Produced by Daniel Emerson Griffith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS BY JOAQUIN MILLER AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF THE SIERRAS," "SONGS OF ITALY," ETC. BOSTON ROBERTS BROTHERS 1887 Copyright, 1887, By Roberts Brothers. UNIVERSITY PRESS: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. TO ABBIE. NOTE.--The lines in this little book, as in all my others, were written, or at least conceived, in the lands where the scenes are laid; so that whatever may be said of the imperfections of my work, I at least have the correct atmosphere and color. I have now and then sent forth from Mexico, and from remoter shores of the Gulf, fragments of these thoughts as they rounded into form, and some of them have been used at a Dartmouth College Commencement, and elsewhere; but as a whole the book is new. From the heart of the Sierra, where I once more hear the awful heart-throbs of Nature, I now intrust the first reception of these lessons entirely to my own country. And may I not ask in return, now at the last, when the shadows begin to grow long, something of that consideration which, thus far, has been accorded almost entirely by strangers? Joaquin Miller. Mount Shasta, California, A.D. 1887. SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS. THE SEA OF FIRE. In that far land, farther than Yucatan, Hondurian height, or Mahogany steep, Where the great sea, hollowed by the hand of man Hears deep come calling across to deep; Where the great seas follow in the grooves of men Down under the bastions of Darien: In that land so far that you wonder whether If God would know it should you fall down dead; In that land so far through the wilds and weather That the lost sun sinks like a warrior sped,-- Where the sea and the sky seem closing together, Seem closing together as a book that is read: In that nude warm world, where the unnamed rivers Roll restless in cradles of bright buried gold; Where white flashing mountains flow rivers of silver As a rock of the desert flowed fountains of old; By a dark wooded river that calls to the dawn, And calls all day with his dolorous swan: In that land of the wonderful sun and weather, With green under foot and with gold over head, Where the spent sun flames, and you wonder whether 'Tis an isle of fire in his foamy bed: Where the oceans of earth shall be welded together By the great French master in his forge flame red,-- Lo! the half-finished world! Yon footfall retreating,-- It might be the Maker disturbed at his task. But the footfall of God, or the far pheasant beating, It is one and the same, whatever the mask It may wear unto man. The woods keep repeating The old sacred sermons, whatever you ask. The brown-muzzled cattle come stealthy to drink, The wild forest cattle, with high horns as trim As the elk at their side: their sleek necks are slim And alert like the deer. They come, then they shrink As afraid of their fellows, of shadow-beasts seen In the deeps of the dark-wooded waters of green. It is man in his garden, scarce wakened as yet From the sleep that fell on him when woman was made. The new-finished garden is plastic and wet From the hand that has fashioned its unpeopled shade; And the wonder still looks from the fair woman's eyes As she shines through the wood like the light from the skies. And a ship now and then from some far Ophir's shore Draws in from the sea. It lies close to the bank; Then a dull, muffled sound of the slow-shuffled plank As they load the black ship; but you hear nothing more, And the dark dewy vines, and the tall sombre wood Like twilight droop over the deep sweeping flood. The black masts are tangled with branches that cross, The rich, fragrant gums fall from branches to deck, The thin ropes are swinging with streamers of moss That mantle all things like the shreds of a wreck; The long mosses swing, there is never a breath: The river rolls still as the river of death. I. In the beginning,--ay, before The six-days' labors were well o'er; Yea, while the world lay incomplete, Ere God had opened quite the door Of this strange land for strong men's feet,-- There lay against that westmost sea One weird-wild land of mystery. A far white wall, like fallen moon, Girt out the world. The forest lay So deep you scarcely saw the day, Save in the high-held middle noon: It lay a land of sleep and dreams, And clouds drew through like shoreless streams That stretch to where no man may say. Men reached it only from the sea, By black-built ships, that seemed to creep Along the shore suspiciously, Like unnamed monsters of the deep. It was the weirdest land, I ween, That mortal eye has ever seen: A dim, dark land of bird and beast, Black shaggy beasts with cloven claw,-- A land that scarce knew prayer or priest, Or law of man, or Nature's law; Where no fixed line drew sharp dispute 'Twixt savage man and silent brute. II. It hath a history most fit For cunning hand to fashion on; No chronicler hath mentioned it; No buccaneer set foot upon. 