Orellana and Other Poems By J. Logie Robertson |
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 | Orellana and Other Poems |  |
50
BOOK II.
By this the happy season was returned
When to the texture of his cloud-built tent
Diaphanous the red-faced sun approached,
Peering into the shrouded world below
That languished in the rain: the curtains caught
The glory of his burning countenance
And went ablaze: this way and that they fled,
And lo! the lofty firmament serene
In a wide stretch of deep ethereal blue
Enroofed the laughing globe. There hung the sun;
And Nature stretched her praiseful arms aloft
In distant hills and towering trees and waves
And little humble flowers adoringly
Towards the benignant Sun, that smiled again!
Along the forest glades now might you see
The wavering flight of indolent butterflies
Whose blue metallic wings lit up the shades
Like fluttering patches of the fallen sky.
The yellow troupials whisked from bank to bank,
And hung their pendent nests on the high boughs
That swayed in graceful fringes down the sky.
While ever and anon the frigate-bird
With head thrown back came sailing down the air
That streamed above the stream, and disappeared.
Ah me! what wistful faces sad and wan
And wasted with disease met the red gaze
Of the returning sun! How with the heavens
Their prisoned hopes enlarged, defying bounds,
Yet chafing at the strange mysterious leash
That pulled them to the wingless body back.
When to the texture of his cloud-built tent
Diaphanous the red-faced sun approached,
Peering into the shrouded world below
That languished in the rain: the curtains caught
The glory of his burning countenance
And went ablaze: this way and that they fled,
And lo! the lofty firmament serene
In a wide stretch of deep ethereal blue
Enroofed the laughing globe. There hung the sun;
And Nature stretched her praiseful arms aloft
In distant hills and towering trees and waves
51
Towards the benignant Sun, that smiled again!
Along the forest glades now might you see
The wavering flight of indolent butterflies
Whose blue metallic wings lit up the shades
Like fluttering patches of the fallen sky.
The yellow troupials whisked from bank to bank,
And hung their pendent nests on the high boughs
That swayed in graceful fringes down the sky.
While ever and anon the frigate-bird
With head thrown back came sailing down the air
That streamed above the stream, and disappeared.
Ah me! what wistful faces sad and wan
And wasted with disease met the red gaze
Of the returning sun! How with the heavens
Their prisoned hopes enlarged, defying bounds,
Yet chafing at the strange mysterious leash
That pulled them to the wingless body back.
52
Meanwhile as if from sudden ambush sprang
A lurking fever on the pallid frame
Of stout Gonzalo: from his restless couch
He turned his hungry eyes upon the priest:
—“O holy father, must I here abandon,
Here within promised access of renown,
The great hope of my days? And must I die,
Thus circumstanced with new-awaking life
In all around me? Water, earth, and air,
The winds, the sunbeams, insect, bird, and river
Rejoice unfettered: I am captive bound.
Oh for the pinions of yon passing bird,
That I at least might overfly the land,
And, if but with a transient glimpse, drink in
The wealth of my possessions! Hard it is
To be the heir of what I cannot hold;
Harder, indeed, if I have brought you all
Into this sylvan solitude, apart
From human ken, only to waste and die
In unrecorded pain! And therefore I
Would send at least, if that I may not go,
To claim my heritage: call Orellana!
I have marked him fit for noble deeds,
Approved him bold, ay, somewhat over-bold,
And think him true. What if the after-race
Ignoring or in ignorance credit him
With all the honour of the enterprise!
I shall not mind it, though it cut me now
Even to anticipate. Vain fear! 'tis mine;
Nor have I less the greatness that I feel
Wanting the confirmation of the crowd.”
A lurking fever on the pallid frame
Of stout Gonzalo: from his restless couch
He turned his hungry eyes upon the priest:
—“O holy father, must I here abandon,
Here within promised access of renown,
The great hope of my days? And must I die,
Thus circumstanced with new-awaking life
In all around me? Water, earth, and air,
The winds, the sunbeams, insect, bird, and river
Rejoice unfettered: I am captive bound.
Oh for the pinions of yon passing bird,
That I at least might overfly the land,
And, if but with a transient glimpse, drink in
The wealth of my possessions! Hard it is
To be the heir of what I cannot hold;
Harder, indeed, if I have brought you all
Into this sylvan solitude, apart
From human ken, only to waste and die
In unrecorded pain! And therefore I
Would send at least, if that I may not go,
To claim my heritage: call Orellana!
53
Approved him bold, ay, somewhat over-bold,
And think him true. What if the after-race
Ignoring or in ignorance credit him
With all the honour of the enterprise!
I shall not mind it, though it cut me now
Even to anticipate. Vain fear! 'tis mine;
Nor have I less the greatness that I feel
Wanting the confirmation of the crowd.”
“A noble deed,” gravely the priest replied,
“Done in obscurity or deepest night,
Needs not the shouting of the multitude
To make it fact,—yea! and if but conceived
When other hands receive it at the birth,
Stolen or adopted, none the less remains
In highest truth the author's. A brave mind,
Strong in the consciousness of native worth
As hero in his mail, will estimate
The praise of men as but a needless cloak
Thrown over armour: And yet true it is
The purple trappings and the nodding plume
Become the warrior well;—but they are less
His own delight than worn to pleasure friends.
Think you the great Columbus, when the light
First showed him where the long-lost hemisphere
Lay sleeping in the void—think you he felt
At that abandoned hour of soundless night
Less sure of his own greatness, as he stood
On the lone poop surrounded by the dark
While Europe far behind in her grey walls
Chaffered and gossiped through her daily rounds
Forgetful of him quite, or mindful only
As of a fond enthusiast pitiable—
Than when, after long months of secret greatness,
He told to courts his prophecy fulfilled,
And Europe, pausing in her mill-horse round,
Turned all her million eyes to the grey seas,
The riddle of whose mystery was read,
And hailed him Finder of a Second World?
And yet, when all is said, be sure his mind
Chose her seat well,—not on the unstable base
Of airy speech of men, which a side wind
Blowing sinister with capricious gust
Can sweep as swift away as castled clouds
Before an evening gale,—not on renown
As men translate the word, an empty sound,
Which themselves give and often give awry,
And then withhold, and with as little cause;
But on the steadfast rock, the immortal stance
Of consciousness of a great duty done.
In that one word all honest greatness hides,
And each may grasp it in his several sphere,
For that is duty that a man can do
And that beseems a man—all else is vain.”
He ended, but the germinating thought
Grew in Gonzalo's mind. Upon the priest
His large eyes gazed in silence till his mind,
Slow to appropriate the strength-giving truth,
Returned the dictum like a lingering echo—
“Yea! that is duty that a man can do,
And mine is now to send, not mine the event,
Since that I may not go: call Orellana!”—
“Done in obscurity or deepest night,
Needs not the shouting of the multitude
To make it fact,—yea! and if but conceived
When other hands receive it at the birth,
Stolen or adopted, none the less remains
In highest truth the author's. A brave mind,
Strong in the consciousness of native worth
As hero in his mail, will estimate
The praise of men as but a needless cloak
Thrown over armour: And yet true it is
The purple trappings and the nodding plume
Become the warrior well;—but they are less
54
Think you the great Columbus, when the light
First showed him where the long-lost hemisphere
Lay sleeping in the void—think you he felt
At that abandoned hour of soundless night
Less sure of his own greatness, as he stood
On the lone poop surrounded by the dark
While Europe far behind in her grey walls
Chaffered and gossiped through her daily rounds
Forgetful of him quite, or mindful only
As of a fond enthusiast pitiable—
Than when, after long months of secret greatness,
He told to courts his prophecy fulfilled,
And Europe, pausing in her mill-horse round,
Turned all her million eyes to the grey seas,
The riddle of whose mystery was read,
And hailed him Finder of a Second World?
And yet, when all is said, be sure his mind
Chose her seat well,—not on the unstable base
55
Blowing sinister with capricious gust
Can sweep as swift away as castled clouds
Before an evening gale,—not on renown
As men translate the word, an empty sound,
Which themselves give and often give awry,
And then withhold, and with as little cause;
But on the steadfast rock, the immortal stance
Of consciousness of a great duty done.
In that one word all honest greatness hides,
And each may grasp it in his several sphere,
For that is duty that a man can do
And that beseems a man—all else is vain.”
He ended, but the germinating thought
Grew in Gonzalo's mind. Upon the priest
His large eyes gazed in silence till his mind,
Slow to appropriate the strength-giving truth,
Returned the dictum like a lingering echo—
“Yea! that is duty that a man can do,
And mine is now to send, not mine the event,
Since that I may not go: call Orellana!”—
A young man still, though in his auburn hair
Time's silvery threads were spreading, and his brow
Had gathered more than one long line of grey.
But in his eye the wandering light of youth
Still showed a mind unsettled in its aim,
Though powerful to achieve what others planned.
A dreamer was he in his hours of ease,
And careless of preferment undeserved
By action of his own. A volunteer,
He came from drowsing by the torpid banks
Of Guadiana to the Western world,
Smit with the hope of some great deed of fame,—
Which so absorbed his soul that lesser gain
For its own sake, or as a central germ
That tarries the slow-fostering of the years,
Was blown contemptuous to the passing winds;
For he would be at once i' the eye o' the world,
Or live and die among the shadows seen
By none. Yet think not he was idle all,
Waiting to strike and strike but once for fame:
His sword was ever at his chief's command,
And what he undertook his very daring
And utter recklessness, or rather say
Firm confidence of the event, made sure and fast
A fact in history. But mark his pride
Or self-neglect, or call it what you will
—After such enterprise he shunned to meet
His grateful leader; and his comrades' praise
Around the barrack-fire or in the tent,
In town or field, fell cold upon his ear:
Upon his heel he turned, and, listlessly
Reclining on his couch with half-shut eyes,
Or roaming vacantly in lonely places,
They found him, and gave up the thankless task.
