University of Virginia Library

Ithobal, ever sailing South,
Enters at many a river's mouth;
Through fair and foul; 'mid joys and woes
Unto the land of gold he goes.

Health and longevity to Egypt's King!
The Mighty Pharaoh! May the all-seeing Gods
Grant thee good peace! We lay at the great Isle
Till the moon filled her sickle to a shield;
Then, heartened, sailed again into the South.

How oft we beached, how oft we crept for fear
Behind reef-wall; how oft—save for Kneph's help
And Ishtar's mercy—we had seen our ships
Splintered on savage cliff or lurking rock,
Or by huge hissing billows overwhelmed
'Twere long to tell, nor good, O Lord of Lords!
For patience of thine ear. Still southward rolled
The unbroken coast, white, yellow, red, or brown,
Rugged with headlands, rounded with low dunes,
Beached with black stones, or silvery sands, or belts
Of the mud-loving mangrove. So we passed
Upanga's bluff, and where the low shore holds
“The House of Peace”: Sinda, Koronjo's reef,
Kutâni's ruddy wall, Mafia's Isle
With angry breakers fenced; Rufiji's mouths
Where Sea-cows live, which have a tail and fin
And fishy forms: yet—I lie not, O King!
Breasts of a woman and give suck.
We spy Mirambe's brow and, o'er Kirinje's huts,
Long flat-topped hills. Then the tall nut-trees wave
On Songa. Thence athwart two shallow gulfs,
Nondo and Kuvu, unto Lindi's stream—
Good watering;—and hard by, the Mushroom Rock,
Madjovi. So through Mnazi's sheltered smooths
To where Rov'uma pours into the green
Her turbid flood, with blood of many a slave
Foul mingled. Then the Kongo Cape we round,
Which seems an island as one sails from north;
And slip, well-pleased, from storm and savage seas
To timely shelter of the foam-washed reef
Fronting its shore.

These were the names we heard
Of pilots, fisher-folk, and merchant-men
Trading the marge with shallow feeble craft,
Ill-rigged for evil weather; yet their seas
Well known to them, and here they bid us mark
The giant current of of mid-ocean,
Part itself like a branching stream of earth,
To flow this side and that. Next Ulû's Isles,
Majumbi's coral crags; and then, in swarm,
Islets,—Kerimba's archipelago;—
Imo and Fumo, and their sister rocks
Perilous of approach; next, seven sharp hills
Over Arimba; Pomba Bay behind
Lent friendly haven. Skirting Pardo's point
Dark hillocks show in the bush; follow steep slopes
Rich-wooded; then a hill, lofty and white,
So shaped that one might deem, coming from north
'Twas a great galley of thy Nile at sail.
Afterwards, under lee of Mozambik, we rest,
Well-covered. For a fierce wind drew
Betwixt the main and certain sea-girt land
Whereof they spake, towards the rising Sun,
A mighty Island. Being calmed, we rowed
Across Mokambo Bay, and lay awhile
In Mluli River where within the mouth
A green isle towered, inhabited by Apes.
By thy Soul! Pharaoh! even thou hadst smiled
To watch the grave-tailed elders of the troop
And monkey-mothers with their furry babes
Viewing thy ships approach; hardly less men
Than those who pushed from shore with food to sell
On log or light canoe. 'Twas at the close
Of the eighth moon we oared from Kilimàn
And came by rosy bluffs and running hills
To where the deep sea darkened to the flood
Flung by a lord of rivers, broad and deep,
Far draining from the inland.

'Twas a stream
Vast as thy Nile, dread King!—Luâbo named—
Coming adown from distant hills and lakes
Through full five hundred leagues of wild and wood,
And falling to the salt by many mouths
With black groves fringed, and barred by shifting sands.
Yet, with full sea, and patient watch, a ship
May happy entrance find. We lowered sails,
And on the broad green rollers oared our way,
By ample channel, to the upper pool
Where the great river rested, ere it gave
Its tribute to the main.

