University of Virginia Library

WE sailed from Cadiz, Perez, Blas and I,
Bound westward for the golden Indian seas,
One Christmas morning in the thirtieth year
Since Colon furrowed first the Western main.
Three old sea-dogs we were, well tried and tanned
In battle and hard weather; they had sailed
With the great Admiral in his first emprise
And I with stout de Leon, when he flung
The banner of the kingdoms to the breeze
Upon the sunny shores of Florida.
We had in our adventurings amassed
Some store of gold, enough for our require,
By stress of toilful days and careful nights
And dint of dogged labour and hard knocks;
And now the whitening harvest of our heads
Might well have monished us to slacken sail
And turn our thoughts toward the port of death,
Leaving the furtherance of our emprise
Unto the fresher hands of younger men.
But he, who long has used to ride the deep
And scent the briny breezes of the main,
Inhales a second nature with the breath
Of that unresting element and it,
With all its spells of reckless venturousness,
Grows subtly blended with his inmost soul
And will not let him rest upon the land.
And so we three, gray-bearded, ancient men,
Furrowed with years, but yet with hearts as stout
And sinews as well strung as many a youth
In whom the hot blood rages, launched again
Into the olden course and bent our sails
Once more toward the setting. Not that we
Were bitten by that fierce and senseless craze
And hunger for red gold, that drove the folk
By myriads to the fruitful Western shores
And made the happy valleys ring with war,
Plains waste with fire and red with seas of blood:
A nobler, if a more unreal aim
Allured our hopes toward the Occident
And thawed the frost of age within our veins.

I had with Leon companied, when he
Sought vainly for the Isle of Bimini
And heard the Indians of the Cuban coast
Tell how, some fifty years agone, a tribe
Had sallied thence to seek that golden strand,
Where springs the Fountain of Eternal Youth,
And finding it, had lost the memory
Of all their native ties and lingered there,
Lapt in an endless dream of Paradise.
Oft had the wondrous legend stirred my sense
To intermittent longing, though, what time
The fire of youth was fresh within my veins,
I gave scant heed to it; but when my head
Grew white with winter's snows, the ancient fire
Flamed up again within me and my soul
Yearned unappeasably toward the West,
Where welled the wondrous chrism. At my heat
These two my comrades kindled to like warmth
And with like aim we fitted out a ship
And turned her head toward the setting sun,
Holding it well to let none know our thought,
But giving out we sought the general goal
And went to work the mines of Paria.
The Christmas bells rang cheerily, as we loosed
Our carvel from its moorings and the sky
Shone blue with blithest omen. So we stood
Adown the harbour and with favouring winds,
Came speedily to Ferro, where we took
New store of meat and drink and sailing on,
Had not long lost from sight the topmost peak
When some enchantment seemed to fall upon
And paralyse the water and the air;
The glad winds dropped, the sea fell down to glass
And the gold sun flamed stirless in the sky.
For some score days we felt no breath of air
And heard no break of ripples, but we lay
And sweltered in the grip of that fierce heat.
And so we drifted, in the weary calm,
A slow foot forward and a slow foot back,
Upon the long low folded slopes of sea,
Until, when all left hope and looked for death,
A swift sweet breeze sprang up and drove us on,
Across foam-spangled ripples, through a waste
Of wet weed-tangle; and anon the air
Grew faint with balmy flower-breaths; a white bird
Lit like a dream upon our sea-browned sail
And brought with it the promise of the land.
Softer and balmier grew the breeze and thick
And thicker came the signs of nearing shores;
And so, one morning, from the early mists
A green-coned island rose up in our way
And our glad hearts were conscious of the land.
Landing, we met with Spaniards armed and clothed,
Who brought us to the chief town of the isle,
That lay snow-white within a blaze of green.
It was New Spain, and having there refreshed
Our weary bodies with a grateful rest
Among the pleasant places of the isle,
We trimmed our sails anew toward the West
And steered into the distance with stout hearts.