Or if importunate the public voice
Threatened ovation—he would seize his cloak;
His sword was ever belted to his side;
And disappear. Thus had he joined the band
A day's march late that journeyed from Quito
Under Gonzalo. Thus he clipt the winglets
Of his own growing fame; for he would soar
At once i' the eye o' the world, or sink unseen
Among the shadows, known to none or all.
—“If I have sent for thee,” Gonzalo said,
“'Tis not to speak thy praise; for what thou hast
Deserving praise thou hast from Heaven, and there
The honour lies; and that thou knowest unmoved
By voice of man; and therefore praise is thine
In that I choose thee from among the rest,
Deeming thee loyal, who hast well approved
The motive of thy acts, to take my place
And duteously fulfil my vows to Spain
And to my brother: thou shalt take command
Of this our ark, the brigantine—that bears
The fortunes of our expedition: I
Commit them to thy charge. Do thou descend
Whither the Indians tell. Of some great stream
That rolls its ink and flings its yellow foam
Around some central capital they tell.
There glory waits thee, ripened to thy hook;
But bring me back a sheaf—a few stray ears
I surely well may claim! We tarry here.
Our hopes, our very life goes with thee! See
Thou prove no alien! Choose thy men, and go!”—
56
Had gathered more than one long line of grey.
But in his eye the wandering light of youth
Still showed a mind unsettled in its aim,
Though powerful to achieve what others planned.
A dreamer was he in his hours of ease,
And careless of preferment undeserved
By action of his own. A volunteer,
He came from drowsing by the torpid banks
Of Guadiana to the Western world,
Smit with the hope of some great deed of fame,—
Which so absorbed his soul that lesser gain
For its own sake, or as a central germ
That tarries the slow-fostering of the years,
Was blown contemptuous to the passing winds;
For he would be at once i' the eye o' the world,
Or live and die among the shadows seen
By none. Yet think not he was idle all,
Waiting to strike and strike but once for fame:
57
And what he undertook his very daring
And utter recklessness, or rather say
Firm confidence of the event, made sure and fast
A fact in history. But mark his pride
Or self-neglect, or call it what you will
—After such enterprise he shunned to meet
His grateful leader; and his comrades' praise
Around the barrack-fire or in the tent,
In town or field, fell cold upon his ear:
Upon his heel he turned, and, listlessly
Reclining on his couch with half-shut eyes,
Or roaming vacantly in lonely places,
They found him, and gave up the thankless task.
Or if importunate the public voice
Threatened ovation—he would seize his cloak;
His sword was ever belted to his side;
And disappear. Thus had he joined the band
A day's march late that journeyed from Quito
Under Gonzalo. Thus he clipt the winglets
Of his own growing fame; for he would soar
58
Among the shadows, known to none or all.
—“If I have sent for thee,” Gonzalo said,
“'Tis not to speak thy praise; for what thou hast
Deserving praise thou hast from Heaven, and there
The honour lies; and that thou knowest unmoved
By voice of man; and therefore praise is thine
In that I choose thee from among the rest,
Deeming thee loyal, who hast well approved
The motive of thy acts, to take my place
And duteously fulfil my vows to Spain
And to my brother: thou shalt take command
Of this our ark, the brigantine—that bears
The fortunes of our expedition: I
Commit them to thy charge. Do thou descend
Whither the Indians tell. Of some great stream
That rolls its ink and flings its yellow foam
Around some central capital they tell.
59
But bring me back a sheaf—a few stray ears
I surely well may claim! We tarry here.
Our hopes, our very life goes with thee! See
Thou prove no alien! Choose thy men, and go!”—
And Orellana knelt, and kissed the hand
Of great Gonzalo, rose, and nothing said
But turned in act to go. With searching eyes
Gonzalo gazed upon his soldier bearing
As wishful for some proof of loyalty;
Then, as it came not, turning to the priest—
“Thou, too,” he said, “wilt go.”—“Nay, here I stay,”
The father answered; “tempt me not, my son,
With the fruition of an earthly fame
Bought with a bartered conscience! Even now
The Devil is at mine elbow—I can feel
His fingers on my shoulder, in mine ear
His hot breath urging me to make a league
With him and thee and Heaven; take thine offer,
Abandon thee with all the show of friendship,
Compound with Heaven for a brief course of sin
By future sanctity—the greater saint
And more acceptable to heaven the more
I give my passions rein! ‘And what is he?
A sick man dying in the wilderness,
A withered stalk upon the tree of life
That will be green no more’—Satan, avaunt!
And thou, Gonzalo!—these are devil's words
That urge my going, put into thy mouth
By thy great enemy and mine and man's:
Speak them no more! For, grant I leave thee here
And go to what great glories who can doubt,
How shall I hear and see amid the glare
And blaze of triumph the dispassionate voice
And the white star of duty? till perchance
The tumult has sunk down and the time gone
For doing duty? Oh, the Devil ever
Wraps round a man the mantle of his praise
Spoke by the yelling multitudes, whene'er
He means to hide the irrevocable chance
Of a great duty offered by the Lord!—
So tempt me not!”
Of great Gonzalo, rose, and nothing said
But turned in act to go. With searching eyes
Gonzalo gazed upon his soldier bearing
As wishful for some proof of loyalty;
Then, as it came not, turning to the priest—
“Thou, too,” he said, “wilt go.”—“Nay, here I stay,”
The father answered; “tempt me not, my son,
With the fruition of an earthly fame
Bought with a bartered conscience! Even now
The Devil is at mine elbow—I can feel
His fingers on my shoulder, in mine ear
His hot breath urging me to make a league
With him and thee and Heaven; take thine offer,
60
Compound with Heaven for a brief course of sin
By future sanctity—the greater saint
And more acceptable to heaven the more
I give my passions rein! ‘And what is he?
A sick man dying in the wilderness,
A withered stalk upon the tree of life
That will be green no more’—Satan, avaunt!
And thou, Gonzalo!—these are devil's words
That urge my going, put into thy mouth
By thy great enemy and mine and man's:
Speak them no more! For, grant I leave thee here
And go to what great glories who can doubt,
How shall I hear and see amid the glare
And blaze of triumph the dispassionate voice
And the white star of duty? till perchance
The tumult has sunk down and the time gone
For doing duty? Oh, the Devil ever
Wraps round a man the mantle of his praise
Spoke by the yelling multitudes, whene'er
61
Of a great duty offered by the Lord!—
So tempt me not!”
The words were vehement
And uttered as in anger—eyeballs starting,
And the full veins upon his beaded brow
Relieved like whipcord. From his pillow raised
Upon one elbow, breathless, pallid, fixed
As stares a statue with its marble eyes
Rounded with wonder, and with doubt congealed,
Gonzalo gazed upon the speaker. In
The hush that followed a cicala ran
Across the open doorway, on the roof
Outside the tapping of a woodpecker
Was heard, and one low distant moan subdued
Its anguish in the woods. The father's eye
Fell, and a chill ran through his frame: “For-give,”
He said, in a strange wearied tone
Altered and low: “Forgive the unwonted heat;
For thou know'st not, my son, the carnal heart
That beats beneath this mantle, as do I!”
And uttered as in anger—eyeballs starting,
And the full veins upon his beaded brow
Relieved like whipcord. From his pillow raised
Upon one elbow, breathless, pallid, fixed
As stares a statue with its marble eyes
Rounded with wonder, and with doubt congealed,
Gonzalo gazed upon the speaker. In
The hush that followed a cicala ran
Across the open doorway, on the roof
Outside the tapping of a woodpecker
Was heard, and one low distant moan subdued
Its anguish in the woods. The father's eye
Fell, and a chill ran through his frame: “For-give,”
He said, in a strange wearied tone
Altered and low: “Forgive the unwonted heat;
For thou know'st not, my son, the carnal heart
62
Sudden, and at a bound, Gonzalo leapt
From his sick-bed, and with a strong man's voice—
“What guarantee have I, if thus the storms
Of wild ambition shake the Holy Church
Personified in thee—what proof have I
That Orellana will not play me false,
Self-duped in sending him? Go! call him back!
I, I myself—Here by sheer strength of will
I fling this fever from me!—It is mine;
The glory I have traced to this far haunt
No hand shall seize but mine! And bring my mail—
I, I myself will head the enterprise.
No proxy suits with me. This very hour—
Nay, on the instant—stand aside!”
From his sick-bed, and with a strong man's voice—
“What guarantee have I, if thus the storms
Of wild ambition shake the Holy Church
Personified in thee—what proof have I
That Orellana will not play me false,
Self-duped in sending him? Go! call him back!
I, I myself—Here by sheer strength of will
I fling this fever from me!—It is mine;
The glory I have traced to this far haunt
No hand shall seize but mine! And bring my mail—
I, I myself will head the enterprise.
No proxy suits with me. This very hour—
Nay, on the instant—stand aside!”
For here
The father caught him staggering to the door,
And forced him back, panting and flushed and faint
Upon the couch. “Dost thou withstand me?” “I
Withstand thee not—it is the hand of Heaven!
Is this the resignation thou didst feel?
Such resignation is but the result
Of weakness to rebel. If thou wouldst live
And heir the honour Heaven intends for thee
Obey me!”—for he struggled yet to rise.
“I have hid nothing from thee. Therein lies
My error: but that I am true to thee
Believe, and let me show it by remaining.
Ask me no more to go: I will not go!
My duty is with thee—and with these others,
Our numerous sick, that must remain behind;
But chief with thee; for thou art marked by Heaven
For some great work, and I have charge of thee!
Only live thou to do it. It is thine
If one go at thy bidding though thy hand
Should never finger the dictated work;
And that a servant here relieve thy hand
The hand of God upon thee laid in sickness
Gives clear assurance 'tis the will of Heaven.
—As for this Orellana, let him go
Since one must go and thou hast chosen him!
And for those fierce temptations that in thought
Assailed my soul a short while since—of this
Be sure, no fiercer storm, no tempest half so fierce
Can Satan raise in Orellana: ‘I,’
(Thou say'st; for I can read thy inmost thoughts,
Knowing my own so well) ‘If I,’ thou say'st,
‘A son of Holy Church can be so tempted,—
If I a green branch burn so fiercely, what
Swift-tongued destruction must lick up the dry?’
