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Ithobal, pushing o'er the main,
Reacheth a shore with stress and pain;
Strange men and birds and beasts hath seen,
And winneth where no man had been.

Glory, and life, and grace from the high Gods
Unto Great Pharaoh! From the Arabian Shore
At end of the ninth moon we pushed to sea:
The Ram, The Black Whale, and The Silver Dove,
Thy ships, a goodly triplet rigged afresh,
Well filled and fitted; for my purpose held
To trust the deep and to be done with land,
Till on the gulf's far coast—if coast there be,
As the sea people think—we touch a cape
East of the mainland, if mainland there hap.
So had I charged the water-pots and crammed
Our jars with meal and feasted full my crews,
To hearten up their manhood; yet none knew
Except the captains and my lady here
How to the winds and waves we gave our souls;
What trackless seas we clove quitting that port
With merry plash of oars, and steering straight
Where none did steer before. At setting forth
Nesta bade bring aboard of merchandise—
Or so I deemed—a score of bales, and laid
The goods—I thought for barter—in the poop,
Where her sea-chamber stood. The sky was blue,
The sun beamed glad, the silver-broidered waves
Lisped pleasant music, and there breathed a wind,—
Spiced with the myrrh and aloes of the hills,—
Which tripped our swiftest blades and drove our beaks
Deep in the dancing green. But when it fell,
And right abaft us in the lonely gulf
The sun dipped, all aflame with gold and pearl,
Burning the brine, the lusty rowers changed
Tired arms for fresh, and all that still night through,
And all next dawn to noon, and after noon,
Until again the sun gilded the west,
Watches, by watches, they did toil. But Kneph
Had missed a sacrifice, or Ishtar's lamp
Gone rashly scant of oil; for while 'twas dark,
At breaking of fourth day the morning star
Went out behind black clouds, and a foul wind
Drove leaping seas into our rowing ports,
And drenched each deck-bench. Valorously the flute
And drum kept measure; valorously the oars
Swung to the rowing song from ship to ship;
Yet how shall mortal strength resist the might
Of the angry Gods? All that long, heavy day
We did not win a ship's length, and the next
Hardly three leagues. Afterwards fell a calm;
A brazen sky arched o'er a seething sea;
A blaze of Dawn and Noon and Afternoon
Parching my patient comrades. By the blood
Of Thammuz! all my drinking water spent,
My men a-dry and that shore still not near,
Meseemed that we were lost in the outsetting.

Came the ninth day whereat a hard wind blew
Foul from the Eastward weakening what we did,—
Too weak already. Nimroud drew his ship
Abreast of mine; the oars clashed and our sides
Rasped with the swell. The Syrian captain sprang
Insolent on my deck—an angry band
Of bearded faces round him. Heretofore
Thrice had I chided him for hests forgot
And deeds undisciplined. Rebellion burned
Desperate in his eyes: “Thou Magon's son
Hast brought us here to perish; one day's drink
Remaineth, and thy fabled shore comes not.
Send my poor rowers water; if thou wilt,
Steer thyself onward to thy realm of dreams,
But give us of thy store and suffer us
To go back westward with the favouring wind;
Port may be reached, and those thou slayest saved.”

Thirsty and lean my oarsmen gazed on him,
Half pleased to hear, half glad to disobey.
One little spark may breed a mighty fire;
Their hearts were dry for flame. Shall this be end
Of Pharaoh's hope? I mused; shall my Lord's will
Wreck on one coward's raving? From his hand
I wrested Nimroud's spear, drove its broad blade
Deep in the traitor's breast; stone-dead he fell
Amid the oar-looms on the reddened deck;
And all the ship-folk and the rowers glared,
And the sea idly played, tangling our oars.
Then cried I, “Fling yon carrion overboard;
He dies who disobeys; to your benches, men!”