Through many a winding maze of wooded aits
And channels where the lush boughs canopied
The lucent waters in their sanded bed,
We passed and smelt sweet savours of strange flowers,
That filled the forests with a blaze of bloom.
This coasting Cuba, and the last land passed,
Where the white headland rushed into the deep
And strove in vain to reach some kindred land,
Lost in the infinite distance, fields of green
Glittered and broke to surges, far and wide,
Until the eye lost vision. Nothing feared,
We bade farewell to all the terraced slopes
And fragrant woodlands and with fluttering sails,
Stretched out into the undiscovered seas.
Fair winds soon drove us out of sight of land
And in a sweet bright glory of June warmth,
Attempered by lithe breezes, did we cleave,
For many days, the slow and pearléd surge,
Fair heaven o'er us of a wildflower's blue,
With now and then a trail of golden cloud,
Feathered with silver, sloping o'er its bell
Of windless azure, and a jasper sea,
Full of all glints and plays of jewelled light,
Fishes of diamond and seaweed trails,
Ruby and emerald, that bore wide blooms
Of white and purple. Some enchanted land
Lay for our sight beneath that crystal dome
Of hyaline inverted tow'rd the sky,
Drinking the soft light with so whole a bliss
That some new radiance ever woke in it.

So journeyed we for many a golden day
And many a night enchanted, till, at last,
One night, the sunset lay across the West,
In one great sheet of bright and awful gold,
And would not fade for twilight. Through the air
The hours fled past tow'rd midnight; but the sun
Was stayed by some new Joshua and the West
Still seemed the land of the Apocalypse,
Emblazoning the future of our hopes.
We all did marvel at the miracle
And some began to quake for very fear;
But Perez lifted up his voice and said,
“Friends, this is e'en the very sign of God,
To show us, of His mercy, we shall see
And come to what we long for, ere we die.”
And as he spoke, a fresher breeze fell down
Upon the gold-stained canvas of the sails,
So that we, driving fast toward the West
And its miraculous splendours, saw gold towers
And spires of burning emerald glance and grow
Against the golden background. Then great awe
And wondrous comfort fell upon us all
And from our lips, “The City of the Lord!”
Came with a reverent triumph, for it seemed
Indeed the town of pearl and golden gates
And angels walking in the beryl streets;
And as we ever ran toward the place,
The joy of Mary did possess our hearts
And kneeling down together on the deck,
We all linked hands and offered thanks to God.

The hours went by and lengthened out to days,
And yet no darkness curtained that fair fire,
No sign of dawning glimmered in the East;
But still that glory flamed across the West
And still into the setting fled our bark.
So, as we counted it by lapse of time,
Bereft of natural signs of dark and light,
Seven days had passed, and on the seventh day,
At fall of eventide, or what is wont
To be that time in this our world that knows
No miracles, the splendours gathered up
And running all together like a scroll,
Were bound into a single blazing globe,
That gradually did shrink upon itself,
Until it was but as a greater star
And hung in heaven, a splendid lucent pearl,
Flooding the purple twilight with soft fire.
And as the flaming curtain passed away
And left the Westward empty, from the span
Of ocean full before us, rose a slope
Of pleasant shores and smiling terraces,
Crowned with a tender glory of fair green.

Our hearts leapt up within us; something spoke
To us of the fulfilment of our hopes;
And as we drew yet nearer, snow-white sands,
Gemmed with bright shells and coloured wonderments
Of stones and seaweed, sparkled on the rim
Of the glad blue, and what seemed palaces
Of dream-like beauty shimmered afar off,
Like agates, through the mazes of the woods.
We ran the carvel through a wooded reach
Of shelving water, clear and musical
With fret of breaking ripples on the stones,
And drove the keel into the yielding sand,
Where, with a gracious curve, the silver shore
Sloped down and held the ocean in its arms.
Landing, we entered, through a portico
Of columned palms, a forest fair and wide,
Wherein long glades ran stretching in the calm
And rayed out through the leafage on all hands;
And as our feet trod grass, the tropic night
Was wasted and the cool sweet early day
Was born in the blue heavens. On all sides,
The fruitful earth was mad with joy of Spring,
Not, as in our cold West, the painful lands
Flower with a thin spare stint of meagre blooms,
But with a blaze of heaven's own splendrousness
Moulded to blossom; in the lavish land
There was not room enough for the blithe blooms
To spread to fulness their luxuriance;
And so they ran and revelled up the trunks
And seizing all the interspace of air,
Shut out the sky with frolic flowerage.
And as we went, the cloisters of the woods
Rang with the golden choirings of the birds,
Gods' poets, that did give Him praise for Spring,
And all the tender twilight of the woods
Was brimmed with ripples of their minstrelsy.