'Tis of an outlawed Spanish Don,-- A cruel man, with pirate's gold That loaded down his deep ship's hold. A deep ship's hold of plundered gold! The golden cruise, the golden cross, From many a church of Mexico, From Panama's mad overthrow, From many a ransomed city's loss, From many a follower stanch and bold, And many a foeman stark and cold. He found this wild, lost land. He drew His ship to shore. His ruthless crew, Like Romulus, laid lawless hand On meek brown maidens of the land, And in their bloody forays bore Red firebrands along the shore. III. The red men rose at night. They came, A firm, unflinching wall of flame; They swept, as sweeps some fateful sea O'er land of sand and level shore That howls in far, fierce agony. The red men swept that deep, dark shore As threshers sweep a threshing-floor. And yet beside the slain Don's door They left his daughter, as they fled: They spared her life, because she bore Their Chieftain's blood and name. The red And blood-stained hidden hoards of gold They hollowed from the stout ship's hold, And bore in many a slim canoe-- To where? The good priest only knew. IV. The course of life is like the sea: Men come and go; tides rise and fall; And that is all of history. The tide flows in, flows out to-day,-- And that is all that man may say; Man is, man was,--and that is all. Revenge at last came like a tide,-- 'Twas sweeping, deep, and terrible; The Christian found the land, and came To take possession in Christ's name. For every white man that had died I think a thousand red men fell,-- A Christian custom; and the land Lay lifeless as some burned-out brand. V. Ere while the slain Don's daughter grew A glorious thing, a flower of spring, A lithe slim reed, a sun-loved weed, A something more than mortal knew; A mystery of grace and face,-- A silent mystery that stood An empress in that sea-set wood, Supreme, imperial in her place. It might have been men's lust for gold,-- For all men knew that lawless crew Left hoards of gold in that ship's hold, That drew ships hence, and silent drew Strange Jasons to that steep wood shore, As if to seek that hidden store,-- I never either cared or knew. I say it might have been this gold That ever drew and strangely drew Strong men of land, strange men of sea, To seek this shore of mystery With all its wondrous tales untold: The gold or her, which of the two? It matters not; I never knew. But this I know, that as for me, Between that face and the hard fate That kept me ever from my own, As some wronged monarch from his throne, God's heaped-up gold of land or sea Had never weighed one feather's weight. Her home was on the wooded height,-- A woody home, a priest at prayer, A perfume in the fervid air, And angels watching her at night. I can but think upon the skies That bound that other Paradise. VI. Below a star-built arch, as grand As ever bended heaven spanned; Tall trees like mighty columns grew-- They loomed as if to pierce the blue, They reached as reaching heaven through. The shadowed stream rolled far below, Where men moved noiseless to and fro As in some vast cathedral, when The calm of prayer comes to men, With benedictions, bending low. Lo! wooded sea-banks, wild and steep! A trackless wood; a snowy cone That lifted from this wood alone! This wild wide river, dark and deep! A ship against the shore asleep! VII. An Indian woman crept, a crone, Hard by about the land alone, The relic of her perished race. She wore rich, rudely-fashioned bands Of gold above her bony hands: She hissed hot curses on the place! VIII. Go seek the red man's last retreat! A lonesome land, the haunted lands! Red mouths of beasts, red men's red hands: Red prophet-priest, in mute defeat! His boundaries in blood are writ! His land is ghostland! That is his, Whatever man may claim of this; Beware how you shall enter it! He stands God's guardian of ghostlands; Ay, this same wrapped half-prophet stands All nude and voiceless, nearer to The awful God than I or you. IX. This bronzed child, by that river's brink, Stood fair to see as you can think, As tall as tall reeds at her feet, As fresh as flowers in her hair; As sweet as flowers over-sweet, As fair as vision more than fair! How beautiful she was! How wild! How pure as water-plant, this child,-- This one wild child of Nature here Grown tall in shadows. And how near To God, where no man stood between Her eyes and scenes no man hath seen,-- This maiden that so mutely stood, The one lone woman of that wood. Stop still, my friend, and do not stir, Shut close your page and think of her. The birds sang sweeter for her face; Her lifted eyes were like a grace To seamen of that solitude, However rough, however rude. The rippled rivers of her hair, That ran in wondrous waves, somehow Flowed down divided by her brow,-- Half mantled her within its care, And flooded all, or bronze or snow, In its uncommon fold and flow. A perfume and an incense lay Before her, as an incense sweet Before blithe mowers of sweet May In early morn. Her certain feet Embarked on no uncertain way. Come, think how perfect before men, How sweet as sweet magnolia bloom Embalmed in dews of morning, when Rich sunlight leaps from midnight gloom Resolved to kiss, and swift to kiss Ere yet morn wakens man to bliss. X. The days swept on. Her perfect year Was with her now. The sweet perfume Of womanhood in holy bloom, As when red harvest blooms appear, Possessed her now. The priest did pray That saints alone should pass that way. A red bird built beneath her roof, Brown squirrels crossed her cabin sill, And welcome came or went at will. A hermit spider wove his web, And up against the roof would spin His net to catch mosquitoes in. The silly elk, the spotted fawn, And all dumb beasts that came to drink, That stealthy stole upon the brink In that dim while that lies between The coming night and going dawn, On seeing her familiar face Would fearless stop and stand in place. She was so kind, the beasts of night Gave her the road as if her right; The panther crouching overhead In sheen of moss would hear her tread