—Am I a green branch? I have read my life
And studied my whole nature: that I am
A son of Holy Church I know, and boast,
Unworthy though I be; but Holy Church
Gives not a change of nature: I have here
Under these pious vestments the wild pulse
Of warrior, and—root out the infirmity,
O Heaven!—I feel a tigerish instinct stir
Even in the pastoral service of the Church
If bloodshed would but frighten to the fold
The heathen flocks that roam the wilderness!
To thee I make confession of my weakness
That this confession may be as a chain
To bind me closer to thee! I believe
That in our band no breast is visited
With half so fierce temptations, nor no heart
Half so susceptible of earthly fame!
And thou mightst but commission me to ruin,
To send me girt with equal power with him
This tool, this Orellana, whose dull heart,
Though stout to dare what others planned, was never
Stirred with the nobler passion to create
And carve self-confident for his own ends.
Fear not; this tool will do the work for thee
More faithfully than I thy truer friend,
And I shall yet be saved for thee and Heaven!”
The father caught him staggering to the door,
And forced him back, panting and flushed and faint
63
Withstand thee not—it is the hand of Heaven!
Is this the resignation thou didst feel?
Such resignation is but the result
Of weakness to rebel. If thou wouldst live
And heir the honour Heaven intends for thee
Obey me!”—for he struggled yet to rise.
“I have hid nothing from thee. Therein lies
My error: but that I am true to thee
Believe, and let me show it by remaining.
Ask me no more to go: I will not go!
My duty is with thee—and with these others,
Our numerous sick, that must remain behind;
But chief with thee; for thou art marked by Heaven
For some great work, and I have charge of thee!
Only live thou to do it. It is thine
If one go at thy bidding though thy hand
Should never finger the dictated work;
And that a servant here relieve thy hand
64
Gives clear assurance 'tis the will of Heaven.
—As for this Orellana, let him go
Since one must go and thou hast chosen him!
And for those fierce temptations that in thought
Assailed my soul a short while since—of this
Be sure, no fiercer storm, no tempest half so fierce
Can Satan raise in Orellana: ‘I,’
(Thou say'st; for I can read thy inmost thoughts,
Knowing my own so well) ‘If I,’ thou say'st,
‘A son of Holy Church can be so tempted,—
If I a green branch burn so fiercely, what
Swift-tongued destruction must lick up the dry?’
—Am I a green branch? I have read my life
And studied my whole nature: that I am
A son of Holy Church I know, and boast,
Unworthy though I be; but Holy Church
Gives not a change of nature: I have here
Under these pious vestments the wild pulse
Of warrior, and—root out the infirmity,
65
Even in the pastoral service of the Church
If bloodshed would but frighten to the fold
The heathen flocks that roam the wilderness!
To thee I make confession of my weakness
That this confession may be as a chain
To bind me closer to thee! I believe
That in our band no breast is visited
With half so fierce temptations, nor no heart
Half so susceptible of earthly fame!
And thou mightst but commission me to ruin,
To send me girt with equal power with him
This tool, this Orellana, whose dull heart,
Though stout to dare what others planned, was never
Stirred with the nobler passion to create
And carve self-confident for his own ends.
Fear not; this tool will do the work for thee
More faithfully than I thy truer friend,
And I shall yet be saved for thee and Heaven!”
More was there in his looks and in his tone
Than in the words, uttered impulsively
And wildly ordered, to assure Gonzalo
The revelation was indeed sincere.
He stretched him out his hand; quickly the priest
As catching at salvation caught the grasp
Ere yet half way, and held it tight and long.
Gonzalo's generous heart returned the pressure,
And “I have known thee long,” he said; “but never
Known truly till this hour. With reckless hand
Thou hast loosened for me a prop on which
I leaned as on a hill—nay! hear me out;
There need be now no secrets 'twixt us twain:
For I had thought thee steadfast as the Earth,
Infallible as Heaven: Thou art, instead,
Even in thy weaknesses, thy doubts of self,
Thy struggles with the flesh, and all thy fears,
A brother on whose breast I yet may lean,
If not with such security as once,
Surely with a new sympathy that both
Imparts and gathers strength. And so, I trust thee;
Go he, stay thou, thy will is wholly mine!”
Than in the words, uttered impulsively
66
The revelation was indeed sincere.
He stretched him out his hand; quickly the priest
As catching at salvation caught the grasp
Ere yet half way, and held it tight and long.
Gonzalo's generous heart returned the pressure,
And “I have known thee long,” he said; “but never
Known truly till this hour. With reckless hand
Thou hast loosened for me a prop on which
I leaned as on a hill—nay! hear me out;
There need be now no secrets 'twixt us twain:
For I had thought thee steadfast as the Earth,
Infallible as Heaven: Thou art, instead,
Even in thy weaknesses, thy doubts of self,
Thy struggles with the flesh, and all thy fears,
A brother on whose breast I yet may lean,
If not with such security as once,
Surely with a new sympathy that both
Imparts and gathers strength. And so, I trust thee;
67
While yet he spake Day fell; the sunset spilt
Its crimson on the waters; down the stream
With a great rush it sped, purpling the wood,
The river-banks, the brigantine, the air,
With the reflection of its sanguine glow.
It was a world of red—red leaves, red waves,
Red faces; e'en Gonzalo's pallid face
Took on the hue of health: all things were dyed
In the rich rubious translucent streams
Of the great fountain welling in the West!
Its crimson on the waters; down the stream
With a great rush it sped, purpling the wood,
The river-banks, the brigantine, the air,
With the reflection of its sanguine glow.
It was a world of red—red leaves, red waves,
Red faces; e'en Gonzalo's pallid face
Took on the hue of health: all things were dyed
In the rich rubious translucent streams
Of the great fountain welling in the West!
The Father's eyes were on Gonzalo, his
Looked wistfully out through the open door
Of the rough wooden shed—his hospital—
Upon the evening glory of the world:
The brigantine lay moored within his gaze
Motionless, save where the eye might note
A certain rhythmic movement of her mast
Obedient to the lapping of the stream.
What thoughts were his, what longings or what fears,
He uttered not, save that unconsciously
By pressure of the hand fast locked in his
He intimated to the watchful priest
A spirit busy within him forcing up
The gateways of the future. Thus they sat,
The Father with his broad back towards the door
Shrouded in shadow. On Gonzalo's face
The red light died away, the air grew dim;
Wild dissonant cries answering to dissonant cries
Of birds and chattering apes, unearthly screams!
Ran like a desecration down the aisles
Of the wide-vaulted wood. Low in the shade,
Appearing here and reappearing there,
Tiny initial sparks of wavering fire
Twinkled about, till o'er the tufted trees
Diana raised her argent arc and shot
The first dart of her beauty through the gloom!
Looked wistfully out through the open door
Of the rough wooden shed—his hospital—
Upon the evening glory of the world:
The brigantine lay moored within his gaze
Motionless, save where the eye might note
A certain rhythmic movement of her mast
Obedient to the lapping of the stream.
What thoughts were his, what longings or what fears,
68
By pressure of the hand fast locked in his
He intimated to the watchful priest
A spirit busy within him forcing up
The gateways of the future. Thus they sat,
The Father with his broad back towards the door
Shrouded in shadow. On Gonzalo's face
The red light died away, the air grew dim;
Wild dissonant cries answering to dissonant cries
Of birds and chattering apes, unearthly screams!
Ran like a desecration down the aisles
Of the wide-vaulted wood. Low in the shade,
Appearing here and reappearing there,
Tiny initial sparks of wavering fire
Twinkled about, till o'er the tufted trees
Diana raised her argent arc and shot
The first dart of her beauty through the gloom!
The solemn Night was hers: high o'er the woods
That underneath spread like a sea of leaves,
O'er which the night-wind moaned and made no stir
Among the billows and reposeful waves,
She walked serene in chosen loneliness
As if her meditations would outlast
Eternity. The wanderers were asleep
Wrapt in oblivious visions all, save one,
The holy Father: He, from where he sat,
Beside Gonzalo's couch, gently unclasped
The sleeper's feverish hand, and gathering up
The rustlings of his robe, stole from the shed
With more than woman's care. At the low door
Free from the shadow of the shed he stood
Full in the moonlight. First he glanced to heaven,
Then on the width of waters weltering by
Fixed his keen gaze as if he would enforce
Confession of the secret of their goal:
More stealthily the waters seemed to glide
Under his searching eye; and longer he,
Rapt in a reverie of human life,
The mystery of its birth and course and end,
Had stood, entranced under the mystic spell
Of moonlight on a river yet unnamed
Lying familiarly, but that a fish
Leapt up the stream and sank with peaceful plunge
Amid a spray of diamonds; whereat
The Father started, brushed the dreams away
With open hand across his troubled brow,
Then with uplifted face looked straight to heaven,
The silver moonlight on his moving lips
As if in prayer: from the pure deeps above
That from the feet of God flow down to earth
His spirit drank assurance, rest, and faith,
And was refreshed.
That underneath spread like a sea of leaves,
69
Among the billows and reposeful waves,
She walked serene in chosen loneliness
As if her meditations would outlast
Eternity. The wanderers were asleep
Wrapt in oblivious visions all, save one,
The holy Father: He, from where he sat,
Beside Gonzalo's couch, gently unclasped
The sleeper's feverish hand, and gathering up
The rustlings of his robe, stole from the shed
With more than woman's care. At the low door
Free from the shadow of the shed he stood
Full in the moonlight. First he glanced to heaven,
Then on the width of waters weltering by
Fixed his keen gaze as if he would enforce
Confession of the secret of their goal:
More stealthily the waters seemed to glide
Under his searching eye; and longer he,
Rapt in a reverie of human life,
70
Had stood, entranced under the mystic spell
Of moonlight on a river yet unnamed
Lying familiarly, but that a fish
Leapt up the stream and sank with peaceful plunge
Amid a spray of diamonds; whereat
The Father started, brushed the dreams away
With open hand across his troubled brow,
Then with uplifted face looked straight to heaven,
The silver moonlight on his moving lips
As if in prayer: from the pure deeps above
That from the feet of God flow down to earth
His spirit drank assurance, rest, and faith,
And was refreshed.