Some hours we journeyed slowly through the aisles
Of emerald, hung with flower-trails wild and sweet,
Whose scent usurped the waftings of the breeze
And lapt our senses in a golden dream,—
Slowly, I say; for wonder held our feet
And we were often fain to halt and feed
Our dazed eyes on the exquisite fair peace
Of all things' perfect beauty and delight.
At last, we came to where the cloistered glades
Grew wider and we heard a noise of bells
And glad wide horn-notes floating through the trees
And waning lingeringly along the aisles;
And a far voice of some most lovely sound
Held all the air with one enchanted note,
As 'twere the cadence of the angels' song,
When in the dawn the gates of heaven unfold,
Had floated down and lit upon the earth.
And then the forest ceased and in the noon,
Now that the sun rode high in the blue steeps,
We saw a fair white city in the plain,
Rounded with blossomed flowers and singing rills
And fringed with tender grace of nestling trees.
The gates stood open for our welcoming
And in we passed, but saw none in the ways
And wandered slowly onward through the streets,
Misdoubting us the whole might be a dream
And loath to speak, lest something break the charm.

Full lovely and most pleasant was the place,
Builded with palaces of purest white
And columns graven in all gracious shapes
Of lovely things, that harbour in the world
Or in the poet's fancy. All the walls
Were laced with golden tracery and set
With precious marbles, cunningly y-wrought
To delicate frail fretwork. Argent spires
Rose, pistil-like, toward the heavens serene,
From out moon-petalled flower-domes and the roofs
Seemed, in the noontide, one great graven prayer,
For the aspiring of their minarets.
Fair courtyards caught the quiet from the air
And hoarded up the shadow in their hearts,
Making the stillness musical with pearls
And silver of their fountains' gurgling plash.
A city of the pleasance of the Gods
It seemed, embowered in a flower-soft calm,
Soiled by no breath of clamour or desire.

So did we wander up that silver street,
As one who, in the lapses of a dream,
Goes like a God, for lack of wonderment,
And came to where a sudden water welled
Among moss-feathered pebbles and was turned
Into the middle way, wherein it ran
Along the agate stones, rejoicingly,
And marged itself with bands of vivid bloom.
It was so clear and sang so sweet a song
Of cool fresh quiet that we all were fain
To halt and lave our hands and feet in it,
So haply virtue might be had from it
Of its untroubled blitheness. This being done,
We wandered on again by that fair flood,
That seemed to us a rippled silver clue,
Unwinded by some river-deity,
Friendly to man, and leading, step by step,
To some far seat of exquisite idlesse.
So came we where the long slow quiet way
Was done and lost itself in one wide space,
Where columns stood in fair and measured ranks,
Arched with a running frieze of graven work.
Stately and tall they were, cornelian-plinthed,
With stems of jasper and chalcedony,
And ran in goodly order round the place,
Circling a wide bright curtilage of clear
And polished marble, veined with branching gold
And jacinth woven in its cloudless grain.
In the mid-square a cistern, lipped with pearl
And hollowed from the marble of the floor,
Was clear with crystal water, through whose lymph
One saw the bottom paved with cunning shapes
Of ancient legends, beasts and birds and flowers,
Fashioned in yellow gold on milk-white stone.

