 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
1
WALKER IN NICARAGUA
CHANT I
I
That man who lives for self alone
Lives for the meanest mortal known.
Lives for the meanest mortal known.
I celebrate no man of strife,
I eat no bread with blood upon.
'Twere braver far to live unknown,
To live alone and die alone
Than owe sweet song, aye owe sweet life,
Or sweeter fame, to saber drawn.
I eat no bread with blood upon.
'Twere braver far to live unknown,
To live alone and die alone
Than owe sweet song, aye owe sweet life,
Or sweeter fame, to saber drawn.
II
Wreathe ye who may the victor's bay,
Fill book on book with battles, then
Fill every public park you may
With iron-fashioned fighting men
Begirt with blade and cannon ball,
With not one woman's plinth mid all.
Fill book on book with battles, then
Fill every public park you may
With iron-fashioned fighting men
Begirt with blade and cannon ball,
With not one woman's plinth mid all.
But she who rocks the cradle, she
Who croons and rocks all day, all night,
And knows no public place or name
Makes far the better, braver fight,
Deserves a nobler, fairer fame
Than all bronze men of historie.
Who croons and rocks all day, all night,
And knows no public place or name
Makes far the better, braver fight,
Deserves a nobler, fairer fame
Than all bronze men of historie.
The foot that rocks the babe to rest
Keeps step, keeps song with singing dawn.
The hand that holds the babe to breast
Is sceptered as King Solomon.
And yet, for all she does, has done,
Has not one monument, not one!
Keeps step, keeps song with singing dawn.
The hand that holds the babe to breast
2
And yet, for all she does, has done,
Has not one monument, not one!
III
And he who guides the good plowshare,Binds golden sheaves, unnamed, unknown,
Who harvests what his hand hath sown,
Does more for God, for man, his own—
Dares more than all mad heroes dare.
IV
And like to him the man who keepsCalm watch on Freedom's outer wall,
Who sees the great moon rise and fall
Yet sleeps and rests and rests and sleeps—
The man who knows, the man who sees
God in the grass, God in the trees,
Sees good in all, sees God in all—
Gets more, gives more, does more true weal
Than all your storied men of steel.
V
But nobler still the man who leadsFar out the deadly firing line
To hew the way, subdue, refine
By dauntless and unselfish deeds;
Who lays aside his student's book
And gathers up his knotted thews
And, facing westward, hews and hews
The way for plowshare, pruning hook
And scarce recks if he win or lose;
3
Fair duty, halo-topt and tall,
Far pointing where his pathway lies,
And dares not falter, rest, repine,
But forward, forward, wins and—dies.
VI
I sing this man who sought man's good,Who fought for peace, unselfish fought,
Who silent fell and murmured not,
This man whom no man understood,
This great man so well-nigh forgot,
This man who led, who faltered not,
This student, soldier, president,
Who chose the weaker side and sent
Such spirit through his fearless few
As only Khartoum Gordon knew.
VII
I sing those children of the sunBecause I love them and because
I would that you should love them, too,
As tenderly as he had done
Ere Fate laid her cold finger to
His bounding pulse and bade him pause.
VIII
A man to love, a land to love;A land of gold, of sapphire seas,
Such blue below, such blue above,
Such fruits and ever-flowered trees—
The fairest Eden-land that is,
4
He won it, holds, with dust-full hands—
This soldier born, born and not made,
Who scorned to make rude war a trade.
IX
A soldier born, let this be saidAbove my brave, dishonored dead;
I ask no more, this is not much,
Yet I disdain a colder touch
To memory as dear as his;
For he was true as steel, or star,
And brave as Yuba's grizzlies are,
Yet gentle as a panther is
Mouthing her young in her first fierce kiss.
X
A dash of sadness in his air,
Born, may be, of his over care,
And may be, born of a despair
In early love—I never knew;
I question not, as many do,
Of things as sacred as this is;
I only know that he to me
Was all a father, friend, could be;
I sought to know no more than this
Of history of him or his.
Born, may be, of his over care,
And may be, born of a despair
In early love—I never knew;
I question not, as many do,
Of things as sacred as this is;
I only know that he to me
Was all a father, friend, could be;
I sought to know no more than this
Of history of him or his.