And bend his eyes, but never stir Lest he by chance might frighten her. Yet in her splendid strength, her eyes, There lay the lightning of the skies; The love-hate of the lioness, To kill the instant, or caress: A pent-up soul that sometimes grew Impatient; why, she hardly knew. At last she sighed, uprose, and threw Her strong arms out as if to hand Her love, sun-born and all complete At birth, to some brave lover's feet On some far, fair, and unseen land, As knowing now not what to do! XI. How beautiful she was! Why, she Was inspiration! She was born To walk God's summer hills at morn, Nor waste her by this wood-dark sea. What wonder, then, her soul's white wings Beat at its bars, like living things! Once more she sighed! She wandered through The sea-bound wood, then stopped and drew Her hand above her face, and swept The lonesome sea, and all day kept Her face to sea, as if she knew Some day, some near or distant day, Her destiny should come that way. XII. How proud she was! How darkly fair! How full of faith, of love, of strength! Her calm, proud eyes! Her great hair's length,-- Her long, strong, tumbled, careless hair, Half curled and knotted anywhere, From brow to breast, from cheek to chin, For love to trip and tangle in! XIII. At last a tall strange sail was seen: It came so slow, so wearily, Came creeping cautious up the sea, As if it crept from out between The half-closed sea and sky that lay Tight wedged together, far away. She watched it, wooed it. She did pray It might not pass her by, but bring Some love, some hate, some anything, To break the awful loneliness That like a nightly nightmare lay Upon her proud and pent-up soul Until it barely brooked control. XIV. The ship crept silent up the sea, And came-- You cannot understand How fair she was, how sudden she Had sprung, full-grown, to womanhood: How gracious, yet how proud and grand; How glorified, yet fresh and free, How human, yet how more than good. XV. The ship stole slowly, slowly on;-- Should you in Californian field In ample flower-time behold The soft south rose lift like a shield Against the sudden sun at dawn, A double handful of heaped gold, Why you, perhaps, might understand How splendid and how queenly she Uprose beside that wood-set sea. The storm-worn ship scarce seemed to creep From wave to wave. It scarce could keep-- How still this fair girl stood, how fair! How proud her presence as she stood Between that vast sea and west wood! How large and liberal her soul, How confident, how purely chare, How trusting; how untried the whole Great heart, grand faith, that blossomed there! XVI. Ay, she was as Madonna to The tawny, lawless, faithful few Who touched her hand and knew her soul: She drew them, drew them as the pole Points all things to itself. She drew Men upward as a moon of spring, High wheeling, vast and bosom-full, Half clad in clouds and white as wool, Draws all the strong seas following. Yet still she moved as sad, as lone As that same moon that leans above, And seems to search high heaven through For some strong, all-sufficient love, For one brave love to be her own, To lean upon, to love, to woo, To lord her high white world, to yield His clashing sword against her shield. Oh, I once knew a sad, white dove That died for such sufficient love, Such high-born soul with wings to soar: That stood up equal in its place, That looked love level in the face, Nor wearied love with leaning o'er To lift love level where she trod In sad delight the hills of God. XVII. How slow before the sleeping breeze, That stranger ship from under seas! How like to Dido by her sea, When reaching arms imploringly,-- Her large, round, rich, impassioned arms, Tossed forth from all her storied charms,-- This one lone maiden leaning stood Above that sea, beside the wood! The ship crept strangely up the seas; Her shrouds seemed shreds, her masts seemed trees,-- Strange tattered trees of toughest bough That knew no cease of storm till now. The maiden pitied her; she prayed Her crew might come, nor feel afraid; She prayed the winds might come,--they came, As birds that answer to a name. The maiden held her blowing hair That bound her beauteous self about; The sea-winds housed within her hair: She let it go, it blew in rout About her bosom full and bare. Her round, full arms were free as air, Her high hands clasped, as clasped in prayer. XVIII. The breeze grew bold, the battered ship Began to flap her weary wings; The tall, torn masts began to dip And walk the wave like living things. She rounded in, she struck the stream, She moved like some majestic dream. The captain kept her deck. He stood A Hercules among his men; And now he watched the sea, and then He peered as if to pierce the wood. He now looked back, as if pursued, Now swept the sea with glass, as though He fled or feared some hidden foe. Swift sailing up the river's mouth, Swift tacking north, swift tacking south, He touched the overhanging wood; He tacked his ship; his tall black mast Touched tree-top mosses as he passed; He touched the steep shore where she stood. XIX. Her hands still clasped as if in prayer, Sweet prayer set to silentness; Her sun-browned throat uplifted, bare And beautiful. Her eager face Illumed with love and tenderness, And all her presence gave such grace, Dark shadowed in her cloud of hair, That she seemed more than mortal fair. XX. He saw. He could not speak. No more With lifted glass he sought the sea; No more he watched the wild new shore. Now foes might come, now friends might flee; He could not