Yet in my secret heart sorrow kept seat.
How make the land with dying mariners?
Had Nimroud reason? was it well to yield?
Then, at my worst, did Lady Nesta lay
Her hand on mine, and with the other point
Southward of east where from the mingling lines
Of sea and sky there rose a ruddy speck
Touched by the morning, like the golden grain
Upon a lotus leaf. She murmured “Land!
There is thy shore—and mine!” A mighty joy
Flooded this heart. “Thou daughter of the Sun,
May the Seven Nameless Ones yield thee for this!
That is my shore—and thine; yet if we row,
These cannot follow since their jars are dry;
In sight of prize we perish.” “Nay! dear lord,”
Quoth Lady Nesta, “give to Ram and Whale
What drink we have, and bid them follow up,
While I do break for Ishtar's ship these bales
Laid in my cabin; twenty bales of fruit
New to thine eyes. An unseen fruit it grows
In the Arab vales; 'tis the gold apple, kept
By dragons, people tell, in guarded groves;
I knew and bought. I did foresee this strait.
I feared to fail—perchance at winning-point.
Dread not! Give them the water, and to ours
These juicy globes distribute; bid them eat,
Then stoutly man their oars, for the wind drops
And 'tis from westward now the current sweeps.
By night we will be underneath yon hill.
And fill the water jars.”

Yea! so it fell;
The Silver Dove gave to the thirsty ones
What drink she had; the luscious fruit was sucked,
Brightening all faces, strengthening all throats
So that my seventy sang in frolic time
To music of the flute-player and the drum;
And, by the night, look! we had touched a beach
So sheltered that the sea did kiss it smooth
With tender ripples, and a stream came down
Out of a hanging wood, whence we did drink
And drink, and drink, and thank the Gods for life.

We beached below the Cape; a mighty rock
Wheat-coloured, hath a sanded bay at foot,
In shore a sandy hill; its height I deem
Five hundred cubits; riseth from the sea
Wall-like with sloping cap. Coasting along
We skirt a yellow shore; mimosa trees
Marked where a stream stole out; then, past the sands,
Dark broken rocks, and one brown cliff that sets
His foot i' the waves and lifts his brow to clouds,
Shenârif, so the fisher-people said.
After wards long low beaches, backed with bush;
Next that, an inland range wherefrom juts forth
A crag over the breakers. Farther on
Fresh flats of sand, and pools behind the sand
Noisy with sea-fowl; birds that swim and wade,
Long-legged and long-beaked birds, storks, pelicans,
Rose-plumed flamingoes, bitterns, cormorants,
Tribes of the web and wing. To landward end
A stream flows down, for sake of which the folk
Had built their huts and many gardens round,
Whom first we frighted. Never yet to them
Had come such strangers nor been viewed before
Garments of Egypt, or the Tyrian coats,
Or vessels many-legged like water-flies.
Dark hued they were, naked, or basely clad
With belt or plaited leaves, or bark of tree,
Their hair all shagged, dyed red. Not Nesta knew
Not Handah and not Gondah what these cried
Answering our words when we did woo them back
From flight to make a marketing. Yet mild,
Peaceful of mien, dwelling in houses small
But trim and comely. So—in need of food—
At bidding of my lady, no men touched
Ripe dates or millet hoarded, but we laid
For each ship's want a motley barter down—
Cloth, and bright beads, and brass and iron blades—
Wares which they crave; by every heap was placed
A stake wherefrom there swung the thing we lacked
A fruit, some grain, meat, or a butter pot.
This done in their full sight: then would we leave
The barter heaps a-row and stand aloof
Whilst our barbarians, returning soon
Meted the stuff, and laid by every pile
The goods which they would give in equal worth.
Then they withdrew, and ours, gone up again
Accepting what was fair bore that away;
What seemed not equal we did leave untouched,
They adding more and more to make all just
Till both were pleased and both went full away:
The silent market ended.

