Joaquin Miller's Poems [in six volumes] |
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 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
I
A man in middle Aridzone
Stood by the desert's edge alone,
And long he look'd, and lean'd and peer'd,
And twirl'd and twirl'd his twist'd beard,
Beneath a black and slouchy hat—
Nay, nay, the tale is not of that.
Stood by the desert's edge alone,
And long he look'd, and lean'd and peer'd,
And twirl'd and twirl'd his twist'd beard,
Beneath a black and slouchy hat—
Nay, nay, the tale is not of that.
A skin-clad trapper, toe-a-tip,
Stood on a mountain top; and he
Look'd long, and still, and eagerly.
“It looks so like some lonesome ship
That sails this ghostly, lonely sea,—
This dried-up desert sea,” said he,
“These tawny sands of buried seas”—
Avaunt! this tale is not of these!
Stood on a mountain top; and he
Look'd long, and still, and eagerly.
35
That sails this ghostly, lonely sea,—
This dried-up desert sea,” said he,
“These tawny sands of buried seas”—
Avaunt! this tale is not of these!
A chief from out the desert's rim
Rode swift as twilight swallows swim,
And O! his supple steed was fleet!
About his breast flapped panther skins,
About his eager flying feet
Flapp'd beaded, braided moccasins:
He stopp'd, stock still, as still as stone,
He lean'd, he look'd, there glisten'd bright,
From out the yellow, yielding sand,
A golden cup with jewell'd rim.
Rode swift as twilight swallows swim,
And O! his supple steed was fleet!
About his breast flapped panther skins,
About his eager flying feet
Flapp'd beaded, braided moccasins:
He stopp'd, stock still, as still as stone,
He lean'd, he look'd, there glisten'd bright,
From out the yellow, yielding sand,
A golden cup with jewell'd rim.
He lean'd him low, he reach'd a hand,
He caught it up, he gallop'd on,
He turn'd his head, he saw a sight—
His panther-skins flew to the wind,
He rode into the rim of night;
The dark, the desert lay behind;
The tawny Ishmaelite was gone.
He caught it up, he gallop'd on,
He turn'd his head, he saw a sight—
His panther-skins flew to the wind,
He rode into the rim of night;
The dark, the desert lay behind;
The tawny Ishmaelite was gone.
He reach'd the town, and there held up
Above his head the jewel'd cup.
He put two fingers to his lip,
He whisper'd wild, he stood a-tip,
And lean'd the while with lifted hand,
And said, “A ship lies yonder dead,”
And said, “Such things lie sown in sand
In yon far desert dead and brown,
Beyond where wave-wash'd walls look down,
As thick as stars set overhead.”
“'Tis from that desert ship,” they said,
“That sails with neither sail nor breeze
The lonely bed of dried-up seas,—
A galleon that sank below
White seas ere Red men drew the bow.”
Above his head the jewel'd cup.
He put two fingers to his lip,
He whisper'd wild, he stood a-tip,
And lean'd the while with lifted hand,
And said, “A ship lies yonder dead,”
And said, “Such things lie sown in sand
In yon far desert dead and brown,
Beyond where wave-wash'd walls look down,
As thick as stars set overhead.”
36
“That sails with neither sail nor breeze
The lonely bed of dried-up seas,—
A galleon that sank below
White seas ere Red men drew the bow.”
By Arizona's sea of sand
Some bearded miners, gray and old,
And resolute in search of gold,
Sat down to tap the savage land.
A miner stood beside the mine,
He pull'd his beard, then looked away
Across the level sea of sand,
Beneath his broad and hairy hand,
A hand as hard as knots of pine.
“It looks so like a sea,” said he.
He pull'd his beard, and he did say,
“It looks just like a dried-up sea.”
Again he pull'd that beard of his,
But said no other thing than this.
Some bearded miners, gray and old,
And resolute in search of gold,
Sat down to tap the savage land.
A miner stood beside the mine,
He pull'd his beard, then looked away
Across the level sea of sand,
Beneath his broad and hairy hand,
A hand as hard as knots of pine.
“It looks so like a sea,” said he.
He pull'd his beard, and he did say,
“It looks just like a dried-up sea.”
Again he pull'd that beard of his,
But said no other thing than this.
A stalwart miner dealt a stroke,
And struck a buried beam of oak.
The miner twisted, twirl'd his beard,
Lean'd on his pick-ax as he spoke:
“'Tis that same long-lost ship,” he said,
“Some laden ship of Solomon
That sail'd these lonesome seas upon
In search of Ophir's mine, ah me!
That sail'd this dried-up desert sea.”
And struck a buried beam of oak.
The miner twisted, twirl'd his beard,
Lean'd on his pick-ax as he spoke:
“'Tis that same long-lost ship,” he said,
“Some laden ship of Solomon
That sail'd these lonesome seas upon
In search of Ophir's mine, ah me!
That sail'd this dried-up desert sea.”
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |