University of Virginia Library

Ithobal, Captain of the Sea,
Thus spake how it befell that he
Of Pharaoh's ships did have command
To sail unto the unseen land.

Long life to Pharaoh! May the high Gods make
Ever his greatness greater! I am he,
His servant and the Captain of his ships,
Ithobal, born of Tyre, bred by marge
Of sea, and nursed upon the breast of the sea,
To learn her ways, as little children learn
The anger and the tenderness of her
Who feeds, and chides, and fashions them to men.

Lo! as land-dwellers con the ways of earth,
The chariot-road, the camel's path in the sand,
The halting places and the drinking wells,
And where will be good grass, and where the rocks
Hide robbers, and the swamp is home for snakes,
And what to-morrow's march shall bring of hap,
If sun sets ruddy, if he rises pale;
So grew I from the first to know my Sea,
My ship's path on the purple and the green,
The friendly reefs would give her refuges,
The rugged deadly coasts that she must shun,
And where fair water was and pirates lurked,
And how to hold a vessel's painted eyes
Straight to the furrow that her stem must plough
Over those dancing meadows of the deep,
All day by golden guidance of the sun,
All night with shimmer of the Star of Tyre,
Set in the north by Ishtar for our sakes.
This lore of the wide waters I did gain,
And ere my chin was bearded sailed and sailed
Over the midland main; threading the isles
Coasting the Greek and Tuscan gulfs; one year
Moored to a Libyan palm tree, and the next
Rocking beneath black shade of northern pines.
So did I win, ere I was man, as far
As where the Western gateway of that sea
Opens by Kalpe and the seven-topped mount
Into what no man knoweth of—a waste
Of waves as vast as time and dark as death,
Wherein the sun himself did die each night,
Plunging, 'twas said, with seethe of dripping gold
Into the blue. Voyaging home again
With many a Keel I searched the sea of Suph
Which washes Misraim, and the emerald hills,
And all thy Libya down to distant Punt,
And where by Gate of Wailing one might come,
If one dared come, into the nether worlds.
Wherefrom five years ago returning, full
Of perils past and passion to meet more,
I broke my galley on a bladdered shelf
Which lay in the dark like shadow of a cloud.
We shed upon the brine gilt cloths enough
To robe it like an arch-priest, and of spice
Rich bales to sweeten all its bitter salt
With fragrance such as have the breasts of her
Who lies by Syria's Lord. My ship I lost,
My goods, my gathered profit, and my crew,
Save certain here whom the deep cannot drown,
Storm-seasoned against Fate. With these came I
Beggared to Saïs but for one rare pearl,
Fished on a moonlit night by the Isle of Birds,
Which lay, a moon itself, safe at my waist.
So wended I, stripped by my mother-sea,
Angry, to Tyre, the great pearl in my belt
And that hard hunger gnawing at my heart,
To find what lay beyond the Uttermost
Whence storm and death did drive back Ithobal.
But what the high gods will the high gods bring
After their fashion. Wrathfully I lay
In shadow of Lord Melkarth's marble house
That looks o'er many-storied Tyre, and dips
In the Sidonian port its image wan.
Listless I lay, bewailing evil fate,
Life broken like my ship, my fruitless gifts
On Ishtar's altar; when a silver dove—
Ishtar's own bird it seemed—lit at my foot,
Preening its shining feathers, stretching forth
Its glittering neck, and with red pattering feet
Hither and thither pacing, out of reach
As who would tempt to follow. Half amazed,
Half wayward, I pursue the eluding bird
Which flutters, all its silver in the sun
Asparkle, down the steps of the temple porch,
Over the paved way, through the Tanners' Street,
Along the quay where murex-fishers press
The purple from the sea-shells, at each flight
Lending me promise I might stroke the wings
Twinned-argent, and perchance capture the prize,
The wonder, all of living lustre made.
So did it draw me, foolish, blind, bemused,
Into the quarter of the slave-market;
Then with light beat of pinion soared away
T'ward Ishtar's shrine.