speak, he would not stir,-- He saw but her, he feared but her. The black ship ground against the shore, She ground against the bank as one With long and weary journeys done, That would not rise to journey more. Yet still this Jason silent stood And gazed against that sun-lit wood, As one whose soul is anywhere. All seemed so fair, so wondrous fair! At last aroused, he stepped to land Like some Columbus. They laid hand On lands and fruits, and rested there. XXI. He found all fairer than fair morn In sylvan land, where waters run With downward leap against the sun, And full-grown sudden May is born. He found her taller than tall corn Tiptoe in tassel; found her sweet As vale where bees of Hybla meet. An unblown rose, an unread book; A wonder in her wondrous eyes; A large, religious, steadfast look Of faith, of trust,--the look of one New welcomed in her Paradise. He read this book,--read on and on From titlepage to colophon: As in cool woods, some summer day, You find delight in some sweet lay, And so entranced read on and on From titlepage to colophon. XXII. And who was he that rested there,-- This Hercules, so huge, so rare, This giant of a grander day, This Theseus of a nobler Greece, This Jason of the golden fleece? And who was he? And who were they That came to seek the hidden gold Long hallowed from the pirate's hold? I do not know. You need not care. . . . . . . They loved, this maiden and this man, And that is all I surely know,-- The rest is as the winds that blow. He bowed as brave men bow to fate, Yet proud and resolute and bold; She, coy at first, and mute and cold, Held back and seemed to hesitate,-- Half frightened at this love that ran Hard gallop till her hot heart beat Like sounding of swift courser's feet. XXIII. Two strong streams of a land must run Together surely as the sun Succeeds the moon. Who shall gainsay The fates that reign, that wisely reign? Love is, love was, shall be again. Like death, inevitable it is; Perchance, like death, the dawn of bliss. Let us, then, love the perfect day, The twelve o'clock of life, and stop The two hands pointing to the top, And hold them tightly while we may. XXIV. How piteous strange is love! The walks By wooded ways; the silent talks Beneath the broad and fragrant bough. The dark deep wood, the dense black dell, Where scarce a single gold beam fell From out the sun. They rested now On mossy trunk. They wandered then Where never fell the feet of men. Then longer walks, then deeper woods, Then sweeter talks, sufficient sweet, In denser, deeper solitudes,-- Dear careless ways for careless feet; Sweet talks of paradise for two, And only two, to watch or woo. She rarely spake. All seemed a dream She would not waken from. She lay All night but waiting for the day, When she might see his face, and deem This man, with all his perils passed, Had found the Lotus-land at last. XXV. The year waxed fervid, and the sun Fell central down. The forest lay A-quiver in the heat. The sea Below the steep bank seemed to run A molten sea of gold. Away Against the gray and rock-built isles That broke the molten watery miles Where lonesome sea-cows called all day, The sudden sun smote angrily. Therefore the need of deeper deeps, Of denser shade for man and maid, Of higher heights, of cooler steeps, Where all day long the sea-wind stayed. They sought the rock-reared steep. The breeze Swept twenty thousand miles of seas; Had twenty thousand things to say Of love, of lovers of Cathay, To lovers 'mid these high-held trees. XXVI. To left, to right, below the height, Below the wood by wave and stream, Plumed pampas grasses grew to gleam And bend their lordly plumes, and run And shake, as if in very fright Before sharp lances of the sun. They saw the tide-bound battered ship Creep close below against the bank; They saw it cringe and shrink; it shrank As shrinks some huge black beast with fear When some uncommon dread is near. They heard the melting resin drip, As drip the last brave blood-drops when Life's battle waxes hot with men. XXVII. Yet what to her were burning seas, Or what to him was forest flame? They loved; they loved the glorious trees, The gleaming tides, or rise or fall; They loved the lisping winds that came From sea-lost spice-set isles unknown, With breath not warmer than their own: They loved, they loved,--and that was all. XXVIII. Full noon! Below the ancient moss With mighty boughs high clanged across, The man with sweet words, over-sweet, Fell pleading, plaintive, at her feet. He spake of love, of boundless love,-- Of love that knew no other land, Or face, or place, or anything; Of love that like the wearied dove Could light nowhere, but kept the wing Till she alone put forth her hand, And so received it in her ark From seas that shake against the dark! He clasped her hands, climbed past her knees, Forgot her hands and kissed her hair,-- The while her two hands clasped in prayer, And fair face lifted to the trees. Her proud breast heaved, her pure proud breast Rose like the waves in their unrest When counter storms possess the seas. Her mouth, her arched, uplifted mouth, Her ardent mouth that thirsted so,-- No glowing love-song of the South Can say; no man can say or know The glory there, and so live on Content without that glory gone! Her face still lifted up. And she Disdained the cup of passion he Hard pressed her panting lips to touch. She dashed it by despised, and she Caught fast her breath. She trembled much, And sudden rose full height, and stood An empress in high womanhood: She stood a