Under a tree
Smooth-barked, with slender leaves, whose massive trunk
Ten of my Tyrian rowers, clasping hands,
Could not encompass, we did set the camp,
Thorn-girt, well guarded, for the folk were rude,
The country troubled. Yet these eyes have seen
No fairer, King! for sylvan majesty
And wonder of the works the high Gods mould.
'Twas the beasts' home,—man came a stranger there.
If one did wander on the river's marge
A world of forest creatures stole to sight.
The bush-pig squeaked; the wart-hog, in the reeds,
Grunted and wallowed; shaggy buffaloes
Cropped the young grass between the ant-hills; deer
Mottled and dappled, darted through the brake;
Bush-buck, and water-buck, roan antelopes,
And sable antelopes; and o'er the open waste
The stately elands roamed, with bearded gnus.
The kudu snorted from the thorny flat,
From waving marishes where bitterns fished;
And river-horses bathed and crocodiles
Dried their grey bulk i' the sun, and with cold eyes
Blinked for their prey. Yet was it wondrous, King!
These would not slay their friends! A spur-winged bird
Ran frolic o'er the monster's scaly spine,
And from his frightful jaws picked water-lice,
While round his couch of slime the painted duck
Sported; flamingoes preened their rose-red wings;
The great grey herons slept upon one leg;
And all those river things had peace of him.
Such is the jungle law; yet, if a doe
Timidly tripped to drink, if careless slave
Drew nigh to fetch of water; look! a rush
Of that live log! a snap of rending teeth!
And peace was broke, and the stream bloodied. Turn
Into the grove of green mimosa trees
Gilt by ball-blossoms, and we heard the doves—
Bright plumaged, with the jewelled necks, and feet
Sandalled in red—coo love from branch to branch
Forgetful of the falcon on the crag,
And fierce king eagle circling in the blue.
The crowned cranes stalked about the silent pool;
The snowy egrets fed; the sacred birds
Of this thine Egypt—the staid Ibis—paced;
From hollows of the towering trunks by pairs
The horn-bills brayed; from purple bunch to bunch
Of the wild vines starlings—gold, ruby, blue,—
Sparkled; and coloured finches piped and pecked;
Small busy weavers built their hanging nests
To spite the robber snake, whose stealthy coils
I' the dead leaves glistered.

With a chosen band
Of fearless ones, and followers from the tribes
We mounted—three canoes—the splendid stream
Many days rowing. For the people said
High up was sight of marvel—spot they named
The “Smoke that Speaks.” Sometimes with paddles plied,
Sometimes with cords, we made a perilous way
By gorge and rapid where the strong flood raced
Through rocks all foam, and hanging boughs; sometimes
The channel sobered, and then came to ear
From far aloof a murmur, night and day,
Like whispering thunder. Now we quit the boats;
Strike through the forest; march three days—the noise
More and more filling all the air with roar
Unspeakable,—and, where the forest clears,
Away over the tree-tops hang great clouds
Lighted to golden white under the sun,
Thick black against the moon-beam. At the end
My band steps forth upon a level place
Fronting the dreadful glory. King of Kings!
Ithobal knoweth not to tell this sight!
The river—broad as is thy Nile in flood—
Comes from the nameless lands, green out of blue,
Comes from its purple hills, majestic, brimmed,
Its tide of silver quickening as it feels
The awful abyss draw. A long, low isle,
Whereon the moist airs breed a lavish growth,
Cleaves it in twain; then, as if loath to part
And mad to join again, the sundered halves
Plunge o'er the edge. Seemeth as if they hung
Fixed in their very leap; a curl of green—
Green as the light that strains through fan of palm—
Sits constant on the dizzy precipice
Down which the splintered river rages. See!
Just here the earth hath opened; the torn rock
Gapes to a night-black chasm, lit above,
Deep-black, death-black below. From this boils up
A steamy smoke as if Amenti there
Bubbled and raved; and with the smoke the sound
Of a whole sky throbbing with thunder-blasts.
Sheer over rim of cliff, half a league long,
Into this hold of ravage and of wrath,
And flying spume, and murk impenetrable,
Dives desperate the river, dives adown
Three hundred cubits, if I judge aright,
And wildly mingled in its cauldron there,
The broken monstrous masses lace and lock
And ramp and rear; then bursting forth to light,
Go tossing under rainbows and wet rocks
And shuddering leaves, into a narrow gorge
Crosses athwart their course, scourging their rage
Into fresh-leaping furies; till this bulk—
Come from the fountains of a continent—
Gains room to calm; and in wide reach below
Slackens its sparkling angers, stays its speed,
Clears from its waves the bubbles and the spray
And, placid once again, lord of itself,
Goes bright and gentle to the awaiting vale.
'Twas tenth moon since the starting from thy shores,
O King of Kings! the light half of the moon.
At ebb we dropped to sea by western mouth
Of vast Luâbo—Lady Nesta guide—
For on that river there had lodged with us
Men of the upper country, merchant-men,
Tall and of comely visages, with garb
Richer than wont. Whose speech, when Nesta heard,
I marked her great eyes brighten, and her lips
Half open as to utter some glad word;
Yet did she hold her peace, of counsel wise.
But afterwards in private, clasping hands,
Whispered me thus: “Heart of my heart, dear Lord!
I spake thee true, telling of lands I knew
Outside all lands and seas beyond all seas;
And how, in tender years, they tore me thence
A captive girl, the daughter of a King;
And how by long, long journeys I was borne
Northward and north, entreated tenderly
For reason I was meek and fair to see:
And how in those ill days, my sad eyes saw
The darkness and the anguish of my Land;
Till night by night I dreamed of one should come
Fearless and masterful, with ships and men,
And find us out, and break the bonds of Hell
And be beginning of a glorious dawn.
Lo! this hath fallen: those within our camp
Come from my country. What they speak is speech
Of her who suckled me; of him who died
Fighting to save his folk. They know me not,
But bear good news, unwittingly. The Prince,
My brother, ruleth. All his land is still;
The pastures full of kine, the markets brisk,
The caravans eager to come and go;
And that which in thy home men most desire
Thy priests, thy Lords, thy Kings, Pharaoh himself,
The gold,—the rich red gold,—is boundless there;
Glistens in river-sands; gleams in the rocks;
Is as a common dross. The road thereto
Wends by a river, running to the sea,
Fifty short leagues from this the Sabi named.
Thou hadst desire, I know, some port to find
Where we could plant our grain; and, while it springs,
Careen thy ships, and make an enterprise
To win by traffic some commodities
Worthy of Pharaoh's feet. This is thine hour.
Sail unto Sabi or to Pungwê's mouth—
For those are neighbours—beach thine emptied hulls:—
Fill them, refitted, with the harvesting
Of wheat and barley. For what still remains
Of this hard voyage, stretches vaster yet,
More difficult, more dreadful than what's done.
Yet shall we at the last attain. Dear Lord!
Follow my counsel. I will show the way
To where a goodly ballast shall be got
For Ram and Whale and Silver Dove.

