 | The Baroness of New York |  |
21
II.
These brave world-builders of the West,
They came from God knows where, the be
And worst of four parts of the world.
With naked blade, with flag unfurled,
They bore new empires in their plan.
A motley band; the bearded man,
The eager and ambitious boy,
The fugitive from fallen Troy,
The man of fortune, letters, fame,
The old-world knight with stainless name,
The man with heritage of shame.
They came from God knows where, the be
And worst of four parts of the world.
With naked blade, with flag unfurled,
They bore new empires in their plan.
A motley band; the bearded man,
The eager and ambitious boy,
The fugitive from fallen Troy,
The man of fortune, letters, fame,
The old-world knight with stainless name,
The man with heritage of shame.
And thriftless Esaus, hairy men
Who roamed and tracked the trackless wood,
Good, if it pleased them to be good,
Or cruel as some wild beast when
He tears a hunter limb by limb
And so sits gloating over him.
Who roamed and tracked the trackless wood,
Good, if it pleased them to be good,
Or cruel as some wild beast when
He tears a hunter limb by limb
And so sits gloating over him.
Then cunning Jacobs, crafty men,
With spotted herds, who loved to keep
Along the hills a thousand sheep,
Who strove with men and strove as when
The many sons digged down a wall
And gloried in their fellows' fall.
With spotted herds, who loved to keep
Along the hills a thousand sheep,
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The many sons digged down a wall
And gloried in their fellows' fall.
Then black-eyed pirates of the sea,
That sailing came from none knew where,
That sought deep wooded inlets there,
And took posession silently;
To rest, they said, in loved repose—
To rest or rob, God only knows.
That sailing came from none knew where,
That sought deep wooded inlets there,
And took posession silently;
To rest, they said, in loved repose—
To rest or rob, God only knows.
I only know that when that land
Lay thick with peril, and lay far
It seemed as some sea-fallen star,
The weak men never reached a hand
Or sought us out that primal day,
And cowards did not come that way.
Lay thick with peril, and lay far
It seemed as some sea-fallen star,
The weak men never reached a hand
Or sought us out that primal day,
And cowards did not come that way.
My brave world-builders of the West!
Why, who doth know ye? Who shall know
But I, who on thy peaks of snow
Brake bread the first? Who loves ye best?
Who holds ye still, of more stern worth
Than all proud peoples of the earth?
Why, who doth know ye? Who shall know
But I, who on thy peaks of snow
Brake bread the first? Who loves ye best?
Who holds ye still, of more stern worth
Than all proud peoples of the earth?
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Yea, I, the rhymer of wild rhymes,
Indifferent of blame or praise,
Still sing of ye, as one who plays
The same shrill air in all strange climes—
The same wild piercing highland air,
Because, because, his heart is there.
Indifferent of blame or praise,
Still sing of ye, as one who plays
The same shrill air in all strange climes—
The same wild piercing highland air,
Because, because, his heart is there.
| The Baroness of New York | |