A piercing eye, a princely air,
A presence like a chevalier,
Half angel and half Lucifer;
Sombrero black, with plume of snow
That swept his careless locks below;
A red serape with bars of gold,
All heedless falling, fold on fold,
A sash of silk, where flashing swung
A sword as swift as serpent's tongue,
In sheath of silver chased in gold;
Great Spanish spurs with bells of steel
That dash'd and dangled at the heel;
A face of blended pride and pain,
Of mingled pleading and disdain,
With shades of glory and of grief—
The famous filibuster chief
Stood front his men among the trees
That top the fierce Cordilleras,
With bent arm arched above his brow;—
Stood still, he stands, a picture, now—
Long gazing down his inland seas.
A presence like a chevalier,
Half angel and half Lucifer;
Sombrero black, with plume of snow
That swept his careless locks below;
5
All heedless falling, fold on fold,
A sash of silk, where flashing swung
A sword as swift as serpent's tongue,
In sheath of silver chased in gold;
Great Spanish spurs with bells of steel
That dash'd and dangled at the heel;
A face of blended pride and pain,
Of mingled pleading and disdain,
With shades of glory and of grief—
The famous filibuster chief
Stood front his men among the trees
That top the fierce Cordilleras,
With bent arm arched above his brow;—
Stood still, he stands, a picture, now—
Long gazing down his inland seas.
XI
What strange, strong, bearded men were theseHe led above his tropic seas!
Men sometimes of uncommon birth,
Men rich in stories all untold,
Who boasted not, though more than bold,
Blown from the four parts of the earth.
Men mighty-thewed, as Sampson was,
That had been kings in any cause,
A remnant of the races past;
Dark-browed, as if in iron cast,
Broad-breasted as twin gates of brass,—
Men strangely brave and fiercely true,
Who dared the West when giants were,
Who erred, yet bravely dared to err—
A remnant of that dauntless few
Who held no crime or curse or vice
6
With blendings of the worst and best
Of faults and virtues that have blest
Or cursed or thrilled the human breast.
XII
They rode, a troop of bearded men,Rode two and two out from the town,
And some were blonde and some were brown,
And all as brave as Sioux; but when
From warlike Leon south, the line
That bound them in the laws of man
Was passed, and peace stood mute behind
And streamed a banner to the wind
The world knew not, there was a sign
Of awe, of silence, rear and van.
XIII
Men thought who scarce had thought before;I heard the clang and clash of steel
From sword at hand and spur at heel
And iron feet, but nothing more.
XIV
Some thought of Texas, some of Maine,But one of wood-set Tennessee.
And one of Avon thought, and one
Thought of an isle beneath the sun,
And one, a dusky son of Spain,
Soft hummed his señorita's air
Half laughed, shook back his heavy hair
And then—he would not think again,
7
Thought tenderly, thought tearfully;
And one turned sadly to the Spree.
XV
Defeat meant something more than death;The world was ready, keen to smite,
As stern and still beneath its ban
With iron will and bated breath,
Their hands against their fellow-man,
They rode—each man an Ishmaelite.
XVI
But when we topped the hills of pine,These men dismounted, doffed their cares,
Talk'd loud and laugh'd old love affairs,
And on the grass took meat and wine,
And never gave a thought again
To land or life that lay behind,
Or love, or care of any kind
Beyond the present cross or pain.
XVII
And I, a waif of stormy seas,A child among such men as these,
Was blown along this savage surf
And rested with them on the turf,
And took delight below the trees.
8
XVIII
I did not question, did not careTo know the right or wrong. I saw
That savage freedom had a spell,
And loved it more than word can tell.
I snapped my fingers at the law,
And dared to laugh, and laughed to dare.
XIX
I bear my burden of the shame,—I shun it not, and naught forget,
However much I may regret;
I claim some candor to my name,
And courage cannot change or die,—
Did they deserve to die? they died!
Let justice then be satisfied,
And as for me, why, what am I?
XX
The standing side by side till death,The dying for some wounded friend,
The faith that failed not to the end,
The strong endurance till the breath
And body took their ways apart,
I only know. I keep my trust.
Their vices! earth has them by heart:
Their virtues! they are with the dust.
XXI
How we descended, troop on troop,As wide-winged eagles downward swoop!
9
With all its broad boughs hung in green,
With sweeping mosses trailed between!
How waked the spotted beasts of prey,
Deep sleeping from the face of day,
And dashed them, like a dashing flood,
Down deep defile and densest wood!
XXII
What snakes! long, lithe and beautifulAs green and graceful boughed bamboo.
How they did twine them through and through
Green boughs that hung red-fruited full!
One, monster-sized, above me hung,
Close eyed me with his bright pink eyes,
Then raised his folds, and swayed and swung,
And licked like lightning, his red tongue,
Then oped his wide mouth with surprise;
He writhed and curved and raised and lowered
His folds, like liftings of the tide,
Then sank so low I touched his side,
As I rode by, with my boy's sword.
The trees shook hands high overhead,
And bowed and intertwined across
The narrow way, while leaves and moss
And luscious fruit, gold-hued and red,
Through all the canopy of green,
Let not one sun-shaft shoot between.
XXIII
Birds hung and swung, green-robed and red,Or drooped in curved lines dreamily,
Rainbows reversed, from tree to tree,
10
Sang low, as if they sang and slept,
Sang faint like some far waterfall,
And took no note of us at all,
Though nuts that in the way were spread
Did crash and crackle where we stept.
XXIV
Wild lilies, tall as maidens are,As sweet of breath, as purely fair,
As fair as faith, as true as truth,
Fell thick before our iron tread,
In fragrant sacrifice of ruth.
Rich ripened fruit a fragrance shed
And hung in hand-reach overhead,
In nest of blossoms on the shoot,
The very shoot that bore the fruit.
XXV
How ran lithe monkeys through the leaves!How rush'd they through, brown clad and blue,
Like shuttles hurried through and through
The threads a hasty weaver weaves!
How quick they cast us fruits of gold,
Then loosened hand and all foothold,
And hung, limp, limber, as if dead,
Hung low and listless overhead;
And all the time with half oped eyes
Bent full on us in mute surprise—
Looked wisely too, as wise hens do
That watch you with the head askew.
11
XXVI
The long day through, from blossomed trees,There came the sweet song of sweet bees,
With chorus tones of cockatoo
That slid his beak along the bough
And walked and talked and hung and swung,
In crown of gold and coat of blue,
The wisest fool that ever sung,
Or wore a crown or held a tongue.
XXVII
Oh! when we broke the somber woodAnd pierced at last a sunny plain,
How wild and still with wonder stood
The proud mustangs with bannered mane
And necks that never knew a rein,
And nostrils lifted high, and blown,
Fierce breathing as a hurricane:
Yet by their leader held the while
In solid column, square and file.
And ranks more martial than our own!
XXVIII
Some one above the common kind,
Some one to look to, lean upon,
May be, is much a woman's mind;
But it was mine, and I had drawn
A rein beside the chief while we
Rode down the mesa leisurely.
Then he grew kind and questioned me
Of kindred, home, and home affair,
Of how I came to wander there,
And had my father herds and land
And men in hundreds at command?
Some one to look to, lean upon,
May be, is much a woman's mind;
But it was mine, and I had drawn
A rein beside the chief while we
Rode down the mesa leisurely.
Then he grew kind and questioned me
Of kindred, home, and home affair,
12
And had my father herds and land
And men in hundreds at command?
At which I, silent, shook my head,
Then, timid, met his eyes and said:
“Not so. Where sunny foothills run
Down to the North Pacific sea,
And where Willamette meets the sun
In many angles, patiently
My father tends some flocks of snow,
And turns alone the mellow sod
And sows some fields not over broad,
And mourns my long delay in vain,
Nor bids one serve man come or go;
While mother from her wheel or churn,
And maybe from the milking shed,
Oft lifts an humbled wearied head
To watch and wish her boy's return
Across the camas' blossomed plain.”
Then, timid, met his eyes and said:
“Not so. Where sunny foothills run
Down to the North Pacific sea,
And where Willamette meets the sun
In many angles, patiently
My father tends some flocks of snow,
And turns alone the mellow sod
And sows some fields not over broad,
And mourns my long delay in vain,
Nor bids one serve man come or go;
While mother from her wheel or churn,
And maybe from the milking shed,
Oft lifts an humbled wearied head
To watch and wish her boy's return
Across the camas' blossomed plain.”
XXIX
He held his bent head very low,A sudden sadness in his air;
Then reached and touched my yellow hair
And tossed the long locks in his hand,
Toyed with them, sudden let them go,
Then thrummed about his saddle bow
As thought ran swift across his face;
Then turning instant in his place,
He gave some short and quick command.
They brought the best steed of the band,
They swung a carbine at my side,
He bade me mount and by him ride,
13
I never felt the need of friend.
XXX
Far in a wildest quinine woodWe found a city old—so old
Its very walls were turned to mould
And stately trees upon them stood.