Into the cistern emptied all its rills
The laughing stream that ran beside our feet,
And filling all the cool still flood with gleams
And rippled swirls and eddies of its own
Mercurial silver, passed out o'er a slope
Of jasper from the cistern's farther side
And gurgled through a channel in the floor,
Wherefrom it drew that sweet and murmurous noise
Of soft accords suspended, that had swelled
Upon us in the opening of the wood,
Until its silver blended with the green
Of a cool woodland shadow and its chirp
Of laughing ripples in the cloistered calm
Of arching trunks was silent. Following
The blithe stream's way, we stood upon the brink
Of that cool crystal and gazed down through it
Upon the inlaid figures in the bed,
That flashed and wavered so with that unrest
Of ceaseless currents, that they seemed to us
To have again a strange half-life in them
And nod and sign to us. We dipped our hands
For idlesse in the lappings of the stream,
That curled and glistered on the marble's brim,
And wondered idly what these things might be
That were so fairly pictured on the stone,
And if the place were void of living soul
To use its dainty brightness. So we might
Have stood and gazed and dreamed away the day,
So fair a spell of quiet held the air;
But, as we listened, suddenly a sound
Of various music smote upon our ears,
And we were ware of some enchanted throb
Of very lovely singing, that for aye
Drew nearer, as it were the singers came
Toward us, in the near vicinity.
And as it grew, the air was all a-flower
With intermingling antiphons of sound;
The passionate pulse of harp-strings, smitten soft
To wait upon the cadenced swell and wane
Of the alternate voices, throbbed and stirred
In the cool peace of that sweet reverend place:
High steeples rained bell-silver on the roofs
And the clear gold of clarions floated up
And echoed through the columned solitudes.

Before us rose a high and stately wall,
Painted with cunning past the skill of men,—
It seemed to us,—with shapes of olden time,
Presenting, in deep colours, like the flush
Of flowers that diapers the fields in June,
All things that have been celebrate of old,
Shapes of high kings, of heathen men and dames,
Ladies and knights in dalliance of love
Or ranged in rank of feast or tournament;
(I do remember once I saw the like,
But in a meaner fashion and less fair,
At Naples, when our army held the realm
Against the French). Surpassing fair they were,
Gods in the aspect and most worshipful,
Clad in bright raiment, gold and purpurine.
So goodly was their seeming and withal
So wonder-lively fashioned, that we looked
To see them leave their places on the wall
And walk among us and have speech of us.

Between two columns in the midst, a space
Was set apart, whereon no living thing
Was limnéd, but the stone was subtly wrought
With graven silver, arabesqued and chased
In interwoven patterns, very bright
And strange, wherein we wondered much to see
That ever sphere did twine with sphere, nor was
There any angled figure in the woof,
Except one great gold cross, that broke the play
Of circles in the centre of the space.
In this a wide door opened, that had been
So closely fitted to the joining wall
That our eyes had no cognizance of it,
And foldíng back itself on either side,
Gave passage to our sight into an aisle
Of cloistered fretwork, at whose farthest end
Shone glint of mystic gold and blazonry.

It was not clear for distance, at the first,
What was it moved and glittered in the haze;
But, as we gazed, a train of stately men,
Vestured in flowing garments, swept along
The heart of that cool stillness and did come
Majestically tow'rd us with slow steps.
And as they grew into our clearer sight,
We saw they were full goodly to behold,
Gracious in carriage and with pòort assured
In simple nobleness. It seemed to us
That we had known such figures in some dream
Of bygone days, so strangely bright they were
Of aspect and serene in kindly peace,
Resembling nothing earthly we had seen.
Their vesture was no less unknown to us,
Being of some fair white fabric, soft as silk
And looped with broad rich gold and broidery
Of banded silver, and their flowing hair
Was knitted with the plumes of strange bright birds,
That flashed and sparkled gem-like in the sun,
Emerald and gold and turquoise. At their head
Came one whose visage wore a special air
Of reverence and simplicity, uncrossed
By any furrow of ignoble care.
Adown his breast a fair white beard did flow
And foam-white was the flowerage of his head;
But else of sad wan eld was little trace
Upon his mien, except for venerance.
It seemed as if his youth had held so dear
The sojourn of life's spring-time, it had chosen
Rather to consort with the drifts of age
Than spread sad wings toward a fresher haven.
Upon his front a band of woven gold,
Graven with symbols, added evidence
Unneeded to his brow's regality,
And in his hand a silver wand he bore,
Whereon a golden falcon spread its wings
And poised itself as if for imminent flight.