Along the river-bank
He passed to where the watch half leaned, half lay
Snoring against a tree: his head thrown back
Revealed his naked throat that glimmered white
Beneath a beard black-pointed toward the moon.
With angry hand he twitched the sleeper's beard—
“Rouse thee! but question not—where lies to-night
Young Sanchez?” And the sentinel abashed,
Awkward, and dazed, with spear-encumbered hand
Rubbing his chin, glanced wildly round the camp,
Then pointing with the other—“Near the bank
In the big tent beside the tall assaí:
'Tis he relieves me.” “Let him relieve thee now!
If I mistake not, thou art one of those
Impatient of preferment, and unfit
To fill the meanest post with the first want,
Fidelity: go, house thee in a sheet;
And when—for fate gives sloth a length of years—
They ask thee to recount at home in Spain
The achievements of thy youth, boast of thy deeds,
But in thy boasting, blush to recollect
This night's disgrace! Comrade! take this, and go—
A year of loyal service, borne with pain,
And left to speak its own reward, will scarce
Efface the blot upon thy name to-night!”
He passed to where the watch half leaned, half lay
Snoring against a tree: his head thrown back
Revealed his naked throat that glimmered white
Beneath a beard black-pointed toward the moon.
71
“Rouse thee! but question not—where lies to-night
Young Sanchez?” And the sentinel abashed,
Awkward, and dazed, with spear-encumbered hand
Rubbing his chin, glanced wildly round the camp,
Then pointing with the other—“Near the bank
In the big tent beside the tall assaí:
'Tis he relieves me.” “Let him relieve thee now!
If I mistake not, thou art one of those
Impatient of preferment, and unfit
To fill the meanest post with the first want,
Fidelity: go, house thee in a sheet;
And when—for fate gives sloth a length of years—
They ask thee to recount at home in Spain
The achievements of thy youth, boast of thy deeds,
72
This night's disgrace! Comrade! take this, and go—
A year of loyal service, borne with pain,
And left to speak its own reward, will scarce
Efface the blot upon thy name to-night!”
Came from beneath a tall paxinba's roots,
That as on tiptoe stood stretching its neck
Above its forest confrères, Hernan Sanchez,
Equipped for outpost duty. Straight he marched
And steady as a tower to where the priest
Waited his coming: “Art thou one,” said he,
“Of Orellana's band?” The soldier bowed—
“One of the fifty I.” “A volunteer?”
“Sought out,” replied the youth with modest pride,
“Ere yet I knew to intercede to go!”
“Thou art Gonzalo's standard-bearer?” “Yea;
By his own gift that honour do I bear!”
“And he has honoured thee! requite it, youth!
—Tell me, for youth has still a live ideal
By which to dress its conduct, who is thine?”
“The Marquis, ere we left Quitó; since then,
Oh, need'st thou ask? our noble chief Gonzalo.”
“Thou art not one of those who worship still
The rising star?” “Thou wouldst insult me, priest?
—Prove me, and then upbraid me!” “Nobly said;
'Tis for that end I come, to prove and—praise thee!
For when thy conscience, speaking in thy breast,
Shall praise thy conduct, hear in it the voice
Of honest men; among which rank am I,
And own no other. Thou wilt go to-morrow
Under the leadership of Orellana
To great discoveries, freedom, life, and fame.
Let not the whirl of fortune turn thy head:
Remember thou thy fealty to Gonzalo;
He goes with you—misunderstand me not—
For Orellana is but as thyself,
Nor more nor less, divested of the power
Lent him by great Gonzalo: honour it,
Be jealous of it in thy leader's charge;
But see thou make no transfer of thy faith
To him the man that wields it!—I had said
The same to Orellana following thee
Hadst thou been chosen to the chief command.
There is no treason in my counsel, then,
But truest loyalty to those that go
And those that stay: we constitute a State
Commissioning you with powers which you may use
Against the State that grants them. This he knows,
This Orellana; and I have no cause
To doubt his faithfulness: assist him, thou,
To keep his faith—but slay him if he fail!”
That as on tiptoe stood stretching its neck
Above its forest confrères, Hernan Sanchez,
Equipped for outpost duty. Straight he marched
And steady as a tower to where the priest
Waited his coming: “Art thou one,” said he,
“Of Orellana's band?” The soldier bowed—
“One of the fifty I.” “A volunteer?”
“Sought out,” replied the youth with modest pride,
“Ere yet I knew to intercede to go!”
“Thou art Gonzalo's standard-bearer?” “Yea;
By his own gift that honour do I bear!”
“And he has honoured thee! requite it, youth!
—Tell me, for youth has still a live ideal
73
“The Marquis, ere we left Quitó; since then,
Oh, need'st thou ask? our noble chief Gonzalo.”
“Thou art not one of those who worship still
The rising star?” “Thou wouldst insult me, priest?
—Prove me, and then upbraid me!” “Nobly said;
'Tis for that end I come, to prove and—praise thee!
For when thy conscience, speaking in thy breast,
Shall praise thy conduct, hear in it the voice
Of honest men; among which rank am I,
And own no other. Thou wilt go to-morrow
Under the leadership of Orellana
To great discoveries, freedom, life, and fame.
Let not the whirl of fortune turn thy head:
Remember thou thy fealty to Gonzalo;
He goes with you—misunderstand me not—
For Orellana is but as thyself,
Nor more nor less, divested of the power
Lent him by great Gonzalo: honour it,
74
But see thou make no transfer of thy faith
To him the man that wields it!—I had said
The same to Orellana following thee
Hadst thou been chosen to the chief command.
There is no treason in my counsel, then,
But truest loyalty to those that go
And those that stay: we constitute a State
Commissioning you with powers which you may use
Against the State that grants them. This he knows,
This Orellana; and I have no cause
To doubt his faithfulness: assist him, thou,
To keep his faith—but slay him if he fail!”
This said, abrupt he turned and disappeared
Back to his post in the low wooden shed
Where in delirious sleep Gonzalo lay
Tossing.
Back to his post in the low wooden shed
Where in delirious sleep Gonzalo lay
Tossing.
The camp next morning was astir
As dawn crept up the water: with the first
Long level lance of pioneering light
That struck the tall paxinba's topmost plume
Ten thousand voices woke, and the dim wood
And the grey air burst from the trance of Night;
And screams and shrieks and sharp dissevered notes
That intimated freedom rent the sky.
Flocks of white, green, and scarlet parroquets
Leapt from their perch; thousands of toucans flew
With outstretched bill seeking their morning meal:
Here on a heavy-podded inga's branch
Some twenty would alight with clumsy foot,
Shaking the ripe fruit ready for the drop
Into the stream a hundred feet below:
The nimble trogon with obedient wing
Skimming the mid-air, swerved with easy grace
And caught the falling fruit and disappeared.
Herons, and terns, and gulls innumerable
Followed the sinuous current, or made halt
Upon a floating tree, or on the marge
Searched for their food among the water-weeds.
While ever and again a kingfisher,
With back of glossy green, shot down the river
Like volant ball; and golden orioles,
And troupials, banded black and yellow, whisked
From nest to mid-air and from mid-air back
To slender purse-like nest depending fair
From the high branches all adown the sky.
Amid the lower shrubs that fringed the strip
Between the wood and water, bush-shrikes ran,
Their long loose silky feathers fluttering fierce
With joy, as they impaled with corneous beak
Their insect-victims on the hard-barked bough.
Meanwhile the golden disc of the new sun
Shone through the trees like a great shield of gold:
Whereat the moon grew faint, and stole away
Worn to transparent thinness in the West;
And as the round of red rejoicing Day
Rose free at last of forest-screen, she slipped
Ghost-like behind the shelter of the hills.
As dawn crept up the water: with the first
Long level lance of pioneering light
75
Ten thousand voices woke, and the dim wood
And the grey air burst from the trance of Night;
And screams and shrieks and sharp dissevered notes
That intimated freedom rent the sky.
Flocks of white, green, and scarlet parroquets
Leapt from their perch; thousands of toucans flew
With outstretched bill seeking their morning meal:
Here on a heavy-podded inga's branch
Some twenty would alight with clumsy foot,
Shaking the ripe fruit ready for the drop
Into the stream a hundred feet below:
The nimble trogon with obedient wing
Skimming the mid-air, swerved with easy grace
And caught the falling fruit and disappeared.
Herons, and terns, and gulls innumerable
Followed the sinuous current, or made halt
Upon a floating tree, or on the marge
Searched for their food among the water-weeds.
76
With back of glossy green, shot down the river
Like volant ball; and golden orioles,
And troupials, banded black and yellow, whisked
From nest to mid-air and from mid-air back
To slender purse-like nest depending fair
From the high branches all adown the sky.
Amid the lower shrubs that fringed the strip
Between the wood and water, bush-shrikes ran,
Their long loose silky feathers fluttering fierce
With joy, as they impaled with corneous beak
Their insect-victims on the hard-barked bough.
Meanwhile the golden disc of the new sun
Shone through the trees like a great shield of gold:
Whereat the moon grew faint, and stole away
Worn to transparent thinness in the West;
And as the round of red rejoicing Day
Rose free at last of forest-screen, she slipped
Ghost-like behind the shelter of the hills.
How do familiar scenes, daily beheld,
And daily held to be the stereotype
Of long-traditioned nature meaning nothing,
Grow suddenly significant! What power,
Ebbing and flowing in the speechless air,
And growing half-articulate in the cries
Of birds, and in the whispers of the woods,
And smiling in the sun, or in the cloud
Frowning, gives character and mood and mind
To dull or idle nature?—Nay, what power
In man informs the brutish earth with soul,
Shooting a meaning into clods and stones
To prop a hope or feed a cherished fear?
'Tis not in nature: but the God in man,
As man was God-created from the clay,
Breathes into nature mystery of meaning,
Then wrests her riddle to his own desire,
Strengthened and propped by natural sympathy.