Coasting on,
In three days from the cape we reach Hafûn
The “Wave-surrounded.” 'Tis a neck of land
Four leagues along and two full leagues athwart,
Broken with hillocks, edged by beaches flat,
And to the mainland tied by slender thread
Of silvery dunes. This doth good shelter give
Or here or there whichever wind do blow
To fisher-folk who—for the fish abound—
Drag their rude shallops to this side or that.
Myself, because the north-east wind blew strong
Bade Sothës, Hanno, and wise Hiram row
Round the long neck to where a little bay
Lent certain peace. There did we cast our nets
And took much finny food, but the great sharks
Would ofttimes break our gear: the negro boys,
Handah and Gondah, taught our Tyrians
To slice their fins and dry them in the sun
For broths, since out of evil cometh good.

“Where goes my lord?” the friendly people asked;
And I, “We go as far as the sun goes:
As far as the sea rolls; as far as stars
Shine still in sky; though they be unknown stars.”
Then they, “What seeks my lord?” I gave reply,
“To find for mighty Pharaoh what his world
Holds hidden.” But they did not know thy name
Great King! and softly laughed, and said “Who hunts
What the Gods hide hath trouble for his pay.
Many have gone thy way, and some came back,
But lean, and grey, and broken; and they told
Of savage men, and dreadful suns, and wastes
Where snake and lizard die o' the scorch, and where
The shadow of a man at high noon falls
Between his feet unseen. And if there lay
Some pool under a rock, if some stream flowed
With welcome water, all the beasts around
Sniffed it, and stamped it foul, and sucked it dry;
While lions prowled and roared.” “Nay but we go,”
I answered, “'tis commanded.” Then they spake
Pointing black fingers west of south, “Go then!
But keep thy ships aloof from Mabbar there—
We name it ‘Stand-off Point’—lest a storm break
And trap thy vessels in the stony bay.”

But Ishtar favoured, and thy Gods, O King!—
Soft o'er the wooded neck a morning wind
Bellied our sails; a cloudless sun arose
Turning to gold the Dove upon my stem;
To gold the milk of the waves, to gold the foam
Flung from our oars, which—bank by bank—made play
As those three keels raced gaily. At moon-rise
We saw the pale surf fretting round the head
Thrusting and thundering into cave and cleft
With echoing moans, and hiss of shingle dragged:
By Isis! 'twas a place to break a ship
With a ship's company! But we sailed wide,
Holding the friendly breeze, and all that night
And all next day—day of the eleventh moon—
Merrily sped the Dove, and Ram, and Whale;
My lusty oarsmen drowsing in the sun;
The drum and flute at peace or striking up
For frolic dance. In the warm air was taste
Of life, and joy, and hope, grown breathable.
Then did I know, dread King!—my painted sails
So filled, my lady's hair blown for a sign
Straight onward, and the faces of my men
Set to the look of such as fear no more—
Then knew I that we should not fail. The barks
Danced till the sun set down a rugged shore
Where ran a wall of rock, till with last gleam
We spy a red cliff; on this hand and that
A saffron-tinted pinnacle; behind
A darkish round-capped hill. From forth a gorge
A river rills to sea; about its mouth
Huts cluster of the shore folk. After parle
By sign and broken speech, we make fair friends,
Let fall the sails, and beach.

In the dry time,
This stream, the people said, scanted and thin,
Hath hardly flood enough to brim its bar;
But now we filled our jars at the sea's edge.
Around my ships, under a grove of palms,
A fence was fixed, by forty spearmen kept;
But we had peace. Soon, from the mountain gorge,
A caravan appears of inland folk:
Swart merchants clad in bark, rude fighting bands,
With shields of hide, and knives, and knotted clubs;
Slaves with the yoke-wood on their necks, and trains
Of laden oxen, camels, horses, eke,
A breed not seen before; marvellous steeds
Striped as a melon is, all black and white:
Flanks, muzzles, necks, and hams, pencilled and pied
Like a silk cloth of Saïs; these they said
Ran wild behind the hills, but being broke
Made gentle drudges. Goes a road, they told,
Into the land, whereby these traffickers
Wend and return, bringing their country stuff,
And taking back what wares the coast affords.
An easy path, they said, by Nogal vale,
Well watered and the forests dark and cool,
Whence we might pass, if we did will to pass
To certain goodly game-lands in the hills
Where, for the hunting, meat in plenty roved.