We all bowed heads, as conscious of some might
Of soul and station far above our own;
And that mild ancient, casting on us all
His eyes' benignness, gave us welcoming,
In speech so clear and universal-toned,
We could not choose but apprehend his words
And the fair meaning of them, when he said,
“Be welcome to the City of the Day,
O seekers for the Isle of Bimini!”
And knew that here at last our quest was won.

Then did he speak to those that followed him,
And the fair youths, that were his chamberlains,
Laid gentle hands on us and led us all
Into the inner palace, where we soothed
Our weary limbs with soft and fragrant baths
And girt us in new garments of fair white,
Made rich with bands of silken broidery.
This done, our weariness and our fatigues
Fell from us with our travel-stainéd weeds
And we were as new men in heart and limb.

Then joyously we followed those our guides,
Through many an aisle of fair and lucent stone,
Into a wide and lofty banquet-hall,
Where the pierced walls showed through the azure sky
And shaped the light that won across the chinks
Into a dainty fretted lace of gold.
High up into the shadow curved the roof
And treasured up, in many a tender gloom
Of amethyst and purple, echoings
Of woodland songs and cool of forest shades
And soft sweet breezes straying in the flowers.
For bearing of its bell of latticed blue
Were columns of majestic linden-trees,
Whose blossom scented all the luminous air;
And in the boughs gold-feathered birds did make
Rare music for the pleasance of the folk
That lay below in many a goodly rank,
Reclined among sweet scents and lavish flowers.
There could no shaft of sun be wearisome
Nor airless ardour of the heavy noon,
For green of shading boughs and silver plash
Of ceaseless fountains in the hollow coigns.

Here was a goodly banquet furnished forth;
And as we entered, he that ruled the feast
Did set us near himself and talked with us
And showed and told us many goodly things
And marvels that had usance in the place.
Then did we ask him of that fabled stream
That had such puissance for defeat of age;
Whereat his visage grew, meseemed, a thought
O'ershadowed; but anon he smiled on us
And made fair answer that, ourselves refreshed
With needful rest and slumber, he himself
Would on the morrow further our desire
Toward the fount miraculous; and turned
The talk to other things and bade us leave
Our past fatigues and eat and drink new life.

Great joyance had we in the pleasant things
That were presented to our every sense,
And great refreshing for our weary souls,
Jaded with age and unrelenting toil.
Nor, in the progress of the glad repast,
Did cheer sink down to grossness; for we ate
Of fruits and meats (and drank of wines the while,
Costly and rich) that were so delicate
And noble in their essence, and did hear
And see and scent such high and lovely things,
That all that was most godlike in ourselves
Did cast off imperfection for the nonce
And was made pure by that most sweet convérse.

The banquet ended, minstrels took their harps
And sang the praises of the blossom-time
And high delights of bright and puissant love:
How May is sweet with amorous affects
And all things in its season know but one
And flower and sing and are most fair for one
And one alone most tender, holiest Love:
How life in love has ever deathless Spring,
And all the early glory of the year
Is but the travail of the earth with love,
That is told forth in bloom of painted flowers
And silver speech of many-choiring birds.

And these strains ended with applause of all
And to the great enhancement of our peace,
Another smote the soft complaining strings
To notes of graver sweetness and did sing
A quaint sad song of Autumn and of Death,
Made very sweet with joining cadences
Of silver harp-notes. Thus, methinks, it ran:—