tower, tall as when Proud Roman mothers suckled men Of old-time truth and taught them such. XXIX. Her soul surged vast as space is. She Was trembling as a courser when His thin flank quivers, and his feet Touch velvet on the turf, and he Is all afoam, alert, and fleet As sunlight glancing on the sea, And full of triumph before men. At last she bended some her face, Half leaned, then put him back a pace, And met his eyes. Calm, silently Her eyes looked deep into his eyes,-- As maidens down some mossy well Do peer in hope by chance to tell By image there what future lies Before them, and what face shall be The pole-star of their destiny. Pure Nature's lover! Loving him With love that made all pathways dim And difficult where he was not,-- Then marvel not at form forgot. And who shall chide? Doth priest know aught Of sign, or holy unction brought From over seas, that ever can Make man love maid or maid love man One whit the more, one bit the less, For all his mummeries to bless? Yea, all his blessing or his ban? The winds breathed warm as Araby: She leaned upon his breast, she lay A wide-winged swan with folded wing. He drowned his hot face in her hair, He heard her great heart rise and sing; He felt her bosom swell. The air Swooned sweet with perfume of her form. Her breast was warm, her breath was warm, And warm her warm and perfumed mouth As summer journeys through the South. XXX. The argent sea surged steep below, Surged languid in a tropic glow; And two great hearts kept surging so! The fervid kiss of heaven lay Precipitate on wood and sea. Two great souls glowed with ecstasy, The sea glowed scarce as warm as they. XXXI. 'Twas love's low amber afternoon. Two far-off pheasants thrummed a tune, A cricket clanged a restful air. The dreamful billows beat a rune Like heart regrets. Around her head There shone a halo. Men have said 'Twas from a dash of Titian That flooded all her storm of hair In gold and glory. But they knew, Yea, all men know there ever grew A halo round about her head Like sunlight scarcely vanishèd. XXXII. How still she was! She only knew His love. She saw no life beyond. She loved with love that only lives Outside itself and selfishness,-- A love that glows in its excess; A love that melts pure gold, and gives Thenceforth to all who come to woo No coins but this face stamped thereon,-- Ay, this one image stamped upon Its face, with some dim date long gone. XXXIII. They kept the headland high; the ship Below began to chafe her chain, To groan as some great beast in pain; While white fear leapt from lip to lip: "The woods are fire! the woods are flame! Come down and save us, in God's name!" He heard! he did not speak or stir,-- He thought of her, of only her. While flames behind, before them lay To hold the stoutest heart at bay! Strange sounds were heard far up the flood,-- Strange, savage sounds that chilled the blood! Then sudden from the dense dark wood Above, about them where they stood A thousand beasts came peering out; And now was thrust a long black snout, And now a tusky mouth. It was A sight to make the stoutest pause. "Cut loose the ship!" the black mate cried; "Cut loose the ship!" the crew replied. They drove into the sea. It lay As light as ever middle day. The while their half-blind bitch, that sat All slobber-mouthed, and monkish cowled With great, broad, floppy, leathern ears, Amid the men, rose up and howled, And doleful howled her plaintive fears, While all looked mute aghast thereat. It was the grimmest eve, I think, That ever hung on Hades' brink. Great broad-winged bats possessed the air, Bats whirling blindly everywhere; It was such troubled twilight eve As never mortal would believe. XXXIV. Some say the crazed hag lit the wood In circle where the lovers stood; Some say the gray priest feared the crew Might find at last the hoard of gold Long hidden from the black ship's hold,-- I doubt me if men ever knew. But such mad, howling, flame-lit shore No mortal ever saw before. Huge beasts above that shining sea, Wild, hideous beasts with shaggy hair, With red mouths lifting in the air, They piteous howled, and plaintively,-- The wildest sounds, the weirdest sight That ever shook the walls of night. How lorn they howled, with lifted head, To dim and distant isles that lay Wedged tight along a line of red, Caught in the closing gates of day 'Twixt sky and sea and far away,-- It was the saddest sound to hear That ever struck on human ear. They doleful called; and answered they The plaintive sea-cows far away,-- The great sea-cows that called from isles, Away across wide watery miles, With dripping mouths and lolling tongue, As if they called for captured young,-- The huge sea-cows that called the whiles Their great wide mouths were mouthing moss; And still they doleful called across From isles beyond the watery miles. No sound can half so doleful be As sea-cows calling from the sea. XXXV. The drowned sun sank and died. He lay In seas of blood. He sinking drew The gates of sunset sudden to, Where shattered day in fragments lay, And night came, moving in mad flame: The night came, lighted as he came, As lighted by high summer sun Descending through the burning blue. It was a gold and amber hue, And all hues blended into one. The night spilled splendor where she came, And filled the yellow world with flame. The moon came on, came leaning low Along the far sea-isles aglow; She fell along that amber flood A silver flame in seas of blood. It was the strangest moon, ah me! That ever settled on God's sea. XXXVI. Slim snakes slid