In ill-content I raised
The curtain of the market-entry; there
The brokers with their tablets and their scales
Sold boys and women for the temple chests,
As is the wont. A shaded closure gave
Shelter to buyers, and a stage arose,
By steps attained, where one by one were set
The slaves, the votive maidens, and the spoil
Of war or traffic. Loud the clamour was
Of wrangling scribes and haggling customers
Computing and disputing. Not before
Witnessed I this, and had no mood to stay;
For the great sea is jealous, and my heart
Until that day had followed only her,
Knowing not, or but scantly, what new might
May spring forth from an eye-glance, and what spells
Bind boldest spirits with a touch or tone:
And how a woman's hair may hold the soul
The storm-rope of a galley could not check.
Moreover what the Gods decree will be.

For, Mighty Pharaoh! as I turned on heel
They lead upon the platform, for vile sale,
Undraped, before those buyers clinking gold
This one—this lady of my life and deeds,
Who kneeleth thy veiled handmaid here to-day;
Chosen by Ishtar, guardian and guide
Of our vast travel, and to bring thee here
This day, dread king! the glory never matched
Of nether worlds unlocked, Heaven's secrets told:
Seeing that it befell at moment when
They bared her proud and glorious goodlihood
To that coarse crowd, and cried her prices forth,
I knew my fate shewn in the queenly face,
The eyes, high-couraged mid their pain and shame,
The mouth, tender and proud, with lips as red
As new pomegranate buds, and teeth as white
And even as a row in th' opening corn:
In stature a dark Cypress, in her step
A free gazelle of the desert, of that throng
Mistress and Scorner though the knotted cord
Lay shameful on her neck; the master's mark
Was set on cloth of Africa she bore,
Now rudely reft. Then knew I why the bird
Fluttered and fooled me to this selling spot—
A dove of living silver whoe'er saw?—
Then knew I that this woman must be mine,
Though she cost gold—though she cost stars—cost life!
But not yet knew I how the most wise Gods
Had hid their secret in her and bestowed
By love my triumph.

From long distant springs
Whence old Nile flows in lands without a name
Captive she came, from royal palace torn
In some realm far away, 'neath other stars—
Well nigh another world; by native suns
Stamped the soft colour of the ripening date;
Skin like the three-plied byssus Sidon weaves;
Visage and mien of Princess, born to sway;
Of fear and shame and falseness innocent;
And speaking speech as gentle as when morn
Whispers in palm tops. For she marked me, too,
And shot one quick glance from those lustrous orbs;
Then, beckoning me, murmured in broken words:
“Thou, thou, at last, my Lord! Buy me, I pray!
Many a night I saw thee in my dreams:
Thou art the man of Tyre, strong Ithobal,
A master of the sea, and I am thine,
Thy servant and thy helper like the sea;
I have an errand to thee from the Gods;
Buy me, my master, I shall pay thee back!”

Thereat astonied, joyous, yet perplexed,
I stood with them that bid; and one cried thus,
Another thus much more, another more,
And yet another most, till one grey lord
Tore from his wrinkled neck the chain of sards
Carved curious in Egypt, laid in gold,
And spake, “Sir broker! thou dost put to sale
A moon of heaven; 'twere worth an old man's wealth
To die on such a bosom; look! I give
My chain for gage that I will melt my ships,
Three Keels of Tarshish, into what shall pay
Ten thousand ounces for thy Nesta there.”

Then the beards wagged and baffled dealers drew
Forth from the press, while the slave-master said:
“The proffer of Lord Eshmûn is well made;
A moon from heaven is this rare Libyan girl—
Good market at ten thousand ounces; yet
Our Tyrian law forbids we sell a slave
Without the leave once to deny herself
To owner undesired, if that she find
Another to her mind will overpass
The topmost offer. Lady, dost thou take
Lord Eshmûn for thine owner, or wilt name
Some other venturer who liketh thee,
If such a buyer be?” The girl, at this,
Quoth softly, “Sell me to Lord Ithobal.”