No history has mentioned it,
No map has given it a place;
The last dim trace of tribe and race—
The world's forgetfulness is fit.
XXXI
It held one structure grand and moss'd,Mighty as any castle sung,
And old when oldest Ind was young,
With threshold Christian never crossed;
A temple builded to the sun,
Along whose somber altar-stone
Brown, bleeding virgins had been strown
Like leaves, when leaves are crisp and dun,
In ages ere the Sphynx was born,
Or Babylon knew night, or morn.
XXXII
My chief swift up the marble stept—He ever led, through that wild land—
When down the stones, with double hand
To his machete, a Sun priest leapt,
Hot bent to barter life for life,
14
Full through his thick and broad breast bone,
And broke the point against the stone,
The dark stone of the temple wall.
I saw him loose all hold and fall
Full length with head hung down the stone;
I saw run down a ruddy flood
Of smoking, pulsing human blood.
Then from the dusk there crept a crone
And kissed the gory hands and face,
And smote herself. Then one by one
Some dusk priests crept and did the same,
Then bore the dead man from the place.
Down darkened aisles the brown priests came,
So picture-like, with sandaled feet
And long, gray, dismal, grass-wove gowns,
So like the pictures of old time,
And stood all still and dark of frowns,
At blood upon the stone and street.
Stern men laid ready hand to sword
And boldly spake some bitter word;
But they were stubborn still and stood
Fierce frowning as a winter wood,
And mutt'ring something of the crime
Of blood upon their temple stone,
As if the first that it had known!
XXXIII
We strode on through each massive doorWith clash of steel at heel, and with
Some swords all red and ready drawn.
I traced the sharp edge of my sword
Along both marble wall and floor
For crack or crevice; there was none.
15
The mighty temple had been cored
By nut-brown children of the sun,
When stars were newly bright and blithe
Of song along the rim of dawn,
A mighty marble monolith!
CHANT II
I
So old, so new and yet how old
This forest's green, that mesa's gold!
This forest's green, that mesa's gold!
Rank, wild oats, waving in wild strength—
The lion's tawny mane and length!
Rank Artemesia, odorous
And gray with bald antiquity—
The rough arroyo swallowed us
As we rode down by two, by three,
The braying ass, the neighing stud—
And now the mesa, broad and free;
Tall cacti blooms, as tipt with blood:
And here a burning bush, and there
The red night-blooming cereus
Kneeled low, as if saluting us—
Kneeled as some red-robed monk at prayer,
High up the gleaming steeps of snow
Of Zacatecas, Mexico.
The lion's tawny mane and length!
Rank Artemesia, odorous
And gray with bald antiquity—
The rough arroyo swallowed us
As we rode down by two, by three,
The braying ass, the neighing stud—
And now the mesa, broad and free;
Tall cacti blooms, as tipt with blood:
And here a burning bush, and there
The red night-blooming cereus
Kneeled low, as if saluting us—
Kneeled as some red-robed monk at prayer,
High up the gleaming steeps of snow
Of Zacatecas, Mexico.
To left such green wood, and such green!
To right brown mesa, bald and bare:
But where we rode, the two between—
Such crimson, crimson everywhere!
Aye, earth was gaily garmented;
The great, green robe spread far away,
So far no man would dare to say,
And this great, green robe fringed with red,
Lay trackless, lifeless as the dead.
The yellow lion's skin behind,
The wild oats waving in the wind;
But that dense, silent wold of death
Drew not a breath, knew not a breath!
To right brown mesa, bald and bare:
But where we rode, the two between—
Such crimson, crimson everywhere!
16
The great, green robe spread far away,
So far no man would dare to say,
And this great, green robe fringed with red,
Lay trackless, lifeless as the dead.
The yellow lion's skin behind,
The wild oats waving in the wind;
But that dense, silent wold of death
Drew not a breath, knew not a breath!
II
From Oro Yarè toward the sea
Slow rounding down the river's source,
Red men, brown men, foot, cavalry,
We marched, a mottled, maniac force—
We rode so close to this dense wood,
So somber, silent, deep and lorn,
That when at last we slow drew rein
The heat was as a choking pain.
The chief stood in his stirrups; stood
With set lips lifted up in scorn
To thus be baffled by a wood
And looked and looked that sultry morn:
The while our allies looked away
As if in dread to say or stay.