With that
I launched and set to sea, ten moons being spent.
In days twain, and one night,—the currents fair,
But the breeze foul from south,—we made the stream,
Pungwê. The coast lies low; a sloping beach;
Then thickets; and, 'mid these, sandhills which rise
Shaped like thy pyramids. The tide, at spring,
Lifts my three galleys lightly o'er the bar
Into broad placid waters where a point
Lends certain shelter. Like a wall of waves
The flood comes in, filling the creeks and nooks,
And, draining forth again to sea, lays bare
Flats sudden and sharp spits, whereon you spy
The idle crocodiles drowse in the sun;
The river-horses wade forth of the deeps;
And turtles crawl to scrape a nesting place.
Here it is well to be: we strand the ships;
Build the stockades; and open busy marts,
Where the shore-people, swart, and clad in skins,
Bring of their victuals, taking wares from us.
Thereon my Lady hath devices:—shears
The wool from Gondah's head; pricks on the scalp
The token of her tribe; when hair is grown
Sendeth him with a knot of trusty ones
And native people, bearing curious gifts,
Northward along the river; while we pass
By easy march. The boy's one message was,
“Clip me and judge me by the sign.”

Then too
I owe again this life—my King's and mine—
To Nesta. On a day we meet in parle
Chieftains and warriors of a warlike breed,
Questioning passage, asking weighty tolls.
We sit in circle on the river's brink:
They with their spears, my men with sword on knee,
And there pass angry words. But soon one brings
Wine of the country, brewed of millet seed,
Heady and sharp, served new in woven bowls
Of grasses; and the foremost black of them
Signs that I drink, with many a peaceful nod.
Whereat my watchful Mistress craftily
Drops in the drink a leaf—I know not what:—
Leaf of some flower, which withers, spits and turns
Dull black. I marvel, but she murmurs “Lord!
He hath not drunk; 'tis custom that they drink
Before their guests.” Hereon I bid him quaff:
This vile one waxeth ashen; yet I bid,
Sternly entreating. They put by the bowl,
Baffled and anxious. As it standeth there,
A village hound, unnoticed, laps the stuff,
And, in a little, rolls its eyeballs, gasps,
And falls, all foam and spasms, on the sand.
The lying friendly draught was venomed! King!
My heart grew hot: I clove the traitor's head
From crown to chine. Shouting, the tribesmen rose
And fled: there would be war. Five days and nights
Swarmed they and buzzed like wasps around the camp,
Shooting their shafts, firing the grass, intent
To slay us if they might, and spoil our stores.
On the sixth day,—we, being sorely pressed,
Half a score Tyrians slain, with camp-followers,
Water cut off, and valiant Hamilcar
Hurt in the thigh,—rings from the hills a blast
Of conches, a beat of drums; long fighting lines,
With spears and shields, show brave upon the ridge,
Who shout their battle-cry and leap adown,
In files and painted squadrons, to the plain.
Our foemen hear and fly. First of the host
A youthful chieftain, clad in pelt of pard,
Whose mounture is a striped horse of the wilds
Caparisoned in gold, rides nobly forth
With guard of well-armed men. Before our camp
He doth dismount: a herald, feather-girt,
Advanceth, crieth phrase of peace. But, look!
My Lady Nesta bids our gateway ope,
Paceth serenely forth: only her maids
Attending—Seet and Asenath. She strips
The gemmed cloth from her silk smooth shoulder: See!
Branded in red and white upon its round
A lizard:—'tis the mark Gondah's skull bore
Beneath his wool. Which when the comely Prince
Views, he cries lustily, like one distraught
For utmost joy, and giveth loud command,
And claps his palms hard, flinging first his spear
After those fliers. Nesta, drawing nigh,
What noise! what tumult! what mad ecstasies
Of pride and pleasure! 'Twas their Princess come
Home out of bonds and darkness. Where she trod
