distance: listened long and heard—
Naught but the twitter of a lonely bird
That emphasized the hush.
Was something wrong?
‘Twas not the Major’s way to dally long,
And surely they had camped not far behind.
Now woke a query in his troubled mind—
Where was his horse? Again came creeping back
The circumstances of the bear’s attack.
He had dismounted, thinking at the spring
To spend the night—and then the grisly thing—
Of course the horse had bolted; plain enough!
But why was all the soil about so rough
As though a herd of horses had been there?
The riddle vexed him till his vacant stare
Fell on a heap of earth beside a pit.
What did that mean? He wormed his way to it,
The newly wakened wonder dulling pain.
No paw of beast had scooped it—that was plain.
‘Twas squared; indeed, ‘twas like a grave, he thought.
A grave—a grave—the mental echo wrought
Sick fancies! Who had risen from the dead?
Who, lying there, had heard above his head
The ghostly talkers deaf unto his shout?
Now searching all the region round about,As though the answer were a lurking thing,He saw along the margin of the springAn ash-heap and the litter of a camp.Suspicion, like a little smoky lampThat daubs the murk but cannot fathom it,Flung blear grotesques before his groping wit.Had Rees been there? And he alive? Who then?And were he dead, it might be Henry’s men!How many suns had risen while he slept?The smoky glow flared wildly, and he crept,The dragged limb throbbing, till at length he foundThe trail of many horses westward bound;And in one breath the groping light becameA gloom-devouring ecstasy of flame,A dazing conflagration of belief!
Now searching all the region round about,
As though the answer were a lurking thing,
He saw along the margin of the spring
An ash-heap and the litter of a camp.
Suspicion, like a little smoky lamp
That daubs the murk but cannot fathom it,
Flung blear grotesques before his groping wit.
Had Rees been there? And he alive? Who then?
And were he dead, it might be Henry’s men!
How many suns had risen while he slept?
The smoky glow flared wildly, and he crept,
The dragged limb throbbing, till at length he found
The trail of many horses westward bound;
And in one breath the groping light became
A gloom-devouring ecstasy of flame,
A dazing conflagration of belief!
Plunged deeper than the seats of hate and grief,He gazed about for aught that might denySuch baseness: saw the non-committal sky,The prairie apathetic in a shroud,The bland complacence of a vagrant cloud—World-wide connivance! Smilingly the sunApproved a land wherein such deeds were done;And careless breezes, like a troop of youth,Unawed before the presence of such truth,Went scampering amid the tousled brush.Then bye and bye came on him with a rushHis weakness and the consciousness of pain,While, with the chill insistence of a rainThat pelts the sodden wreck of Summer’s end,His manifest betrayal by a friendBeat in upon him. Jamie had been there;And Jamie—Jamie—Jamie did not care!
Plunged deeper than the seats of hate and grief,
He gazed about for aught that might deny
Such baseness: saw the non-committal sky,
The prairie apathetic in a shroud,
The bland complacence of a vagrant cloud—
World-wide connivance! Smilingly the sun
Approved a land wherein such deeds were done;
And careless breezes, like a troop of youth,
Unawed before the presence of such truth,
Went scampering amid the tousled brush.
Then bye and bye came on him with a rush
His weakness and the consciousness of pain,
While, with the chill insistence of a rain
That pelts the sodden wreck of Summer’s end,
His manifest betrayal by a friend
Beat in upon him. Jamie had been there;
And Jamie—Jamie—Jamie did not care!
What no man yet had witnessed, the wide skyLooked down and saw; a light wind idling byHeard what no ear of mortal yet had heard:For he—whose name was like a magic wordTo conjure the remote heroic moodOf valiant deed and splendid fortitude,Wherever two that shared a fire might be,—Gave way to grief and wept unmanfully.Yet not as they for whom tears fall like dewTo green a frosted heart again, wept Hugh.So thewed to strive, so engined to prevailAnd make harsh fate the zany of a tale,His own might shook and tore him.For a spanHe lay, a gray old ruin of a manWith all his years upon him like a snow.And then at length, as from the long ago,Remote beyond the other side of wrong,The old love came like some remembered songWhereof the strain is sweet, the burden sad.A retrospective vision of the ladGrew up in him, as in a foggy nightThe witchery of semilunar lightMysteriously quickens all the air.Some memory of wind-blown golden hair,The boyish laugh, the merry eyes of blue,Wrought marvelously in the heart of Hugh,As under snow the dæmon of the Spring.And momently it seemed a little thingTo suffer; nor might treachery recallThe miracle of being loved at all,The privilege of loving to the end.And thereupon a longing for his friendMade life once more a struggle for a prize—To look again upon the merry eyes,To see again the wind-blown golden hair.Aye, one should lavish very tender careUpon the vessel of a hope so great,Lest it be shattered, and the precious freight,As water on the arid waste, poured out.Yet, though he longed to live, a subtle doubtStill turned on him the weapon of his pain:Now, as before, collusive sky and plainOutstared his purpose for a puny thing.