And some waxed wroth, and some laughed scornfully,
But I, with angry hand, loosening my hilt,
Strode forward of them, and from forth my waist
Drew the great pearl and said, “Sir broker! ask
Thy fellows of the scale what worth holds that
Measured in ounces? I do give it thee
To buy this maiden.” Then their puckered eyes
Hung o'er the milky treasure, and they smote
Their breasts and cried, “This is a wonder-stone;
Its like was never seen save on the throat
Of Thammuz when he roved with Heav'n's bright Queen,
And got for love-gifts certain of the stars.
If those three ships ten thousand ounces fetch,
Lord Eshmûn, this could build as many more;
Wilt thou give twenty thousand ounces told,
Bidding the Tyrian Captain keep his pearl?”
But that grey lord across an evil face
Drew his fringed-cloth, departing; and we came,
Nesta and I, unto my house in Tyre.

In that new air of love, so sweet, so strange,
Many days ligged I; and did quite forget
My calling, and the calling of the sea;
More and more gathering from her honeyed lips
What wisdom and what wonders lay behind
The brow and breasts of sun-stained ivory:
Learning to better know her foreign speech,
Which mingled with the language later taught:
Sometimes reciting,—head upon her knees,
Or pillowed on her neck,—tales of old Tyre,
Of Melkarth's fane, and of high Ashtaroth,
The seven great Gods without a name, the loves
Of Shadîd and the Moon. Or she would sing
Soft songs in unknown cadences, to beat
Of snake-skin, or of silver sistrum's thrill,
Moving the mind to passion or to peace,
As storms and light winds stir the waves. But I
Noted no waves—albeit our lattice gave
Full on the Egyptian harbour, where there came
By sunlight, and by stargleam, goodly craft—
Two-banked and three-banked,—mighty ships of war,
Girdled with shining shields; and ships of peace
Stuffed to their bursting hatches with rich bales
Of dyed cloths and of frankincense and gum.
Vainly for Ithobal bellied their sails;
Their painted flags danced vain against the sky,
Their straining rigging creaked, their dripping oars
Beat the brine into milk; his playfellows,
The barque, the billow, and the boundless marge
Pleased him no more; in Nesta's heart he slept,
A galley anchored in a land-locked bay.

Yet what the Gods ordain that thing will fall.
We sat one eve on the cool roof, and watched
The Lord of Day go glorious to his bath
In gold and purple splendours of the West;
And when I said, “I know that path he goes,
And something too I know what path he comes
From the East desert and its rivers twain;
And over black and yellow breeds of men;
But no one knows, not Bel's great self I think,
The Southward of our world. See!”—and I drew
With finger dipped in the spilled Lesbian wine
A rude map on the marble bench; “See! here
Sits Egypt; by her side the Sea of Suph,
And past that Sea is Punt, which I have viewed,
For some do come there making perilous trade;
But all beyond is nought—night, silence, death—
None knoweth or can know.”