Slow rounding down the river's source,
Red men, brown men, foot, cavalry,
We marched, a mottled, maniac force—
We rode so close to this dense wood,
So somber, silent, deep and lorn,
That when at last we slow drew rein
The heat was as a choking pain.
The chief stood in his stirrups; stood
With set lips lifted up in scorn
To thus be baffled by a wood
And looked and looked that sultry morn:
The while our allies looked away
As if in dread to say or stay.
Far, far afield from out the night
Of silent blackness burst a cone
Of comely fashion, marble white,
And lone as God, as white and lone
As God upon the great white throne.
Of silent blackness burst a cone
Of comely fashion, marble white,
And lone as God, as white and lone
As God upon the great white throne.
He beck'd some brown men, bade them say:
Then slow, a sandaled, nude old man,
As if not daring to say nay
Began, fast pointing far away—
Then two, then three, then all began.
Then slow, a sandaled, nude old man,
17
Began, fast pointing far away—
Then two, then three, then all began.
III
Such stories as our allies said
Of such strange people meshed and hid
That drear, deep wilderness amid—
Their very name they spoke with dread!
They were not white men, brown men, red,
Not Spanish blood, not native blood,
Not Toltec, Aztec, but a race
Of cruel men who claimed to trace
Their fathers back beyond the flood—
Beyond the time when they alone
Took refuge on their rock-ribb'd cone.
Of such strange people meshed and hid
That drear, deep wilderness amid—
Their very name they spoke with dread!
They were not white men, brown men, red,
Not Spanish blood, not native blood,
Not Toltec, Aztec, but a race
Of cruel men who claimed to trace
Their fathers back beyond the flood—
Beyond the time when they alone
Took refuge on their rock-ribb'd cone.
Such stories as our allies told
Of gold, of river-beds of gold
Far in that lost land's wood-walled heart
That lay below the comely cone
As made our filibusters start
And think of this and this alone:
The while the silent chief looked down
Upon their zeal with sullen frown.
Of gold, of river-beds of gold
Far in that lost land's wood-walled heart
That lay below the comely cone
As made our filibusters start
And think of this and this alone:
The while the silent chief looked down
Upon their zeal with sullen frown.
Such stories of red gold at morn
When savage rivers, sudden born
Of thunder, had swept on and on—
Such seams of gold that lay upon
White beds of quartz, bright as the sun
When night and sudden storm were done:
Free gold for all who deemed it fit
To stoop, take up and husband it.
When savage rivers, sudden born
Of thunder, had swept on and on—
Such seams of gold that lay upon
White beds of quartz, bright as the sun
When night and sudden storm were done:
Free gold for all who deemed it fit
To stoop, take up and husband it.
18
Such stories as our allies told
Or armlets, wristlets, wrought in gold
So massive that the arms grew long
And sinewy and over strong
For battle from the very weight
Of gold; of gold-wrought arrowheads,
Of gold in shallow brooklet beds
As plentiful as yellow corn
Sown ere the blackbirds swoop at morn
To storm the thrifty farmer's gate:
Or armlets, wristlets, wrought in gold
So massive that the arms grew long
And sinewy and over strong
For battle from the very weight
Of gold; of gold-wrought arrowheads,
Of gold in shallow brooklet beds
As plentiful as yellow corn
Sown ere the blackbirds swoop at morn
To storm the thrifty farmer's gate:
IV
Such stories as our allies told
Of how, in armored days of old,
The Spaniard here had dared and died
In all his splendid strength and pride,
In maddened greed for this red gold:
How, many times in after years,
Troop after troop went forth again,
The Spanish Don, the dauntless son,
To dare the dread obsidian spears,
The gold-wrought arrowheads like rain—
But never one returned, not one!
Of how, in armored days of old,
The Spaniard here had dared and died
In all his splendid strength and pride,
In maddened greed for this red gold:
How, many times in after years,
Troop after troop went forth again,
The Spanish Don, the dauntless son,
To dare the dread obsidian spears,
The gold-wrought arrowheads like rain—
But never one returned, not one!