So to the nobler of that hopeful band
Whom Orellana gathered to his cause
Came with a speedier course that morning's sun,
And larger life was on the water's marge
Pulsing with warmer flow in every wing.
Nature expectant of a famous deed
That day should see commence was earlier up.
In all they saw there was a harmony
Benevolent to their purpose, and the heavens
Smiled in consent of all their hopes and schemes.
77
Of long-traditioned nature meaning nothing,
Grow suddenly significant! What power,
Ebbing and flowing in the speechless air,
And growing half-articulate in the cries
Of birds, and in the whispers of the woods,
And smiling in the sun, or in the cloud
Frowning, gives character and mood and mind
To dull or idle nature?—Nay, what power
In man informs the brutish earth with soul,
Shooting a meaning into clods and stones
To prop a hope or feed a cherished fear?
'Tis not in nature: but the God in man,
As man was God-created from the clay,
Breathes into nature mystery of meaning,
Then wrests her riddle to his own desire,
Strengthened and propped by natural sympathy.
So to the nobler of that hopeful band
Whom Orellana gathered to his cause
Came with a speedier course that morning's sun,
And larger life was on the water's marge
Pulsing with warmer flow in every wing.
78
That day should see commence was earlier up.
In all they saw there was a harmony
Benevolent to their purpose, and the heavens
Smiled in consent of all their hopes and schemes.
Under the smiling morn the patient bark
Slept idly on the shallows: hasty feet
Struck heavily on the gangway—a slim plank
That swung from shore to ship; but still she dreamed
Rocked in the eddying waters: fruit sun-dried
And mandioc meal in bags and boxes borne
On willing backs were hurried up the plank
And tumbled in the vessel: with more heed
Guns, and gunpowder in a chest ill spared
From a diminished stock, were stored; and now
A hasty meal was snatched or from the stream
By flowering thorn-hook, or from sweet assaí
In clusters of small purple berries struck
By climber with his pole: then came the priest
And in the ears of all confirmed the charge
Of Orellana, limiting his power,
And asking his acceptance of the trust
In words which Orellana gave,—and gave
Besides fealty in clear well-ordered phrase
Both for himself and men to great Gonzalo.
Thus satisfied the Father caused advance
The leader and his fifty from the rest;
And while they knelt, dinting the forest spores
And choking many a weedy cassia's bells
And flowered convolvulus, around the priest,
He solemnised promise and enterprise
By special mass appointed by the Church
For mariners at sea, and shrived them all.
Slept idly on the shallows: hasty feet
Struck heavily on the gangway—a slim plank
That swung from shore to ship; but still she dreamed
Rocked in the eddying waters: fruit sun-dried
And mandioc meal in bags and boxes borne
On willing backs were hurried up the plank
And tumbled in the vessel: with more heed
Guns, and gunpowder in a chest ill spared
From a diminished stock, were stored; and now
A hasty meal was snatched or from the stream
By flowering thorn-hook, or from sweet assaí
In clusters of small purple berries struck
By climber with his pole: then came the priest
79
Of Orellana, limiting his power,
And asking his acceptance of the trust
In words which Orellana gave,—and gave
Besides fealty in clear well-ordered phrase
Both for himself and men to great Gonzalo.
Thus satisfied the Father caused advance
The leader and his fifty from the rest;
And while they knelt, dinting the forest spores
And choking many a weedy cassia's bells
And flowered convolvulus, around the priest,
He solemnised promise and enterprise
By special mass appointed by the Church
For mariners at sea, and shrived them all.
The ritual o'er, like schoolboys freed from school
They raced on board the galley, swung her round
Instinct with life into the middle channel
Churning the stream, ere scarce the tense-drawn rope
That kept her to her moorings snapt across
And curling sprayed the water. Then like bird
Hovering in mid-air on vibrating pens
Ere yet it flies a straight course down the gale,
She, quivering with the sudden keen delight
Of freedom, all her dreams shook to the air,
A moment with backed oars stood on the stream,
Then, thrusting out like one her twenty paddles,
Dipped with a thought in the thin element,
And bounded forth between her lines of foam,
That widened in her wake, and waned away
Amongst the tumbling river ere the cheer
Of God-speed! from their comrades on the bank
Ceased in the rowers' ears. Their answering hail
Came back as from another world, faint-voiced
And far and past recall. And long they gazed
Ranged on the bank like statues of despair
Staring with strained and film-o'erspreading eye
After a disappearing hope: they saw
Rise on the bark now dwindled to a bird
The white wing of her sail; and as the curve
Of wooded shore denied them farther view
It made partial amends by sending back
An echo of the boat-song sifted drear
Through the dim arches of the pillared palms.
They raced on board the galley, swung her round
Instinct with life into the middle channel
Churning the stream, ere scarce the tense-drawn rope
That kept her to her moorings snapt across
80
Hovering in mid-air on vibrating pens
Ere yet it flies a straight course down the gale,
She, quivering with the sudden keen delight
Of freedom, all her dreams shook to the air,
A moment with backed oars stood on the stream,
Then, thrusting out like one her twenty paddles,
Dipped with a thought in the thin element,
And bounded forth between her lines of foam,
That widened in her wake, and waned away
Amongst the tumbling river ere the cheer
Of God-speed! from their comrades on the bank
Ceased in the rowers' ears. Their answering hail
Came back as from another world, faint-voiced
And far and past recall. And long they gazed
Ranged on the bank like statues of despair
Staring with strained and film-o'erspreading eye
After a disappearing hope: they saw
81
The white wing of her sail; and as the curve
Of wooded shore denied them farther view
It made partial amends by sending back
An echo of the boat-song sifted drear
Through the dim arches of the pillared palms.
Sank from the light and life of cheerful day
The lingering echoes falling restfully
Into the caves of silence,—as distil
Through chinks and cracks to intramontane wells
The drops which twinkled on the tempest's wing
In rainbow lustre ere the tumult rose
That dashed them with a myriad diamonds more
Into the surging heather! Sank the strain
From healthful morn: yet through the curtain door
Which severs dreamland and the drear abode
Of shadows from the light of open day
A thrice-enfeebled wail ran plaintively:
It crossed Gonzalo's spirit in the dark,
Labouring belated like a lonely bird
Above a moaning sea through cloud and storm
And falling stars and ruin and eclipse;
And in his sleep wrought on mysteriously
The patient tossed his arms in weak despair.
The lingering echoes falling restfully
Into the caves of silence,—as distil
Through chinks and cracks to intramontane wells
The drops which twinkled on the tempest's wing
In rainbow lustre ere the tumult rose
That dashed them with a myriad diamonds more
Into the surging heather! Sank the strain
From healthful morn: yet through the curtain door
Which severs dreamland and the drear abode
Of shadows from the light of open day
A thrice-enfeebled wail ran plaintively:
82
Labouring belated like a lonely bird
Above a moaning sea through cloud and storm
And falling stars and ruin and eclipse;
And in his sleep wrought on mysteriously
The patient tossed his arms in weak despair.
The bark shot onward into unknown scenes.
So shot the ray of new-created light
Into chaotic gloom: so bursts the dawn
Of knowledge on the wondering infant mind.
Chaos, surprised with happiness, looked grim,
Laughed, and danced into cosmic loveliness:
Even so the mind breaks into rapturous singing
And leaps with joy of an immortal pulse.
And did not the new scenes laugh and look glad,
And shape their gladness into dance and song,
To be thus visited and viewed of man,
Far wandering but arrived at last, though late,
To claim his due inheritance?
So shot the ray of new-created light
Into chaotic gloom: so bursts the dawn
Of knowledge on the wondering infant mind.
Chaos, surprised with happiness, looked grim,
Laughed, and danced into cosmic loveliness:
Even so the mind breaks into rapturous singing
And leaps with joy of an immortal pulse.
And did not the new scenes laugh and look glad,
And shape their gladness into dance and song,
To be thus visited and viewed of man,
Far wandering but arrived at last, though late,
To claim his due inheritance?
The river
Proud of the burden bore the heirs along
Of all the Amazons, sang at the prow
The songs of hope, and at the helm repeated
The achievements of the past in choral praise.
The little waves that sparkled in the sun,
And smiled, and ran hand linked in tiny hand,
Gay messengers transmitted from the bows,
Lisped to the crowded banks, and venturous reeds
Advanced to meet them in the shallow bays,
“The long-expected heirs are passing by.”
Whereat the rushes waved their bannerets
And the bright banks broke into brighter bloom.
The forest formed its ranks along the shores
And crowded forward, where the river bent,
With homage and oblation long delayed
But now extended in each laden bough.
The very airs, the wandering spies of heaven,
That roam from Alp to Andes, seeing all
Man's glories and the grandeur of the world,
Caught the contagious glow of sympathy
With wave and wood, and whispered flattering tales.
Proud of the burden bore the heirs along
83
The songs of hope, and at the helm repeated
The achievements of the past in choral praise.
The little waves that sparkled in the sun,
And smiled, and ran hand linked in tiny hand,
Gay messengers transmitted from the bows,
Lisped to the crowded banks, and venturous reeds
Advanced to meet them in the shallow bays,
“The long-expected heirs are passing by.”
Whereat the rushes waved their bannerets
And the bright banks broke into brighter bloom.
The forest formed its ranks along the shores
And crowded forward, where the river bent,
With homage and oblation long delayed
But now extended in each laden bough.
The very airs, the wandering spies of heaven,
That roam from Alp to Andes, seeing all
Man's glories and the grandeur of the world,
Caught the contagious glow of sympathy
With wave and wood, and whispered flattering tales.
84
The homage and the tribute and the triumph
Were seen and felt by all as with one heart.
For as the hours fled and the distance grew
Between them and their comrades left behind
They gathered in, mutely, by slow degrees
Community of feeling, hopes and fears,
That merged at last incorporate in the bark
Into identity. Thus animate
Forward they sped with ever-joyful leaps
Along the reaches of the mighty stream.
Suns rose and set paving their level path
With robes of scarlet and with cloth of gold.