down from fern and grass, From wood, from fen, from anywhere; You could not step, you would not pass, And you would hesitate to stir, Lest in some sudden, hurried tread Your foot struck some unbruisèd head: They slid in streams into the stream,-- It seemed like some infernal dream; They curved, and graceful curved across, Like graceful, waving sea-green moss,-- There is no art of man can make A ripple like a rippling snake! XXXVII. Abandoned, lorn, the lovers stood, Abandoned there, death in the air! That beetling steep, that blazing wood,-- Red flame! and red flame everywhere! Yet was he born to strive, to bear The front of battle. He would die In noble effort, and defy The grizzled visage of despair. He threw his two strong arms full length As if to surely test their strength; Then tore his vestments, textile things That could but tempt the demon wings Of flame that girt them round about, Then threw his garments to the air As one that laughed at death, at doubt, And like a god stood grand and bare. She did not hesitate; she knew The need of action; swift she threw Her burning vestments by, and bound Her wondrous wealth of hair that fell An all-concealing cloud around Her glorious presence, as he came To seize and bear her through the flame,-- An Orpheus out of burning hell! He leaned above her, wound his arm About her splendor, while the noon Of flood-tide, manhood, flushed his face, And high flames leapt the high headland!-- They stood as twin-hewn statues stand, High lifted in some storied place. He clasped her close, he spoke of death,-- Of death and love in the same breath. He clasped her close; her bosom lay Like ship safe anchored in some bay. XXXVIII. The flames! They could not stand or stay; Before the beetling steep, the sea! But at his feet a narrow way, A short steep path, pitched suddenly Safe open to the river's beach, Where lay a small white isle in reach,-- A small, white, rippled isle of sand Where yet the two might safely land. And there, through smoke and flame, behold The priest stood safe, yet all appalled! He reached the cross; he cried, he called; He waved his high-held cross of gold. He called and called, he bade them fly Through flames to him, nor bide and die! Her lover saw; he saw, and knew His giant strength would bear her through. And yet he would not start or stir. He clasped her close as death can hold, Or dying miser clasp his gold,-- His hold became a part of her. He would not give her up! He would Not bear her waveward though he could! That height was heaven; the wave was hell. He clasped her close,--what else had done The manliest man beneath the sun? Was it not well? was it not well? O man, be glad! be grandly glad, And kinglike walk thy ways of death! For more than years of bliss you had That one brief time you breathed her breath. Yea, more than years upon a throne That one brief time you held her fast, Soul surged to soul, vehement, vast,-- True breast to breast, and all your own. Live me one day, one narrow night, One second of supreme delight Like that, and I will blow like chaff The hollow years aside, and laugh A loud triumphant laugh, and I, King-like and crowned, will gladly die. Oh, but to wrap my love with flame! With flame within, with flame without! Oh, but to die like this, nor doubt-- To die and know her still the same! To know that down the ghostly shore Snow-white she waits me evermore! XXXIX. He poised her, held her high in air,-- His great strong limbs, his great arm's length!-- Then turned his knotted shoulders bare As birth-time in his splendid strength, And strode, strode with a lordly stride To where the high and wood-hung edge Looked down, far down upon the molten tide. The flames leapt with him to the ledge, The flames leapt leering at his side. XL. He leaned above the ledge. Below He saw the black ship idly cruise,-- A midge below, a mile below. His limbs were knotted as the thews Of Hercules in his death-throe. The flame! the flame! the envious flame! She wound her arms, she wound her hair About his tall form, grand and bare, To stay the fierce flame where it came. The black ship, like some moonlit wreck, Below along the burning sea Crept on and on all silently, With silent pygmies on her deck. That midge-like ship far, far below; That mirage lifting from the hill! His flame-lit form began to grow,-- To grow and grow more grandly still. The ship so small, that form so tall, It grew to tower over all. A tall Colossus, bronze and gold, As if that flame-lit form were he Who once bestrode the Rhodian sea, And ruled the watery world of old: As if the lost Colossus stood Above that burning sea of wood. And she, that shapely form upheld, Held high, as if to touch the sky, What airy shape, how shapely high,-- A goddess of the seas of eld! Her hand upheld, her high right hand, As if she would forget the land; As if to gather stars, and heap The stars like torches there to light Her Hero's path across the deep To some far isle that fearful night. It was as if Colossus came, Came proudly reaching from the flame Above the sea in sheen of gold, His sea-bride leaping from his hold; The lost Colossus, and his bride In bronze perfection at his side: As if the lost Colossus came Companioned from the past, his bride With torch all faithful at his side: With star-tipped torch that reached and rolled Through cloud-built corridors of gold: His bride, austere and stern and grand,-- Bartholdi's goddess by the sea, Far lifting, lighting Liberty From prison seas to Freedom's land. XLI. The flame! the envious