Such stories as our allies said
Of tall, dusk women, garmented
Like unto fairest flowered trees;
Of busy women, like to bees,
Who chased the purple butterfly
Far up the gray steeps of the sky
And plucked his little silken nest
To spin and weave the gorgeous vest,
The yellow robe, raboso red:
Of tall, dusk women, garmented
Like unto fairest flowered trees;
Of busy women, like to bees,
Who chased the purple butterfly
Far up the gray steeps of the sky
And plucked his little silken nest
To spin and weave the gorgeous vest,
The yellow robe, raboso red:
19
Such stories as our allies told
Of temples builded to the sun,
Of human sacrifice and how,
Like stealthy panthers, even now,
These beauteous, sultry, moonlit nights,
Hard men steal down, just as of old,
And seize fair maidens for their rites:
That this was why the land lay bare
Of flock or field or maiden fair,
All up and down, for leagues away—
That even now, this very day,
Their yonder homeward trail was plain
With little footprints made in pain:
Torn feet that turn not back again.
Of temples builded to the sun,
Of human sacrifice and how,
Like stealthy panthers, even now,
These beauteous, sultry, moonlit nights,
Hard men steal down, just as of old,
And seize fair maidens for their rites:
That this was why the land lay bare
Of flock or field or maiden fair,
All up and down, for leagues away—
That even now, this very day,
Their yonder homeward trail was plain
With little footprints made in pain:
Torn feet that turn not back again.
V
You ask me what my chieftain said?He rarely said, he simply did.
Dismounting where the lame feet led,
Shut in as shuts a coffin lid,
He chose his choicest at a sign
And silent led right on and on;
Right on all day, right on all night,
And not one foot set left or right,
And not one faltered yea or nay
Or turned his head to see or say
Until, at sudden burst of dawn,
A smell of water was and then
That ugly, growling, bulldog drum!
It turned the very leaves one side
The while it howled, “They come! They come!”
20
VI
And they, too, came, came as a blast
Of twisting March winds, gust on gust,
Whirl red leaves, dead leaves, ashes, dust—
A cyclone scarce could sweep so fast.
Scant time to choose a friendly tree,
Scarce time to drop a bended knee,
To catch quick carbine to its place
And fall hard fighting, face to face.
Of twisting March winds, gust on gust,
Whirl red leaves, dead leaves, ashes, dust—
A cyclone scarce could sweep so fast.
Scant time to choose a friendly tree,
Scarce time to drop a bended knee,
To catch quick carbine to its place
And fall hard fighting, face to face.
Was ever such hot place of death!
Scarce room was there to draw full breath:
Red vines climbed up, green boughs hung down,
Red-pepsin, green-leaved rubber-tree,
Black banyan in black density!
I dared a precious second's pause
To choose my tree: I chose because
Great ivy vines climbed high, climbed higher
All crimson to its very crown—
Elijah's chariot of fire!
Scarce room was there to draw full breath:
Red vines climbed up, green boughs hung down,
Red-pepsin, green-leaved rubber-tree,
Black banyan in black density!
I dared a precious second's pause
To choose my tree: I chose because
Great ivy vines climbed high, climbed higher
All crimson to its very crown—
Elijah's chariot of fire!
VII
Such tangle, jungle, who could stand?
Such jungle, tangle, who could see?
What need, indeed, to see when we
Fell instant fighting, hand to hand?
Long bamboo lances searched us out,
Short javelins, with points of glass,
Great arrowheads of gold, like hail!
Ah! it had been a sorry rout
Had each not held his narrow pass—
With not one left to tell the tale.
Such jungle, tangle, who could see?
What need, indeed, to see when we
Fell instant fighting, hand to hand?
Long bamboo lances searched us out,
Short javelins, with points of glass,
Great arrowheads of gold, like hail!
Ah! it had been a sorry rout
Had each not held his narrow pass—
With not one left to tell the tale.
21
They fought in herd, they fell in heap,
Rushed here, rushed there, like silly sheep,
And met behind each blazing tree
A double-barreled battery,
A dozen deadly, leaden shot,
Till suddenly the rush and din
Of arrow, spear, lance, javelin,
And all that frenzied host was not.
Rushed here, rushed there, like silly sheep,
And met behind each blazing tree
A double-barreled battery,
A dozen deadly, leaden shot,
Till suddenly the rush and din
Of arrow, spear, lance, javelin,
And all that frenzied host was not.
VIII
And yet, what scores could not retreat!'Twas pitiful! Spare me the pain,
The hard, sad detail of the slain,
The brave dead clutching to the loam
As if to hold their ancient home
Forever back from stranger feet!
IX
He dashed right on, but bade me stay;No time for parley or delay;
He called his every man to come—
As ever, he was still the first—
His men were dying, dead of thirst:
And then to drive the vantage home!
X
A little time, then such a shout!