Night flung submissive at their fearless feet
Her gemmed tiaras and her strings of stars,
The dowry of old Time: the silver moon
From a full horn rained tribute down the sky
And widened nightly in admiring wonder,
While still the attendant winds buzzed flatteringly
Of marvels that should open on their view,
And willingly gave up their wonted freedom
To guide and retinue the sons of Spain
Through valley lands long centuries known to them.
On swept the brig borne on the river's back,
While hopes like cherubim flew on before,
Their white wings rustling ever round the bows
Or ever disappearing in a flash
Of dazzling plumes at every vista's end
Or shady turning! On—no need for pause:
The river gave them of its watery stores;
The trees held out their fruitage, and they plucked
With unstayed course, sparingly, as they passed
The offered bounty of the burdened bough.
Were seen and felt by all as with one heart.
For as the hours fled and the distance grew
Between them and their comrades left behind
They gathered in, mutely, by slow degrees
Community of feeling, hopes and fears,
That merged at last incorporate in the bark
Into identity. Thus animate
Forward they sped with ever-joyful leaps
Along the reaches of the mighty stream.
Suns rose and set paving their level path
With robes of scarlet and with cloth of gold.
Night flung submissive at their fearless feet
Her gemmed tiaras and her strings of stars,
The dowry of old Time: the silver moon
From a full horn rained tribute down the sky
And widened nightly in admiring wonder,
While still the attendant winds buzzed flatteringly
Of marvels that should open on their view,
And willingly gave up their wonted freedom
To guide and retinue the sons of Spain
85
On swept the brig borne on the river's back,
While hopes like cherubim flew on before,
Their white wings rustling ever round the bows
Or ever disappearing in a flash
Of dazzling plumes at every vista's end
Or shady turning! On—no need for pause:
The river gave them of its watery stores;
The trees held out their fruitage, and they plucked
With unstayed course, sparingly, as they passed
The offered bounty of the burdened bough.
It was the noon of Night: a far-off moon
Looked from the lofty firmament aslant
Down on the speeding brigantine through twists
Of stationary cloud. The winds blew soft,
Rocking the slumb'rous trees; and all was still,—
Save where the forest-hum for ever in
Incipient burst of speech deceived the listener;
And there was, too, the babble and the throb
Of lapsing waters felt along her keel
Lifting the vessel, as a cross is lifted
Gently upon the bosom of a nun
Inhaling and exhaling in her dreams
Regular breath. The helmsman at his post
Dreamt of Castile. High on the forward deck
Stood one whose brow the moon with cooling beams
Tiara'd,—while with sleepless glance he questioned
His future of the stars:
Looked from the lofty firmament aslant
Down on the speeding brigantine through twists
Of stationary cloud. The winds blew soft,
Rocking the slumb'rous trees; and all was still,—
Save where the forest-hum for ever in
Incipient burst of speech deceived the listener;
86
Of lapsing waters felt along her keel
Lifting the vessel, as a cross is lifted
Gently upon the bosom of a nun
Inhaling and exhaling in her dreams
Regular breath. The helmsman at his post
Dreamt of Castile. High on the forward deck
Stood one whose brow the moon with cooling beams
Tiara'd,—while with sleepless glance he questioned
His future of the stars:
“Say ye who stand
A scriptured mystery on creation's wall,
Revealed by night, invisible in the sun,—
If in your radiance wrapt from human ken,
As ye are wrapt in all-unfolding Day,
The story of my destiny is traced!
And I may know but that I may fulfil
With firmer, bolder heart Heaven's hopes in me! . . .
A scriptured mystery on creation's wall,
Revealed by night, invisible in the sun,—
If in your radiance wrapt from human ken,
As ye are wrapt in all-unfolding Day,
The story of my destiny is traced!
And I may know but that I may fulfil
With firmer, bolder heart Heaven's hopes in me! . . .
“Faith in myself I have not: I am but
A waif upon the tide of human life,
Helmed and commanded by a higher power,
Whose fingers on my fate I seem to feel
Shaping my course, and leaving me,—as I
Shape for this passive brig its unknown way
At intervals upon the drifting stream. . . .
87
Helmed and commanded by a higher power,
Whose fingers on my fate I seem to feel
Shaping my course, and leaving me,—as I
Shape for this passive brig its unknown way
At intervals upon the drifting stream. . . .
“Let me indulge the fancy: ships there are
That rule the waves awhile: there waits for them
A smiling surface and a hidden rock.
Some, with contemptuous gesture tossed to land
A broken wreck, waste publicly away.
Others the ocean slips from, leaving them
Upon a barren beach, their ventures o'er,
Henceforth to blister in the sun, and rot.
—Each has its various end.—But who would see
In all the necessary whirls and shifts
Of fortune that befall or floating logs
Or floating ships the hand of God, save him
Who gives his god indeed impossible power
But less of wisdom than himself to guide it?...
That rule the waves awhile: there waits for them
A smiling surface and a hidden rock.
Some, with contemptuous gesture tossed to land
A broken wreck, waste publicly away.
Others the ocean slips from, leaving them
Upon a barren beach, their ventures o'er,
Henceforth to blister in the sun, and rot.
—Each has its various end.—But who would see
In all the necessary whirls and shifts
Of fortune that befall or floating logs
Or floating ships the hand of God, save him
Who gives his god indeed impossible power
88
“Chance rules it all; or else the fool is right
Who, rather than seek out with patient search
The mighty Maker, makes one for himself
And worships his own idol—not less surely
Than blacks in Africa their wooden blocks;
—Worships a baby god who takes delight
In dropping nuts into a forest pool
To hear the lonely splash, in whirling logs
Along the barren seas, and puffing leaves
Rustling and red around an idle hill. . . .
Who, rather than seek out with patient search
The mighty Maker, makes one for himself
And worships his own idol—not less surely
Than blacks in Africa their wooden blocks;
—Worships a baby god who takes delight
In dropping nuts into a forest pool
To hear the lonely splash, in whirling logs
Along the barren seas, and puffing leaves
Rustling and red around an idle hill. . . .
“And may not man, superior though he be,
To whom with nuts and logs and leaves the same
Final decay succeeds an idle life,
Be equally the abandoned toy of chance
And orphaned of his Maker? . . .
To whom with nuts and logs and leaves the same
Final decay succeeds an idle life,
Be equally the abandoned toy of chance
And orphaned of his Maker? . . .
“'Tis not so
With him: inferior nature, to itself
Left and the governance of man, repeats
Its patient function ordered from without
Incapable of will; but man is free,
Though, still partaking of the lumpishness
Of mortal earth, he be the slave of law
So far; and may be wholly; to the which
His grosser nature drags him, drugs his will,
And wraps the aspiring spirit flesh-encased
In most ignoble slothfulness and sleep.
But souls of noble possibility,
Though lapped in indolence, shall rouse at last
And will their liberty and laugh at law.
Among which rank am I; no more a boat
Beached among shells and shingle, or afloat
Upon a drifting current idly borne
Helmless, and having no far haven marked,
Its free-determined aim, beyond the roar
Of surges and cyclones, and past the maze
Of atoll, archipelago, and shoal.
With him: inferior nature, to itself
Left and the governance of man, repeats
Its patient function ordered from without
Incapable of will; but man is free,
89
Of mortal earth, he be the slave of law
So far; and may be wholly; to the which
His grosser nature drags him, drugs his will,
And wraps the aspiring spirit flesh-encased
In most ignoble slothfulness and sleep.
But souls of noble possibility,
Though lapped in indolence, shall rouse at last
And will their liberty and laugh at law.
Among which rank am I; no more a boat
Beached among shells and shingle, or afloat
Upon a drifting current idly borne
Helmless, and having no far haven marked,
Its free-determined aim, beyond the roar
Of surges and cyclones, and past the maze
Of atoll, archipelago, and shoal.
“'Tis flow-tide with me, and I feel the chance
That has withdrawn its strong sustaining waves
From underneath Pizarro's stranded bows
Lapping my fortunes and upbearing me.
But here I ask no more, would trust no more
To idle chance, but, master of my will,
Wrest from the laws of gross inferior earth
My future, and contrive with strenuous care
Of my own choice a famous destiny. . . .
That has withdrawn its strong sustaining waves
From underneath Pizarro's stranded bows
Lapping my fortunes and upbearing me.
But here I ask no more, would trust no more
To idle chance, but, master of my will,
90
My future, and contrive with strenuous care
Of my own choice a famous destiny. . . .
Would Heaven but give assurance of my wish
And of my hope, confirming them to faith
That I am free and master of myself,
How would the token I entreat in vain
Nerve me with triple strength to bend the laws
Of nature to my will! I have been long
A very tool to other men, with which
They smote to their own purposes the chains
Which nature would impose; then flung me by,
A disregarded and inglorious—fool.
And of my hope, confirming them to faith
That I am free and master of myself,
How would the token I entreat in vain
Nerve me with triple strength to bend the laws
Of nature to my will! I have been long
A very tool to other men, with which
They smote to their own purposes the chains
Which nature would impose; then flung me by,
A disregarded and inglorious—fool.
“Enough of this! Hereafter for myself
I work—I plan, I live, I joy in freedom!
Chance favours me; Nature, already tamed,
Turns with obsequious smile her sympathy
Upon me; and the stars—if ever stars
Registered in their rubric on Heaven's door
A lofty deed, may have some trace of mine.
Never,—if in obedience to the priest
I, backward toiling, bear my own deserts
And fling them at the feet of a Pizarro
Disburdening me of glory all my own.
But verily if onward on this highway,
Which ends indeed at Charles's throne in Spain!
The question is—backward or forward, then:
Back to obscurity, to keep my faith
With one who robs me of the fame I win;
Onward to fame and freedom, life and power,
—And ignominy of a broken word
And an abandoned friend?”
I work—I plan, I live, I joy in freedom!
Chance favours me; Nature, already tamed,
Turns with obsequious smile her sympathy
Upon me; and the stars—if ever stars
Registered in their rubric on Heaven's door
A lofty deed, may have some trace of mine.