So—lacking meat—with twenty chosen men
And porters of the village; Hamilcar
And I, with Nesta, kept the company
Of the home-going merchants. First a cleft
Where the pent river fretted in its rocks
Glittering to light 'mid dripping ferns and fronds,
And diving into darkness where the path
O'erhung its bed. So marched we half a day
While the stream sang cool music in our ears;
And then beyond the pass a wood; great trees—
Their boles, O Pharaoh! bigger than the shafts
Which front thy palace,—and with buttressed roots
Grew over dark green solitudes, and raised
A leafy roof that noon's sun might not pierce.
No undergrowth, no grass, no blooms,—for those
We saw the butterflies:—by Isis! lord!
Thou had'st not missed the flag-flower, or the lote,
The blood-red granate-bud or palm blossom
Nor all thine Egypt's gardens, viewing there
What burning brilliance danced on double wings
From stem to stem, or lighted on the leaves
Blotting the grey and brown with lovely blaze
Of crimsons, silver-spotted, summer blues
By gold fringe bordered, and gemmed ornament
Alight with living lustre. One, all pale,
The colour of the sunrise when pearl clouds
Take their first flush; one, as if lazulite
Were cut to filmy blue and gold; and one,
Black with gold bosses; and a purple one,
Wings broad as is my palm with silvery moons
And script of what the Gods meant when they made
This delicate work, flitting across the shade,
This breath a burning jewel, at the next
With closed vans seeming like the faded twig
It perched on, or the dry brown mossy bark.
“See!” Nesta cried, “he hath a side for love,
And life, and joy; for foes another side,
Lest they who hate him slay him: Master dear!
It is the law; life is a brittle loan,
Who makes good usance of it doeth well,
But without craft and wit this cometh not.”

Round the great trunks, with deadly strict embrace,
Caressing them to death like strumpets fair
Who kiss to kill, the long llianas climbed—
The giant creepers—snakes among the plants,
Winding and winding till they come to crown,
Then spread their lightsome leaves and poisonous fruit
Bold in the sunshine. There four-handed folk,
Monkey, and ape, and marmoset, long-tailed,
Fur-bonneted, black-maned, with mocking eyes
And old men's faces, chatter, scream, and crack
The painted bush-rat's nuts, or filch from bees
Their hoarded honey. Here some serpent-vine
Hath choked its tree; the strangled trunk is down
Mouldering to dust, and the wise elephant,
Pacing the wood as though a black mount moved,
With ponderous tread, breaks the proud ruin up
And is not 'ware. There from some lower limb,
In the green twilight, hangs the giant worm,
Monstrous and mottled, with a bloomy sheen
On chilly gold and purples gleaming, tail
Knotted upon the branch, the lithe, small head,
With devilish eyes, and black, forked, slimy tongue
Swings like an innocent spray till there shall pass
With dainty hoof the unwitting antelope—
And then—hell gapes!—the swift coils cling and crush:
'Tis forest murder, as the Gods ordained.
“See!” murmured Nesta, “here was one whose foot
So swiftly sped that ere the dust of it
Had time to settle she was out of sight:
And here is one, the python, huge and still,
Drags sleepy coils on the slow-measured earth;
And yet the swift is slain, the sluggard feeds,
Because 'twas so decreed, and the law stands,
That lives, by lives, pass unto other lives.”