What no man yet had witnessed, the wide sky
Looked down and saw; a light wind idling by
Heard what no ear of mortal yet had heard:
For he—whose name was like a magic word
To conjure the remote heroic mood
Of valiant deed and splendid fortitude,
Wherever two that shared a fire might be,—
Gave way to grief and wept unmanfully.
Yet not as they for whom tears fall like dew
To green a frosted heart again, wept Hugh.
So thewed to strive, so engined to prevail
And make harsh fate the zany of a tale,
His own might shook and tore him.
For a span
He lay, a gray old ruin of a man
With all his years upon him like a snow.
And then at length, as from the long ago,
Remote beyond the other side of wrong,
The old love came like some remembered song
Whereof the strain is sweet, the burden sad.
A retrospective vision of the lad
Grew up in him, as in a foggy night
The witchery of semilunar light
Mysteriously quickens all the air.
Some memory of wind-blown golden hair,
The boyish laugh, the merry eyes of blue,
Wrought marvelously in the heart of Hugh,
As under snow the dæmon of the Spring.
And momently it seemed a little thing
To suffer; nor might treachery recall
The miracle of being loved at all,
The privilege of loving to the end.
And thereupon a longing for his friend
Made life once more a struggle for a prize—
To look again upon the merry eyes,
To see again the wind-blown golden hair.
Aye, one should lavish very tender care
Upon the vessel of a hope so great,
Lest it be shattered, and the precious freight,
As water on the arid waste, poured out.
Yet, though he longed to live, a subtle doubt
Still turned on him the weapon of his pain:
Now, as before, collusive sky and plain
Outstared his purpose for a puny thing.
Praying to live, he crawled back to the spring,With something in his heart like gratitudeThat by good luck his gun might furnish food,His blanket, shelter, and his flint, a fire.For, after all, what thing do men desireTo be or have, but these condition it?These with a purpose and a little wit,And howsoever smitten, one might rise,Push back the curtain of the curving skies,And come upon the living dream at last.
Praying to live, he crawled back to the spring,
With something in his heart like gratitude
That by good luck his gun might furnish food,
His blanket, shelter, and his flint, a fire.
For, after all, what thing do men desire
To be or have, but these condition it?
These with a purpose and a little wit,
And howsoever smitten, one might rise,
Push back the curtain of the curving skies,
And come upon the living dream at last.
Exhausted, by the spring he lay and castDull eyes about him. What did it portend?Naught but the footprints of a fickle friend,A yawning grave and ashes met his eyes!Scarce feeling yet the shock of a surprise,He searched about him for his flint and knife;Knew vaguely that his seeking was for life,And that the place was empty where he sought.No food, no fire, no shelter! Dully wroughtThe bleak negation in him, slowly creptTo where, despite the pain, his love had keptA shrine for Jamie undefiled of doubt.Then suddenly conviction, like a shout,Aroused him. Jamie—Jamie was a thief!The very difficulty of beliefWas fuel for the simmering of rage;That grew and grew, the more he strove to gageThe underlying motive of the deed.Untempered youth might fail a friend in need;But here had wrought some devil of the will,Some heartless thing, too cowardly to kill,That left to Nature what it dared not do!
Exhausted, by the spring he lay and cast
Dull eyes about him. What did it portend?
Naught but the footprints of a fickle friend,
A yawning grave and ashes met his eyes!
Scarce feeling yet the shock of a surprise,
He searched about him for his flint and knife;
Knew vaguely that his seeking was for life,
And that the place was empty where he sought.
No food, no fire, no shelter! Dully wrought
The bleak negation in him, slowly crept
To where, despite the pain, his love had kept
A shrine for Jamie undefiled of doubt.
Then suddenly conviction, like a shout,
Aroused him. Jamie—Jamie was a thief!
The very difficulty of belief
Was fuel for the simmering of rage;
That grew and grew, the more he strove to gage
The underlying motive of the deed.
Untempered youth might fail a friend in need;
But here had wrought some devil of the will,
Some heartless thing, too cowardly to kill,
That left to Nature what it dared not do!