She wet with wine
A finger, and, with light laugh, featly made
A finish to my picture on the stone;
Saying “Dear honoured lord, but I do know!
It is not night, nor death, nor darkness there,
But such a land that this thy Syria
Counts but for curtilage, and Egypt's self
A melon-garden. Where thou shutt'st in Punt,
The mighty coast sweeps southward girt with sea,
And southward still and southward till you come
To mine own country.” Then she murmured forth,—
Like a dove cooing never-ending notes
Of something sweet and secret in her wood
Unfolding leaf by leaf,—stories of skies
Whereunder she was born, with stars and peaks
Not known to ours; of mighty streams that sprang
From mountain bosoms, lifting changeless snows
Into the central blue, which, leaping down
By monstrous cataract and reeded reach,
Full of strange creatures that did swim and fly,
And banked by woodlands flowery, wild, and still,
Poured over thirsty sands green wealth of crops,
Feeding much people. And what seas there were,
Wide inland seas shut in the knees of hills,
Which held no salted drop and felt no tides,
Yet whereupon a well-rowed boat might pass
And spy for seven whole days no land at all.
Of marvellous tribes she babbled, pigmy folk
Mouse-skinned and munching roots; of man-eaters
Whose horrid food were what they took in war;
Some that went stark as stones; and some that bore
Bark dyed like butterflies, or speckled skins,
Or pied, or tawny, from the forest won,
With ornament fantastic or pierced bone,
Coral and cowrie, and rude-spangled bead.
Of countless herds she spoke, white goats and black,
Kine, wild and gentle, and the long-tailed sheep,
And apes like unto men; grim things of the waste
Whose names put terror in her tender voice—
In mine ears meaningless. Also their Kings,
What savage state these kept; and of their gods,
What images were made in wood and stone,
Iron and gold and silver; for she touched
The plates of gold tied in her clustering hair
And said, “This groweth there; our daily grain
Was dressed in this.” And of the birds she spake;
Wonderful birds, like flowers equipped with wings
Blazing in blue and gold and rainbow hues;
Of serpents that did drag a mottled bulk,
Thick as an ox-girth, through the crackling brake,
Full thirty cubits long. Of creatures dreamed
Only in nightmare, as I thought; sea-cows
And river-horses, and a beast that fed
With spotted muzzle mid the topmost boughs;
Huge pigs that wore horned daggers on the nose,
And elephants that went like moving hills
Through the affrighted thickets; lions dire,
With estridges, their ivory eggs a-heap
For suns to hatch, and lizards fathom long,
And other brutes which walked in armoured suits
Like the mailed men of Elam. For all this
A land, she said, fair in some parts as Earth
Hath fairest; and with many a race renowned
For meekness, friendliness, and courtesy,
Mild to the stranger, piteous to the weak;
Herself the daughter of a sovereign
Puissant in arms, opulent, rich in love,
In reverence and worship from his folk,
Far, far beyond that marble edge whereto
She drew the willing wine: from whose kind throne,
Torn in her childhood by a treachery,
She had become a wanderer, and mine.

O King! if thou hast seen thy Nile pour down
At rain-break, rushing o'er his stones to the sea;
If thou hast seen on Suph the summer flood
Come home in foam and freshets to each gulf
When the great South wind roars; so did my heart,
Which is thy servant, once more burn for the beach
As this dusk teacher opened wide the doors,
And showed me where to look for that which crowns
Even thyself with glory. Since she said,—
Whenever in that journey of her lips
I stayed and questioned her, “Yea, there and there
We saw the sea; no mountain-margined pool
But Kneph's own water dreadful, shining, wide,
Rolling its billows southward, northward still,
How far our farthest coast men answer not.”

What the high Gods will have falls at its hour;
For, sitting at the lattice with new eyes,
Awake from love and seeing clear again,
So that once more the ships were friends to me,
The noise of rowers' music, the sea's voice
Under those white walls full of private words;
There came, great Pharaoh! messengers from thee,
Egyptians of thy household, men of worth,
Envoys to Tyre. We heard a herald blow
His conch-shell, and the cymbals played, and one
From a papyrus spake these words aloud
In hearing of the town: “To friendly men,
To mariners of Tyre, the lord of lords,
The Pharaoh ruling over Misraim,
Sendeth goodwill and greeting. He hath need
Of sailors for a thing he hath to do,
A voyage of ships, full perilous, but full
Of guerdon in the going, and of more
In the returning, if there hap return;
Since these ships sail for harbours never seen.
Well known ye are, of Tyre and Sidon sons,
For craft upon the waters; if there be
Those that fear danger less than they hate sloth,
Those seasoned with the salt, who will take wage
And service with the Pharaoh for this work,
Let them ask service.” And with this was flung
Largesse among the folk, yet no man stirred.

Outspake an ancient one, from Ascalon
“Ye men of Tyre take heed! Three winters past
Across the brook of Egypt I and some
Wended with camels, and came thither where
The east horn of the Lord of Egypt's Sea
Juts green into the Stony Land; we saw
Along the shore three crosses; on them hung
What of three men the kites and crows had left—
Dried skull, and skin, and bones. ‘What wrought these ones,’
We asked, ‘that they should moulder in the sun?’
And the folks said: ‘These are three officers
Conspired against the peace of Pharaoh; he
Willing to spare their lives bade them take ship
And sail and sail over past utmost bound
To fetch him secrets from the dark; but they
After ten moons of travel clapped on wing
Of homeward voyage. Reaching home they cried:—
“Better to die than bear what we have borne
Fronting the frightful perils of yon world
Which hath a death on every wave, a hell
At every cape. Kill us, but send not there.”’
And Pharaoh paid their wages, slaying them.”