Never,—if in obedience to the priest
I, backward toiling, bear my own deserts
91
Disburdening me of glory all my own.
But verily if onward on this highway,
Which ends indeed at Charles's throne in Spain!
The question is—backward or forward, then:
Back to obscurity, to keep my faith
With one who robs me of the fame I win;
Onward to fame and freedom, life and power,
—And ignominy of a broken word
And an abandoned friend?”
He paused, and weighed
The question, while his hand balanced a sword
Mechanically mimicking his mind.
“Give sign, ye stars,
Ye voiceless keepers of Heaven's closed archives,
That hold his former and his latter will!
Say, is it Heaven's great will that having had
The reins of this behemoth-river thrust
Into my hands, I fling them in the air
To the wild hands of hundreds stretched to grasp them;
Or that I bridle him through all his bounds
And ride him to the sea?”
The question, while his hand balanced a sword
Mechanically mimicking his mind.
“Give sign, ye stars,
Ye voiceless keepers of Heaven's closed archives,
That hold his former and his latter will!
Say, is it Heaven's great will that having had
The reins of this behemoth-river thrust
Into my hands, I fling them in the air
To the wild hands of hundreds stretched to grasp them;
92
And ride him to the sea?”
Just then a star
By unseen fingers lightly disengaged
Slid from the zenith in a line of light,
That was reflected in the river's course,
Eastward o'er hidden empire to the sea.
It fell into the scale-pan of the balance
That symbolled progress in the thoughtful mind
Of Orellana: doubt, distrust of self,
Loyalty, and danger, and delay and fear
Flew up and kicked the beam.
By unseen fingers lightly disengaged
Slid from the zenith in a line of light,
That was reflected in the river's course,
Eastward o'er hidden empire to the sea.
It fell into the scale-pan of the balance
That symbolled progress in the thoughtful mind
Of Orellana: doubt, distrust of self,
Loyalty, and danger, and delay and fear
Flew up and kicked the beam.
“Be this,” he cried
With arm upraised, “the signal that I seek!
It woos me down the water; in its flight
It sped like arrow from the bow of Heaven
Shot o'er the region that I yet shall rule
To guide me to my kingdom!—'Tis enough!
There is no wrong in following Heaven's decree,
There is no faltering fear: Heaven's eyes behold
Me, and my hopes are histories in Heaven!”
With arm upraised, “the signal that I seek!
It woos me down the water; in its flight
It sped like arrow from the bow of Heaven
Shot o'er the region that I yet shall rule
To guide me to my kingdom!—'Tis enough!
There is no wrong in following Heaven's decree,
There is no faltering fear: Heaven's eyes behold
Me, and my hopes are histories in Heaven!”
93
The steersman Sanchez, dreaming o'er the helm
Of tranquil ease and household joys obscure
Afar in fair Castile, roused by the words,
Looked up to see his leader on the poop
Transfigured in the moonlight, falling clear
Of cloud or bough around him, by resolve
To something more than seems in common man.
Of tranquil ease and household joys obscure
Afar in fair Castile, roused by the words,
Looked up to see his leader on the poop
Transfigured in the moonlight, falling clear
Of cloud or bough around him, by resolve
To something more than seems in common man.
On o'er the olive pathway of the stream
Through solitudes lit up with radiant suns
Or steeped in mystic moonlight, joyfully
With song upon their lips or lapped in dream
Calmly they glided, trusting in the calm
Reliant face of their still-thoughted leader.
Through solitudes lit up with radiant suns
Or steeped in mystic moonlight, joyfully
With song upon their lips or lapped in dream
Calmly they glided, trusting in the calm
Reliant face of their still-thoughted leader.
One day at noon, rounding a river cape
Clothed with a lofty forest, ere they knew
They slid into a black tumultuous stream
Of broken waves that hurrying from the West
Made sudden swerve to southward, drinking swift
In its fierce wrath the placid olive wave,
And swirling the frail bark caught in the rapids
Round in the yellow foam. By dexterous twist
Of rudder aided by auxiliar oar
They shot into still water, and lay to
Upon a sandy bottom on the lee
Of a large island where in former years
The rivers mingling met,—now far below.
And here they landing looked in vain for tower,
Temple, or teocalli o'er the waste
Of woodland stretching round—listened in vain
For cymbal or for drum where in far glades
Or on sequestered plains religious rites
Might then be celebrating, or great chiefs
Or borla'd monarch holding with his queen
Peaceful review or mustering troops for war.
And here they fell in passionate dispute
Of farther action, frequently renewed,
Yet ever ending in divisive taunt
And more divisive silence. To go back
Now that the goal was reached were to preserve
The faith of gentlemen. This was opposed,—
It were the work of months against the stream
Toiling, and even if the work were done
What could it bring Gonzalo or themselves
But disappointment of a fostered hope
Of fame to him; to them the mute reproach,
Loud-tongued perchance, of disappointed men?
Then to go forward—that were breach of faith,
Shameful desertion of confiding friends
And blindfold rush through danger;—or it were
Bravery, and reason, and a sure reward.
And so they strove, through the long hours of noon,
With the strange Stygian river's dismal hue,
That would receive no glory from the sun,
Reflected in their faces. In the gaps
And pauses of their talk, one heard the note
Of drowsy bell-bird, snow-white o'er the shade
Of mountain-forest faint and far away.
Clothed with a lofty forest, ere they knew
They slid into a black tumultuous stream
Of broken waves that hurrying from the West
Made sudden swerve to southward, drinking swift
94
And swirling the frail bark caught in the rapids
Round in the yellow foam. By dexterous twist
Of rudder aided by auxiliar oar
They shot into still water, and lay to
Upon a sandy bottom on the lee
Of a large island where in former years
The rivers mingling met,—now far below.
And here they landing looked in vain for tower,
Temple, or teocalli o'er the waste
Of woodland stretching round—listened in vain
For cymbal or for drum where in far glades
Or on sequestered plains religious rites
Might then be celebrating, or great chiefs
Or borla'd monarch holding with his queen
Peaceful review or mustering troops for war.
And here they fell in passionate dispute
Of farther action, frequently renewed,
Yet ever ending in divisive taunt
And more divisive silence. To go back
Now that the goal was reached were to preserve
The faith of gentlemen. This was opposed,—
95
Toiling, and even if the work were done
What could it bring Gonzalo or themselves
But disappointment of a fostered hope
Of fame to him; to them the mute reproach,
Loud-tongued perchance, of disappointed men?
Then to go forward—that were breach of faith,
Shameful desertion of confiding friends
And blindfold rush through danger;—or it were
Bravery, and reason, and a sure reward.
And so they strove, through the long hours of noon,
With the strange Stygian river's dismal hue,
That would receive no glory from the sun,
Reflected in their faces. In the gaps
And pauses of their talk, one heard the note
Of drowsy bell-bird, snow-white o'er the shade
Of mountain-forest faint and far away.
At length up sprang the leader: he had watched
With vigilant eye the varying tide of talk,
And now broke silence. “In this camp,” he said,
“There are two parties where there should be one.
—One in the brig, while I command her, one
And only one there must be!” Here he paused,
Then with his scabbard on the firm smooth sand
He drew a parting line: “You that believe
I should command that party, cross this line
And range yourselves beside me: here stand I!”
And stepped across with sword unsheathed. Many
With acclamation leapt across the line;
Some crossed in silence; and, with lingering step,
Others; till only one at last remained,
Young Sanchez. Him the sole inhabitant
And prisoner of a melancholy isle
They left, his brave face turned from them away
Proudly resentful of their mocks and prayers,
And loyal to Gonzalo. Off they fled
Like unreturning arrow swiftly loosed
From a strong bow new bent. Free was their course
Upon the hurrying rapids down the stream,
Yet aided still by twinkling oar, and sail
Hoised on the rattling yard. Their wish was now
Under their fresh-elected chief to unwind
The mystery of the river to the main,
Glance at the virgin glories of its coasts,
Unfold to Europe their discovery,
And claim its government, as Cortez claimed
The rule of Mexico.—What thrill was theirs
Of still-succeeding ecstasy to trace
The panorama of the Amazons
Throughout the mighty river's thousand links,
Past selva and savanna to the sea!
What joy to feel their unimpeded bark
Leap in responsive rapture light along
As if, like some new creature come to life
Upon congenial element, it shared
The sanguine hopes, the mad impatient pulse
And keen delight of motion swift and free
That made them demigods, body and mind!
O, in those days and fairy-visioned nights,
Feeding on manna hopes that come no more
To this old worn-out earth, they lived indeed,
Breathing heroic air, and lifted high
Above the sordid cares that creep within
The guarded ease of villa nests, and make
The peasant's term a pitiable strife
With Hunger sniffing wolf-like at the door!
With vigilant eye the varying tide of talk,
96
“There are two parties where there should be one.
—One in the brig, while I command her, one
And only one there must be!” Here he paused,
Then with his scabbard on the firm smooth sand
He drew a parting line: “You that believe
I should command that party, cross this line
And range yourselves beside me: here stand I!”
And stepped across with sword unsheathed. Many
With acclamation leapt across the line;
Some crossed in silence; and, with lingering step,
Others; till only one at last remained,
Young Sanchez. Him the sole inhabitant
And prisoner of a melancholy isle
They left, his brave face turned from them away
97
And loyal to Gonzalo. Off they fled
Like unreturning arrow swiftly loosed
From a strong bow new bent. Free was their course
Upon the hurrying rapids down the stream,
Yet aided still by twinkling oar, and sail
Hoised on the rattling yard. Their wish was now
Under their fresh-elected chief to unwind
The mystery of the river to the main,
Glance at the virgin glories of its coasts,
Unfold to Europe their discovery,
And claim its government, as Cortez claimed
The rule of Mexico.—What thrill was theirs
Of still-succeeding ecstasy to trace
The panorama of the Amazons
Throughout the mighty river's thousand links,
Past selva and savanna to the sea!
What joy to feel their unimpeded bark
Leap in responsive rapture light along
As if, like some new creature come to life
98
The sanguine hopes, the mad impatient pulse
And keen delight of motion swift and free
That made them demigods, body and mind!