I knew the men then drank their fill,
I felt their feasting, do not doubt,
I smelled ripe plantains, rind of red
And cored like unto yellow cream;
I saw bananas bank the stream,
Ripe mangoes hanging overhead—
So dead with hunger, thirst! I seem
To see them, breathe them, taste them still:
To see men feasting to their fill,
One hand the gun, red fruit in one,
The swift, sweet water at their feet:
And I shall see, shall feel them eat
And drink and drink till life is done.
I knew the men then drank their fill,
I felt their feasting, do not doubt,
I smelled ripe plantains, rind of red
And cored like unto yellow cream;
I saw bananas bank the stream,
22
So dead with hunger, thirst! I seem
To see them, breathe them, taste them still:
To see men feasting to their fill,
One hand the gun, red fruit in one,
The swift, sweet water at their feet:
And I shall see, shall feel them eat
And drink and drink till life is done.
I heard a cautious low-bird call.
He came, and with him came just one:
Canteen, machete, ripe mangoes, gun,
And I must eat, drink, share with all.
He came, and with him came just one:
Canteen, machete, ripe mangoes, gun,
And I must eat, drink, share with all.
XI
Just then a child, her sweet face red
With blood, crept from a heap of dead.
I leaned down, drew her to my knee,
Bathed her sweet face, then hurriedly
To where a dying comrade lay
Beside his war-torn battle tree;
And lo! the poor girl followed me
And tried to help, to soothe, to say.
With blood, crept from a heap of dead.
I leaned down, drew her to my knee,
Bathed her sweet face, then hurriedly
To where a dying comrade lay
Beside his war-torn battle tree;
And lo! the poor girl followed me
And tried to help, to soothe, to say.
The chief had chased the frenzied throng
On o'er the stream a short half mile;
Had watched it melt into the isle
And then, as if ten thousand strong
Stood at his back in bold guard line,
Had placed his every man, save one—
Then up and down, machete and gun,
They paced and passed the countersign,
And laughed their city, Chantalè,
Laughed gold-strewn, gory Chantalè
Dim seen through copse of banyan tree.
On o'er the stream a short half mile;
Had watched it melt into the isle
And then, as if ten thousand strong
Stood at his back in bold guard line,
Had placed his every man, save one—
Then up and down, machete and gun,
They paced and passed the countersign,
23
Laughed gold-strewn, gory Chantalè
Dim seen through copse of banyan tree.
And light of step, as jaunty, gay
As on some happy holiday
They stepped with head high in the air,
And sang, sang loud and saucily.
And now and then a shot rang out
At interval of song and shout
Tow'rd gold-strewn, gory Chantalè
And tore through island vine and tree.
As on some happy holiday
They stepped with head high in the air,
And sang, sang loud and saucily.
And now and then a shot rang out
At interval of song and shout
Tow'rd gold-strewn, gory Chantalè
And tore through island vine and tree.
XII
Gods! what a dauntless, daring sight!Why, these strange men had fought all day!
Why, these strong men had marched all night;
Why, they had scarcely ate or slept,
Yet still with saucy pride they stept
And still each step was spank and gay.
XIII
Dusk came, such solemn, stately dusk!
Black clouds blocked up a sky of red,
The hot wood had a smell of musk—
Of dying roses for the dead.
Black clouds blocked up a sky of red,
The hot wood had a smell of musk—
Of dying roses for the dead.
Then lightning was, and thunder low,
Low rumbling lion-like and slow,
Then that dread drum began to beat
A bow-shot front us mid the isle!
Why, they had made a mad retreat—
Were they not marshaling meanwhile?
Low rumbling lion-like and slow,
Then that dread drum began to beat
A bow-shot front us mid the isle!
Why, they had made a mad retreat—
Were they not marshaling meanwhile?
24
XIV
That bull-dog drum was like a chill;
It made night monstrous; men stood still
And looked their brave chief in the face.
Why, had God filled the fiery skies
With thunder, lightning, had He filled
The earth with every fighting race
That knows the ugly trade of death
And asked their lives in sacrifice
These men had scarcely cared a breath,
Yet now they stood unnerved and chilled.
It made night monstrous; men stood still
And looked their brave chief in the face.
Why, had God filled the fiery skies
With thunder, lightning, had He filled
The earth with every fighting race
That knows the ugly trade of death
And asked their lives in sacrifice
These men had scarcely cared a breath,
Yet now they stood unnerved and chilled.
Would it but miss a single note,
Pause but to take a single breath,
As any bull-dog's breath is drawn,
'Twere not so worse to bear than death!