But Nesta bent upon me those dark eyes,
Deep as the sea, and spake, “This is for thee,
Ithobal, son of Magon, lord and lover,
The Gods do bring thy heart and wish in one.
Rise and make parley with these men of Nile;
It is thy work, and I shall help thy work;
Thou art the man they seek.” And while she spake
The silver dove of Ishtar fluttered in,
Perched at my elbow, cooed a dulcet note,
Then darted seaward with a singing wing
In token that the Gods would have their will.
But when they said in Tyre “Ithobal goes
In service of the Pharaoh to build ships,
Which shall at Pharaoh's charge sail the dark seas
Nether of nethermost and past the bounds
Where boldest oar hath dipped,” the white town poured
All its sea-people round me, for 'tis known
How multitudinous Tyre sits on the wave,
And what throngs, many-coloured, swarm her quays,
Doing the business of the waters. There
Were traders from the isles loud-trafficking
With such as brought by weary caravan
Fir boards and cedar out of Lebanon;
And patient shapers of the bladed oar
Bargaining for Bashan oak and ivory
To edge the rowing benches; Chittim men,
Swarthy and watchful, and the Ashurites,
And those that traded linen, white and blue
Or bordered, to make sails; sea wolves sun-tanned
From Sidon and from Arvad; mixed with these
The wise grey master-pilots of the place,
Quick to catch tidings, knowing all the seas,
But beating on their breasts at word of this;
Caulkers from Gebal, wotting well to keep
Seams tight and hulls wave-worthy; companies
Of shipmen come from Elam, Lud and Phut;
Merchants and fighting folk busy with bales,
Or cleaning shields, or pointing arrow-heads,
Or fitting spears with new-forged blades; those called
The Gemmadin, with sturdy cargoers
Of Tarshish, Javan, Meshech, clamorous they
To sell their slaves and vaunt their brazen ware.
Togharmah dealers drew into our throng
Lean, keen-eyed, desert-born, leading their strings
Of mules and horses; and from Dedan those
Who bring the tusks of elephant, the myrrh,
The ebony, and gum. Swart Syrians
Bartering for cloths of Tyre stained by the shell
Their emeralds, corals, agates; bearded Jews
Selling their wheat from Minnith, honey, oil,
And balm of Pannag; and Damascus-breds
Plying their business with white bleachëd wools,
And wines of Helbon: with such come from Dan
Who sold bright iron, cassia, calamus,
Cushions for chariots: tribesmen from the sands
Of Araby with lambs and rams, and shawls
Of camel-hair for tents; and Raamah sent,
And Sheba, coffers filled with subtle spice
Fine stones, turkis and sard and lazuli
And powdered gold. Haran and Canneh there
Put forth their stores of blue and 'broidered work
And chests of rich apparel, bound with cords
On scented cedar. All the noise of these,
The singing of the sailors, and the cries
Of sellers, and the stir of the bazaar,
The dance-girls, the snake-charmers, drum-players,
The fortune-tellers, minstrels, priests that begged
Alms for the temples—all broke off and heard
All stayed and listened, and drew nigh to us
Along the water-face of Tyre that eve,
Knowing of Ithobal and how he took
Service with Pharaoh, with my lord the King.

Also at parting there was sacrifice
To those who rule the sea,—the Fish-tailed God
And the Twin Stars and the Seven Nameless Ones.
But when in Ishtar's fane they brought to slay
Two boys of Africa limbed like young deer,
Soft-voiced but speaking most with wistful eyes,
Whom the grey priests that go her altar round
Would offer for the speeding of our voyage,
'Twas Lady Nesta drew the knife away
From the stretched hands and cut the bonds of those,
Handah and Gondah, saying “Take the price
In sheep or camel for the thing ye do;
My lord and I did trace the journey's plan
With wine, not blood, and so will follow it,
Bloodless, if this may be, since pity comes
To those that pity.” And behold those here
Safe and most faithful among faithful found.