Those fierce ones kissed the earth; to touch her gown
Was honour: for the Prince and all his tribe
Well knew the Makalanga lizard: sign
Of “Children of the Sun.” Their clamorous glee
Scared the lean vultures perched upon the slain.
We were delivered and the road lay free.

Then marked I how my Lady's words came true:
Red gold grew here. Was hardly one of all
But had it for the apple of his lance,
Or pommel of his sword, or wore it bossed
On shield or sandal, or in burnished rings
On neck and wrist and ankles. At their feast
They served us broth and stews in golden pots.
Roast game lay on gold dishes. 'Twas as bronze
In Egypt, or as brass in Sidon's streets.
For where this river issues from its hills—
Wonderful granite hills, fantastic, weird,
Mightily cragged and cleft—the white rock holds
Gold in great veins; sooth! 'tis a land of gold.
Ugambe—'twas the Chief's name—made me learn
How his gold-workers delved. A deep shaft sunk
Some twenty cubits to the mother-bed,
And there this cunning hoard of nature hid
To tease and draw mankind! I did descend
And crept through cavernous ways and gloomy gates
Till we were come to a great chamber hewn
In the mid hill. There, lo! all round about
The soft gold glittered to the torches' flare
Out of its milky stone: sometimes in films,
As when they press the purple: sometimes flaked
Like glass; or spun like threads of silk; or pouched
Massive in pockets; or in branching lines
Like moss that grows in chinks, if moss were gold.
This rock, wealth-bearing, patient hands break out
And bring to air. There, slave-gangs set in rows
Pound with hard stone on stone the veiny stuff,
Crushing it small. This first they wash and sift
For the great pieces; afterwards they roast
What's left in furnace till the gold runs clear
Caked in the ash: so is their way with gold.

Wherefore, great Lord! because this thing is much,
And maketh wealth of the world and pleaseth kings,
And doth befit ev'n Pharaoh, it behoved
To guard the prize for thee. King Suleiman
Owned ships and men that brought him gold from Punt
And peacocks out of Ophir, and fine gems.
Thou, too, mayest have—shalt have—Lord of all Lords!
Thine Ophir in this region where we came
Empty, and whence we journeyed, turning back
After a six moons' sojourn,—rich enow
To buy the fleets of Tyre, if 'twere thy will.
For here the gold was dross; the friendly folk
Laughed at our lust for the pale yellow yield
Which will not fashion head of spear, nor blade
Of hunting-knife, nor wear a lifetime through
As iron armlet doth or ankle ring;
And bore no worth they said, save to be soft
In working and to take no rust. With that
Gladly they bartered it for beads and cloth
And whatsoever gear we had to give,
Of Syrian, or Egyptian. Nay, for love
Of Lady Nesta, and to honour guests,
They did bestow with gentle show of pride
Platters and bowls cast out of shining gold,
Pouches and girdles, fillets, amulets,
Neck-rings, and head-rings: so our caravan
Marched seaward from the hills with twelve-score slaves
Gold-laden, and another followed it
Or ever we set sail; thus I did fill
The Black Whale's hold with that rich ballasting
From keel to floor. I sent thee back thy ship
So freighted as was never craft before,
Dunnaged and stowed with gold. Sothës had charge.
I filled him with our rice and barley, raised
In two crops by the river; bade him press
Northwards for Suph, making his benches up
With slaves of Sabi. “When thou seest,” I said,
The star of Ishtar lift i' the north anew
And reachest where we crossed that ten days' main,
Cleave to the coast till thou beest come to Suph;
Then enter by the island, and stand north
Till Pharaoh learn of thee and thou canst void
Thy cargo on the carpet of his throne.”
Thou knowest, King of Kings! thy ship came home
And Sothës stands beside thee, who did bring
The Black Whale back, and from our silence, news.