O, in those days and fairy-visioned nights,
Feeding on manna hopes that come no more
To this old worn-out earth, they lived indeed,
Breathing heroic air, and lifted high
Above the sordid cares that creep within
The guarded ease of villa nests, and make
The peasant's term a pitiable strife
With Hunger sniffing wolf-like at the door!
Forest and forest passed them, whirling west
With all their unclaimed grandeur: hill on hill
In the far distance, capped with snow-white quartz
Thin-veined with gold, rose up and sank adown,
Doing them stately homage: shady alleys
And sunlit glades in the dim columned woods
Opened and closed their beauties as they came:
Islets and infant archipelagos
Thronging their wavy pathway grew in size,
And shrank again behind them: rivers poured
Their roaring tribute from imperial urns
Into the main of waters where they rode
Almost invisible in midmost channel;
For wide and wider grew the guarded banks,
As if the opening avenue must soon
With all its retinue of silent trees
End the long triumph of its thousand miles.
And here at last were towns and heathen fanes
Glittering with all the glory and the glow
Of occidental wealth; and tawny chiefs,
Hung round with rubies and with emeralds,
Welcomed them from the shores; and martial maids
Of Amazonian stature, breasted round
With plates of beaten gold, stood on the banks
And seemed to offer tribute, and entreat
The strangers' stay. Still on and on they sped
With all the glory of the Occident
Unrolling like a map before their eyes;
Until, at last, their river voyage o'er,
They came one sunset within earshot of
The sullen roar of Ocean swinging ever
His billowy strength against the stolid land.
All night they listened to the measured beat
Booming along the dark: and at the dawn,
Lo, the far banks receding north and south
Never again to meet! and the green sea
With all its millioned multitude of waves
Tumbling in chainless freedom! and the sun
Slow-rising as of old with welcoming smile
Out of the depths of the familiar sea!
With all their unclaimed grandeur: hill on hill
In the far distance, capped with snow-white quartz
Thin-veined with gold, rose up and sank adown,
Doing them stately homage: shady alleys
And sunlit glades in the dim columned woods
Opened and closed their beauties as they came:
Islets and infant archipelagos
Thronging their wavy pathway grew in size,
99
Their roaring tribute from imperial urns
Into the main of waters where they rode
Almost invisible in midmost channel;
For wide and wider grew the guarded banks,
As if the opening avenue must soon
With all its retinue of silent trees
End the long triumph of its thousand miles.
And here at last were towns and heathen fanes
Glittering with all the glory and the glow
Of occidental wealth; and tawny chiefs,
Hung round with rubies and with emeralds,
Welcomed them from the shores; and martial maids
Of Amazonian stature, breasted round
With plates of beaten gold, stood on the banks
And seemed to offer tribute, and entreat
The strangers' stay. Still on and on they sped
With all the glory of the Occident
Unrolling like a map before their eyes;
Until, at last, their river voyage o'er,
They came one sunset within earshot of
100
His billowy strength against the stolid land.
All night they listened to the measured beat
Booming along the dark: and at the dawn,
Lo, the far banks receding north and south
Never again to meet! and the green sea
With all its millioned multitude of waves
Tumbling in chainless freedom! and the sun
Slow-rising as of old with welcoming smile
Out of the depths of the familiar sea!
The muffled boom of ocean far away
Is in mine ears again: but now no more
As in blue breakers whitening on the beach
Hear I the voice of cheerful energy,
Activity and change: it is the moan
Of baffled feebleness that flings in vain
A tangled waste of drenched and drownèd hopes
In final effort on the rocks of fate.
Is in mine ears again: but now no more
As in blue breakers whitening on the beach
Hear I the voice of cheerful energy,
Activity and change: it is the moan
Of baffled feebleness that flings in vain
A tangled waste of drenched and drownèd hopes
In final effort on the rocks of fate.
And sing ye may, ye mariners, who launch
Your gilded galleys in the freshening dawn
Upon a sunlit sea: to you the winds
Call joyous from the deep; to you the plain
Of ocean is a silver-fretten floor
Of sapphire luminous with the living gleams
Of the great crystal sky-dome over all.
101
Upon a sunlit sea: to you the winds
Call joyous from the deep; to you the plain
Of ocean is a silver-fretten floor
Of sapphire luminous with the living gleams
Of the great crystal sky-dome over all.
And ye with faces brown that, homeward bound,
Press where the faded figurehead below
Looks towards the enlarging hills, and shout for joy
When on the far edge of the safe-crossed main
The old kirk-spire shoots up, the old round tower
At the pierhead, and on the concave shore
Houses and homes in social brotherhood
With open door waiting your late return
—Ye, too, may sing in heart, your labours o'er,
The quiet haven in your weary view,
And the calm lights of evening overhead
Steadily shining as the sun goes down.
But wonder not if on despondent lips
The voice of song has died, and querulous care
Breaking a silent grief draws nigh to them
Who on the ocean lost and far from home
Feel neither morning's flush of airy hopes
Nor evening's rest resigned—see neither sun
Nor lunar light nor stellar, wrapt in mist
And pelting rains that intermingle night
With dawnless day and unseen sea with land.
Press where the faded figurehead below
Looks towards the enlarging hills, and shout for joy
When on the far edge of the safe-crossed main
The old kirk-spire shoots up, the old round tower
At the pierhead, and on the concave shore
Houses and homes in social brotherhood
With open door waiting your late return
—Ye, too, may sing in heart, your labours o'er,
The quiet haven in your weary view,
And the calm lights of evening overhead
Steadily shining as the sun goes down.
102
The voice of song has died, and querulous care
Breaking a silent grief draws nigh to them
Who on the ocean lost and far from home
Feel neither morning's flush of airy hopes
Nor evening's rest resigned—see neither sun
Nor lunar light nor stellar, wrapt in mist
And pelting rains that intermingle night
With dawnless day and unseen sea with land.
O dreary seas, your sullen leaden grey
Will ever sun enlace with gold again?
Will ever hope rise more in complete orb
Of brilliant song, Apollo with a crown
Of fresh-dug gold luting it o'er your sadness?
Will ever sun enlace with gold again?
Will ever hope rise more in complete orb
Of brilliant song, Apollo with a crown
Of fresh-dug gold luting it o'er your sadness?
O many times in heedless ears shall sound
The solar melody, in heedless eyes
The solar blazon be outrolled above
Your leaden waters! But to one to whom
These were the joy which youthful monarchs feel
When first they grasp a sceptre, nay, were life,
Were very life throbbing through all the veins
And arteries as with eternal pulse
—To Orellana, never, never more!
The solar melody, in heedless eyes
The solar blazon be outrolled above
Your leaden waters! But to one to whom
These were the joy which youthful monarchs feel
When first they grasp a sceptre, nay, were life,
103
And arteries as with eternal pulse
—To Orellana, never, never more!
On him the shadow of the Hand of Death
Descended darkening, as a falcon's wing
Falls on the snowy radiance of a dove.
Oh, how should he escape that closing Hand?
Would the imperial parchment in his gripe,
With the vain sanction of its dangling seals,
Its signatures, its pomp of Latin phrase
That gave the wealth and width of the Brazils
From seashore to sierra westward far,
To Don Francisco Orellana, bribe?
Would prayer, or tear, or impious sacrifice
For just a little summer's lease of life
Such as an insect has, persuade? Would love
Of wife new-married by vicarious pain
Avert?
Descended darkening, as a falcon's wing
Falls on the snowy radiance of a dove.
Oh, how should he escape that closing Hand?
Would the imperial parchment in his gripe,
With the vain sanction of its dangling seals,
Its signatures, its pomp of Latin phrase
That gave the wealth and width of the Brazils
From seashore to sierra westward far,
To Don Francisco Orellana, bribe?
Would prayer, or tear, or impious sacrifice
For just a little summer's lease of life
Such as an insect has, persuade? Would love
Of wife new-married by vicarious pain
Avert?
But what were all the wish of life,
Now hope of life was gone, for that one stain
Of perjury that blackened all the past?
The stain sent rays of gloom even to the realm
Of sunny infancy: and forward far
It rushed into Eternity, a flood
Of widening blackness! Orellana groaned
And hid his face with both his hands: “The star!”
He muttered in his agony—“The star!
Oh, I mistook it for the will of Heaven!”
Now hope of life was gone, for that one stain
Of perjury that blackened all the past?
104
Of sunny infancy: and forward far
It rushed into Eternity, a flood
Of widening blackness! Orellana groaned
And hid his face with both his hands: “The star!”
He muttered in his agony—“The star!
Oh, I mistook it for the will of Heaven!”
Beside him where he tossed in fever-pain
In the dim narrow cabin sat his wife
With ne'er a word of comfort in her heart.
His men dotted the deck like images
Of famine and despair—hating both him
Who with a lying story lured them forth
To chase a madman's fancy, and themselves
Who credited a dreamer. Vainly they
Had thrust through mist and rain, through creek and strait
And muddy shallow, searching for a channel
To inland El Dorado:—in despair
Now waited for the end. The rain-streams hissed
Along the deck, and all around the ship,
And on the sea, and all along the sea
To where the neighbour ships loomed through the mist
Like veilèd monuments; and at the window
Of the dim cabin where the leader lay
Hissed loudly; and in scornful hissings drowned,
Sank Orellana from the world of men.
In the dim narrow cabin sat his wife
With ne'er a word of comfort in her heart.
His men dotted the deck like images
Of famine and despair—hating both him
Who with a lying story lured them forth
To chase a madman's fancy, and themselves
Who credited a dreamer. Vainly they
Had thrust through mist and rain, through creek and strait
And muddy shallow, searching for a channel
To inland El Dorado:—in despair
105
Along the deck, and all around the ship,
And on the sea, and all along the sea
To where the neighbour ships loomed through the mist
Like veilèd monuments; and at the window
Of the dim cabin where the leader lay
Hissed loudly; and in scornful hissings drowned,
Sank Orellana from the world of men.
| Orellana and Other Poems | |