flame, it leapt Enraged to see such majesty, Such scorn of death; such kingly scorn. Then like some lightning-riven tree They sank down in that flame--and slept And all was hushed above that steep So still, that they might sleep and sleep; As still as when a day is born. At last! from out the embers leapt Two shafts of light above the night,-- Two wings of flame that lifting swept In steady, calm, and upward flight; Two wings of flame against the white Far-lifting, tranquil, snowy cone; Two wings of love, two wings of light, Far, far above that troubled night, As mounting, mounting to God's throne. XLII. And all night long that upward light Lit up the sea-cow's bed below: The far sea-cows still calling so It seemed as they must call all night. All night! there was no night. Nay, nay, There was no night. The night that lay Between that awful eve and day,-- That nameless night was burned away. THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. PART I. Rhyme on, rhyme on in reedy flow, O river, rhymer ever sweet! The story of thy land is meet, The stars stand listening to know. Rhyme on, O river of the earth! Gray father of the dreadful seas, Rhyme on! the world upon its knees Shall yet invoke thy wealth and worth. Rhyme on, the reed is at thy mouth, O kingly minstrel, mighty stream! Thy Crescent City, like a dream, Hangs in the heaven of my South. Rhyme on, rhyme on! these broken strings Sing sweetest in this warm south wind; I sit thy willow banks and bind A broken harp that fitful sings. I. And where is my city, sweet blossom-sown town? And what is her glory, and what has she done? By the Mexican seas in the path of the sun Sit you down: in the crescent of seas sit you down. Ay, glory enough by my Mexican seas! Ay, story enough in that battle-torn town, Hidden down in the crescent of seas, hidden down 'Mid mantle and sheen of magnolia-strown trees. But mine is the story of souls; of a soul That bartered God's limitless kingdom for gold,-- Sold stars and all space for a thing he could hold In his palm for a day, ere he hid with the mole. O father of waters! O river so vast! So deep, so strong, and so wondrous wild,-- He embraces the land as he rushes past, Like a savage father embracing his child. His sea-land is true and so valiantly true, His leaf-land is fair and so marvellous fair, His palm-land is filled with a perfumed air Of magnolia blooms to its dome of blue. His rose-land has arbors of moss-swept oak,-- Gray, Druid old oaks; and the moss that sways And swings in the wind is the battle-smoke Of duellists, dead in her storied days. His love-land has churches and bells and chimes; His love-land has altars and orange flowers; And that is the reason for all these rhymes,-- These bells, they are ringing through all the hours! His sun-land has churches, and priests at prayer, White nuns, as white as the far north snow; They go where danger may bid them go,-- They dare when the angel of death is there. His love-land has ladies so fair, so fair, In the Creole quarter, with great black eyes,-- So fair that the Mayor must keep them there Lest troubles, like troubles of Troy, arise. His love-land has ladies, with eyes held down,-- Held down, because if they lifted them, Why, you would be lost in that old French town, Though you held even to God's garment hem. His love-land has ladies so fair, so fair, That they bend their eyes to the holy book Lest you should forget yourself, your prayer, And never more cease to look and to look. And these are the ladies that no men see, And this is the reason men see them not. Better their modest sweet mystery,-- Better by far than the battle-shot. And so, in this curious old town of tiles, The proud French quarter of days long gone, In castles of Spain and tumble-down piles These wonderful ladies live on and on. I sit in the church where they come and go; I dream of glory that has long since gone, Of the low raised high, of the high brought low, As in battle-torn days of Napoleon. These piteous places, so rich, so poor! One quaint old church at the edge of the town Has white tombs laid to the very church door,-- White leaves in the story of life turned down. White leaves in the story of life are these, The low white slabs in the long strong grass, Where Glory has emptied her hour-glass And dreams with the dreamers beneath the trees. I dream with the dreamers beneath the sod, Where souls pass by to the great white throne; I count each tomb as a mute milestone For weary, sweet souls on their way to God. I sit all day by the vast, strong stream, 'Mid low white slabs in the long strong grass Where Time has forgotten for aye to pass, To dream, and ever to dream and to dream. This quaint old church with its dead to the door, By the cypress swamp at the edge of the town, So restful seems that you want to sit down And rest you, and rest you for evermore. And one white tomb is a lowliest tomb, That has crept up close to the crumbling door,-- Some penitent soul, as imploring room Close under the cross that is leaning o'er. 