Moreover, that these opulent fields be kept
Secure for thee and us, I made a pact,
Solemnly sealed with strange and ancient rites—
Confirmed by drinking blood and slaying goats—
Whereby the golden hills devolve to thee
Around the springs of Sabi. Thirty men
Among the Tyrians, skilfullest to build,
Stoutest to fight, best helps at every need,
Joyous in dangers, eager for high deeds,
I chose from out my rowers. These should take
Wives of the country, raise their dwellings, till
Sufficient earth for food—slaves serving them,—
And of the thirty, under Hamilcar,
Each should be captain over maniples
Of three-score warriors, drawn from bravest blood
Of Makalanga. Then, to make all sure,
They must have fortalice to hold the hills
And guard and delve the gold. I did ordain
There should be reared—where the rocks favoured us
And much fair water bubbled—structures twain
Which the wise Hiram did devise and plan.
Of these the foremost was a hold of war,
Massive, impenetrable, made to bear
All shock of battle, as the sea-cliff takes
The battering waves and turns their idle dash.
I bid them build it, where the broken crags
Gave coign and traverse and good vantage ground,
On forehead of a granite mountain scarped
Three sides. Along the fourth, to rear a wall
Shutting out all but birds. Within the wall
The stronghold, circular, with rounded ramps
Of hewn stone, laid ten cubits thick; the doors
Narrow, and giving entry by strait ways
Where but one man could pass; and those strait ways
So blocked with buttresses and ambuscades,
With cunning corners, fighting-holes and pits;
So from the walls above commanded, that
No foe could win alive from gate to fort,
Or shun deaths showered upon him. In the midst
The unfailing fount, good storage for the grain,
Space for the men-at-arms, fuel for food,
All deftly schemed. In time of peace my men,
Housed in Zimbabwê's groves, the guards at hand,
Would dwell serene and win the gold. At war,
Safe in their citadel, ten thousand foes
Could count as ten.

Beneath, on lower slope,
Wise Hiram drew for me a House of Gods—
Ishtar's and Bel's—; was to be built to lodge
The Lords of Heaven most nobly; all of stone
Heedfully shaped, like Babylonian bricks,
Faultlessly squared; was to be oval-framed,
Cubits eight-score and eight the longer way;
Walls thick cubits fifteen, high, twenty-one;
And, crowning all the walls, should run a row
Of Ishtar's birds cut of the soft green rock,
With those high sacred pillars interplaced,
Which mean the Sun, and Life, and Love, and Death
And things men tell not of. Also those walls,
Laid to a hair's breadth, fashioned close and fair,
Nicely obeying what the Gods enjoin,
Should so stand, pierced with window and with door,
That at due time the Northern Stars we knew
Should through each chink let shine their holy light
On altar-slab and graven stele and floor;
So that men mark the Seasons, and the days
Of fast and feast. And Hiram schemed to build
Patterns upon the wall, with chosen stones
To such a point and such; a fish-bone course
Which meaneth what ye wist; and on south-east
The zigzag pattern, sign of Water Stars
And of the Many-Breasted. These would show
The Solstice, when the ray of rising sun
Touched first this brick or that. Inside its walls
The House of Gods should spread a spacious Court,
By narrow doors and by strait ways approached,
Where, if he would, with five-score fighting men
Hamilcar might withstand the land in arms;
And, if they would, in days of peace, the Priests
Might on due altars, and in close-shut shrines
Pay Gods, and eke the Seven Nameless Ones
Homage and worship. The sites we set;
Handselled the quarries; hired the meaner sort
To chip and square, for all must be dry work,
No binding clay or lime, lest seeds blow in
And saplings, rooting in the joints, should grow,
Rending its face. But this when all is wrought
Shall stand as the eternal mountains stand
Unchanged, and tell the centuries to come
How Hiram builded on Zimbabwê Hill.