After the forest came an upland. Here
The trees thinned out, the river spread its bed,
By waving reeds and watergrass in flower
On each bank margined. Yet another day
Through thorny bush, high grass and aloe-spears
Our march led, till a path turning to hills
Bent southward. Then we quit our caravan,
And come, by climbing, to a table-land
Spreads wide and wide, with thorn trees scattered thick
Far as the eye could see. All silently
We thread a thicket; at its verge, our guide
Bids gaze; and lo! Great King! such sight to view
As did amaze my Tyrians and me.
Gracious the scene was: Syrian hills are fair
With golden crocus and the rose-laurel
And scarlet lilies every silver stream
Enamelling; and goodly Egypt shews
With palms, and temples, and its waving grain.
But here a great park spread so bounteous
For grass and grove, for rock and rippled stream,
For shade and sunshine, for its swards and sands
And far off bordering of dim blue hills,
It seemed to be a garden of the Gods,
Where we had pushed unwelcome. For that plain
Was peopled, Pharaoh! not like Saïs here
Nor thy royal towns—with thronging citizens
Nor built upon with walls nor set with streets;
Rather a populous city of the wild;
A sylvan capital inhabited
By creatures of the fur and hoof. In troops,
In herds, in hosts, they pastured on the green,
Scoured o'er the flying sand, ran merry rings
For sport, or joy of life, or amorous play:
A thousand myriad beasts! beasts of all breeds
That mead and forest rear. Some may men see
Even by Nile, and some were never seen
Till so we broke into their pleasaunces.
Only the Lady Nesta knew their names:
Antelopes, pied and spotted; antelopes
Like great white bulls and cows; black antelopes
Horned as with spears; and one, purple with cream,
Having striped shanks, dropped flanks, and ass's tail
And four soft horns; striped horses, beasts which bore
Bull-necks and limbs of deer; great armoured pigs
With horny snouts; and long-necked estridges
Flapping black wings. But most of all, I marked
That mighty wondrous brute, theretofore seen
Only in hieroglyphs at Ombos, tall
As thrice my stature, dappled like a pard,
Yellow on white, with long, wide, shambling legs
Hoof, tufted tail, sloped withers, stretching neck
Four cubits long, having flesh-horns on head,
And limpid eyes. The gentle monster grazed
In tree tops, with a dainty lip and tongue
Culling gold balls from the mimosa bough.
I would have spared, but those with Hamilcar
Slew it, and stripped the hide, and lay it here
To be thy carpet. Other beasts roamed there
Countless and curious; shaggy lions, lords
Of field and forest, held, in solitude,
Their savage court apart. Grave elephants
Swung past in stately files; grey river-hogs
Grunted for roots: the painted leopard laid
The roses of his golden coat at rest
On the forked branch. 'Twas like another world
Whereto men come not and the beasts are kings.

Yet we lacked meat, and soon with spear and bow
From those fleet foresters our hunters drew
Tax for the ships. But that same day thy slave
Had perished, ere his purpose could be won,
Save for my lady and the guardian Gods.
While we did follow on the trail of game,
At entry of a thicket, Nesta cried:
“'Ware, O my Life! I see a sign of fear:
A spotted wolf has crossed us to the left,
And twice the eagle-owl doth warn me back.
This path is dangerous—ah! have a care.”
But I, hot with the chase, went heedless on
Sighting my quarry and, with shaft on string,
Was striding fast when, following faithfully—
Her light foot never weary, knowing well
All woodland marks—Nesta did seize my gown,
And whispered, “Master, look! notest thou not
Yon grass across our path hath not its hue
Of native green? Why grows it sere and bent?
Why lies it shaped and smooth? I pray thee fling
This great stone at the place.” Why I obeyed
Hardly I know, but hurled the fragment there,
And where it struck the false earth opened wide,
The lying swards sank down; gaped a big pit,
Black, deep, and steep, dug in the hunting path,
Set thick with sharpened stakes—the wood-folks' way
To snare their food;—so did thy servant 'scape.