'Tis a low white slab, and 'tis nameless, too-- Her untold story, why, who should know? Yet God, I reckon, can read right through That nameless stone to the bosom below. And the roses know, and they pity her, too; They bend their heads in the sun or rain, And they read, and they read, and then read again, As children reading strange pictures through. Why, surely her sleep it should be profound; For oh the apples of gold above! And oh the blossoms of bridal love! And oh the roses that gather around! The sleep of a night, or a thousand morns? Why what is the difference here, to-day? Sleeping and sleeping the years away With all earth's roses, and none of its thorns. Magnolias white and the roses red-- The palm-tree here and the cypress there: Sit down by the palm at the feet of the dead, And hear a penitent's midnight prayer. II. The old churchyard is still as death, A stranger passes to and fro As if to church--he does not go-- The dead night does not draw a breath. A lone sweet lady prays within. The stranger passes by the door-- Will he not pray? Is he so poor He has no prayer for his sin? Is he so poor! His two strong hands Are full and heavy, as with gold; They clasp, as clasp two iron bands About two bags with eager hold. Will he not pause and enter in, Put down his heavy load and rest, Put off his garmenting of sin, As some black burden from his breast? Ah, me! the brave alone can pray. The church-door is as cannon's mouth To sinner North, or sinner South, More dreaded than dread battle day. Now two men pace. They pace apart, And one with youth and truth is fair; The fervid sun is in his heart, The tawny South is in his hair. Ay, two men pace, pace left and right-- The lone, sweet lady prays within-- Ay, two men pace: the silent night Kneels down in prayer for some sin. Lo! two men pace; and one is gray, A blue-eyed man from snow-clad land, With something heavy in each hand,-- With heavy feet, as feet of clay. Ay, two men pace; and one is light Of step, but still his brow is dark His eyes are as a kindled spark That burns beneath the brow of night! And still they pace. The stars are red, The tombs are white as frosted snow; The silence is as if the dead Did pace in couples, to and fro. III. The azure curtain of God's house Draws back, and hangs star-pinned to space; I hear the low, large moon arouse, I see her lift her languid face. I see her shoulder up the east, Low-necked, and large as womanhood,-- Low-necked, as for some ample feast Of gods, within yon orange-wood. She spreads white palms, she whispers peace,-- Sweet peace on earth for evermore; Sweet peace for two beneath the trees, Sweet peace for one within the door. The bent stream, like a scimitar Flashed in the sun, sweeps on and on, Till sheathed like some great sword new-drawn In seas beneath the Carib's star. The high moon climbs the sapphire hill, The lone sweet lady prays within; The crickets keep a clang and din-- They are so loud, earth is so still! And two men glare in silence there! The bitter, jealous hate of each Has grown too deep for deed or speech-- The lone, sweet lady keeps her prayer. The vast moon high through heaven's field In circling chariot is rolled; The golden stars are spun and reeled, And woven into cloth of gold. The white magnolia fills the night With perfume, as the proud moon fills The glad earth with her ample light From out her awful sapphire hills. White orange blossoms fill the boughs Above, about the old church door,-- They wait the bride, the bridal vows,-- They never hung so fair before. The two men glare as dark as sin! And yet all seems so fair, so white, You would not reckon it was night,-- The while the lady prays within. IV. She prays so very long and late,-- The two men, weary, waiting there,-- The great magnolia at the gate Bends drowsily above her prayer. The cypress in his cloak of moss, That watches on in silent gloom, Has leaned and shaped a shadow-cross Above the nameless, lowly tomb. What can she pray for? What her sin? What folly of a maid so fair? What shadows bind the wondrous hair Of one who prays so long within? The palm-trees guard in regiment, Stand right and left without the gate; The myrtle-moss trees wait and wait; The tall magnolia leans intent. The cypress trees, on gnarled old knees, Far out the dank and marshy deep Where slimy monsters groan and creep, Kneel with her in their marshy seas. What can her sin be? Who shall know? The night flies by,--a bird on wing; The men no longer to and fro Stride up and down, or anything. For one so weary and so old Has hardly strength to stride or stir; He can but hold his bags of gold,-- But hug his gold and wait for her. The two stand still,--stand face to face. The moon slides on; the midnight air Is perfumed as a house of prayer-- The maiden keeps her holy place. Two men! And one is gray, but one Scarce lifts a full-grown face as yet: With light foot on life's threshold set,-- Is he the other's sun-born son? And one is of the land of snow, And one is of the land of sun; A black-eyed burning youth is one, But one has pulses cold and slow: Ay, cold and slow from clime of snow Where Nature's bosom, icy bound, Holds all her forces, hard, profound,-- Holds close where all the South lets go. Blame not the sun, blame not the snows; God's great schoolhouse for all is clime, The great school-teacher, Father Time; And each has borne as best he knows. At last the elder speaks,--he cries,-- He speaks as if his heart would break; He speaks out as a man that dies,-- As dying for some lost love's sake: "Come, take this bag of gold, and go! Come, take one bag! See, I have two! Oh, why stand silent, staring so, When I would share my gold with you? "Come, take this gold! See how I pray! See how I bribe, and beg, and buy,-- Ay, buy! buy love, as you, too, may Some day before you come to die. "God! take this gold, I beg, I pray! I beg as one who thirsting cries For but one drop of
{'title': 'Songs of the Mexican Seas by Joaquin Miller', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}