So bellowsed, all the kindled soul of HughBecame a still white hell of brooding ire,And through his veins regenerating fireRan, driving out the lethargy of pain.Now once again he scanned the yellow plain,Conspirant with the overbending skies;And lo, the one was blue as Jamie’s eyes,The other of the color of his hair—Twin hues of falseness merging to a stare,As though such guilt, thus visibly immense,Regarded its effect with insolence!
So bellowsed, all the kindled soul of Hugh
Became a still white hell of brooding ire,
And through his veins regenerating fire
Ran, driving out the lethargy of pain.
Now once again he scanned the yellow plain,
Conspirant with the overbending skies;
And lo, the one was blue as Jamie’s eyes,
The other of the color of his hair—
Twin hues of falseness merging to a stare,
As though such guilt, thus visibly immense,
Regarded its effect with insolence!
Alas for those who fondly place aboveThe act of loving, what they chance to love;Who prize the goal more dearly than the way!For time shall plunder them, and change betray,And life shall find them vulnerable still.
Alas for those who fondly place above
The act of loving, what they chance to love;
Who prize the goal more dearly than the way!
For time shall plunder them, and change betray,
And life shall find them vulnerable still.
A bitter-sweet narcotic to the will,Hugh’s love increased the peril of his plight;But anger broke the slumber of his might,Quickened the heart and warmed the blood that ranDefiance for the treachery of Man,Defiance for the meaning of his pain,Defiance for the distance of the plainThat seemed to gloat, ‘You can not master me.’And for one burning moment he felt freeTo rise and conquer in a wind of rage.But as a tiger, conscious of the cage,A-smoulder with a purpose, broods and waits,So with the sullen patience that is hate’sHugh taught his wrath to bide expedience.
A bitter-sweet narcotic to the will,
Hugh’s love increased the peril of his plight;
But anger broke the slumber of his might,
Quickened the heart and warmed the blood that ran
Defiance for the treachery of Man,
Defiance for the meaning of his pain,
Defiance for the distance of the plain
That seemed to gloat, ‘You can not master me.’
And for one burning moment he felt free
To rise and conquer in a wind of rage.
But as a tiger, conscious of the cage,
A-smoulder with a purpose, broods and waits,
So with the sullen patience that is hate’s
Hugh taught his wrath to bide expedience.
Now cognizant of every quickened sense,Thirst came upon him. Leaning to the spring,He stared with fascination on a thingThat rose from giddy deeps to share the draught—A face, it was, so tortured that it laughed,A ghastly mask that Murder well might wear;And while as one they drank together there,It was as though the deed he meant to doTook shape and came to kiss the lips of Hugh,Lest that revenge might falter. Hunger woke;And from the bush with leafage gray as smoke,Wherein like flame the bullberries glinted red(Scarce sweeter than the heart of him they fed),Hugh feasted.And the hours of waiting crept,A-gloom, a-glow; and though he waked or slept,The pondered purpose or a dream that wrought,By night, the murder of his waking thought,Sustained him till he felt his strength returned.And then at length the longed-for morning burnedAnd beckoned down the vast way he should crawl—That waste to be surmounted as a wall,Sky-rims and yet more sky-rims steep to climb—That simulacrum of enduring Time—The hundred empty miles ‘twixt him and whereThe stark Missouri ran!Yet why not dare?Despite the useless leg, he could not dieOne hairsbreadth farther from the earth and sky,Or more remote from kindness.
Now cognizant of every quickened sense,
Thirst came upon him. Leaning to the spring,
He stared with fascination on a thing
That rose from giddy deeps to share the draught—
A face, it was, so tortured that it laughed,
A ghastly mask that Murder well might wear;
And while as one they drank together there,
It was as though the deed he meant to do
Took shape and came to kiss the lips of Hugh,
Lest that revenge might falter. Hunger woke;
And from the bush with leafage gray as smoke,
Wherein like flame the bullberries glinted red
(Scarce sweeter than the heart of him they fed),
Hugh feasted.
And the hours of waiting crept,
A-gloom, a-glow; and though he waked or slept,
The pondered purpose or a dream that wrought,
By night, the murder of his waking thought,
Sustained him till he felt his strength returned.
And then at length the longed-for morning burned
And beckoned down the vast way he should crawl—
That waste to be surmounted as a wall,
Sky-rims and yet more sky-rims steep to climb—
That simulacrum of enduring Time—
The hundred empty miles ‘twixt him and where
The stark Missouri ran!
Yet why not dare?
Despite the useless leg, he could not die
One hairsbreadth farther from the earth and sky,
Or more remote from kindness.