Next pushing from the shore with favouring wind
We sail across a bay to “Serpent's Head,”
First of three cliffs, planted like towers in the sea,
Sundered some half a league. Then,—for the moon
Lighted our way, and the night airs blew kind,—
Down a long desolate land our galleys steered,
Where nothing showed, no clustered huts, no glow
Of hunters' fires, or village torch, or gleam
Of shallop's sail, or paddle of canoe.
Only wild rocks, by scorching suns burned bare,
Under the moonbeams grey and black; thick bush
Edging the tawny sands, wherefrom we heard,
Commingling with the moaning of the surf,
The roar of prowling lions. 'Tis a tract
They call “the low shore”; by thy life! a place
Hard and unlovely as Amenti's gates.
Nathless when fell the night-wind all three ships
Manned oars and rowed with will; for we were fresh,
Rested, well fed. So all day long those blades
Tripped to the music of the flute and drum
Over the ocean floor; and jocundly
Rower from rower took the sweat-stained oar.
On evening of third day when we were spent
And evil weather lowered southwardly,
I seek a cape, juts friendly to the sea,
By two small islands shielded, where we find
Fair shelter, and make commerce with a tribe
Of peaceful fishers.

Then, by hanging crags
And rock-strewn beaches, with a range to north
Of towering mountains, we do skirt a coast
They name the Uplands. Outside on the main
The waves roll high, but under reef and shoal
Quiet paths help us till the great sea sleeps
And once again by moonlight, wafted on,
Without an oar we passed Sharôti's huts;
Sail down beyond a black hill hung with woods;
Till moored at Attelet, where long reefs lend
Good shelter-spot, we wait the northern winds,
Which, gently breathing, bring us plain in view
Under a hill, a rock, shaped like a sail
Seeming to round a castle-fashioned crag
Washed by the surf.

Still speeding on, we come
Beyond Shangâni and a shallow bight
To Merka, on a sandy mount. And here
A pilot from the savage people told
The coast-names and the course to steer. At eve
By Brawa he would have me take the Dove
Outside the reef which gave to Ram and Whale
Good refuge, saying that my ship “rode deep.”
But at the southern end a current brake
Against the wind. The channel we would seek
Boiled with a sea-race. If right on we hold
The rocks must take us; if we try the gap,
Short wavelets, breaking angry, drown my ship.
Already hardly can the rowers keep
Their benches, and the curling brine bursts in.
I was at loss: I cried, “The oar-ports plug!
Make fast the hatches! Come, for your lives, to deck!”
When Nesta, at my side, fearless and calm,
Whispered me, “Master! no sea-lore have I,
But on our great sweet waters twice and thrice
I have beheld a strange thing done at this
Which ended well. Suffer thy servant here
A little of her will.” At that she turned
Where, at her cabin entry, swung a lamp
Lighting the image of her country's God
Done grim in gold and ivory: for whom
By night and day she fed that flame. The lamp
Held of the sunflower oil two measures full;
This did she seize, and with her lithe strong wrist
Flung it to windward. By thy life, O King!
Soon as that oil did fall upon the sea
It mingled, spread and widened in a film
Of diverse colours which enchained the waves
Breaking their crests down, flatting what was worst
And hardest of their rush; so that no more,
Tho' 'twas at roughest in the middle race,
The green hills leapt on board: scarcely one crest
Wetted our deck; my galley safely steered
Into the channel: Nesta with her slaves—
The two Egyptian handmaids kneeling here—
Laughingly tying up her sea-drenched locks.

So came we, nothing harmed, down all that shore,
Ever inside the reefs, skirting a land
Was all red stone and bush, and hanging shelves
Of sand and rock which took the ceaseless rage
Of tumbling billows, in a noise and spume
Terrible, deadly. Yet the Silver Dove
Flew straight and sure, till at a river's mouth
We entered glad. The black folk name the stream
Juba. The place was good: we rested there.