But no, that belching, bull-dog throat
Belched on, belched on, right on and on.
Pause but to take a single breath,
As any bull-dog's breath is drawn,
'Twere not so worse to bear than death!
But no, that belching, bull-dog throat
Belched on, belched on, right on and on.
XV
He saw their dread then slowly said“How many? and when will they come?”
“Pass me the guard line, chief,” I said,
“Pass me the guard and you shall know
What says, what means that chilling drum:
Night gathers, and the ghostly dead
Are not more noiseless where they go
Than I shall go, go, come again;
Or, silent, join the happier slain.”
25
XVI
He wrote, wrote calmly; they must feelHis confidence, his nerve of steel,
His sure possession to the last.
I thrust the thin script down my boot,
Stept back, stood firm, made slow salute,
Turned on my heel and hastened past.
XVII
The dappled sky now darkened till
The moon came out, and then was gone,
And all was black and wild and wide.
I should have lost my way and died
Had not that drum beat on and on.
The warm wave swept above my waist;
I pushed right on in eager haste.
I felt a light touch suddenly,
Looked down in dread and lo! 'twas she.
The moon came out, and then was gone,
And all was black and wild and wide.
I should have lost my way and died
Had not that drum beat on and on.
The warm wave swept above my waist;
I pushed right on in eager haste.
I felt a light touch suddenly,
Looked down in dread and lo! 'twas she.
And how could she have passed the line?
And why? I thought her surely crazed;
Or, may be, sadly hurt and dazed,
And took her little hand in mine.
I led her up the shallow sand
Against the somber, wooded land
To where the mango, tamarind
And black, wide-rooted banyan tree
Reached out to ward and welcome me.
And why? I thought her surely crazed;
Or, may be, sadly hurt and dazed,
And took her little hand in mine.
I led her up the shallow sand
Against the somber, wooded land
To where the mango, tamarind
And black, wide-rooted banyan tree
Reached out to ward and welcome me.
I was so worn, so weak and worn
My dripping hands hung down as lead.
I could not lift my sinking head;
I heard the widowed mothers mourn,
Still heard that hoarse dog bark and beat
And knew they would not now retreat.
My dripping hands hung down as lead.
I could not lift my sinking head;
I heard the widowed mothers mourn,
26
And knew they would not now retreat.
XVIII
And yet I could not lift a hand,
But drooped and sank upon the sand.
I tried, I tried, I could not rise,
I could not open my dull eyes.
And all the time that dog kept on,
A dog that never would be gone!
But drooped and sank upon the sand.
I tried, I tried, I could not rise,
I could not open my dull eyes.
And all the time that dog kept on,
A dog that never would be gone!
It made me sleep, it made me dream—
That drum seemed some deep orchestra
Where I could see sweet players play,
Low-voiced; then sudden all did seem
A coarse and cruel tragedy.
Red lightning lit the ample stage;
Black thunder thrust italics through
The bloody text, then in his rage,
As if not knowing what to do,
Turned back and hewed with such mad stroke
My mighty trees that I awoke.
That drum seemed some deep orchestra
Where I could see sweet players play,
Low-voiced; then sudden all did seem
A coarse and cruel tragedy.
Red lightning lit the ample stage;
Black thunder thrust italics through
The bloody text, then in his rage,
As if not knowing what to do,
Turned back and hewed with such mad stroke
My mighty trees that I awoke.
How I had slept! just clay and clod.
For all the living, all the dead,
The might, the majesty of God,
The hideous, haunting death, the dread—
I could but hear that monodin,
That monster alligator skin
Right on, right on, dog-like and deep,
And sleep right on, and sleep and sleep!
For all the living, all the dead,
The might, the majesty of God,
The hideous, haunting death, the dread—
I could but hear that monodin,
That monster alligator skin
Right on, right on, dog-like and deep,
And sleep right on, and sleep and sleep!
I thrust, thrust hard out either hand:
All still, all chill! I was alone!
And she had sold me, my command!
At sun the sacrificial stone;
And then no more that horrid drum—
Why had she gone? where had she gone?
I tried to hope she yet might come—
The while that drum beat on and on!
All still, all chill! I was alone!
27
At sun the sacrificial stone;
And then no more that horrid drum—
Why had she gone? where had she gone?
I tried to hope she yet might come—
The while that drum beat on and on!
A finger to her lip, then sand
She plucked and let it sift and run
And pointed sunward, ere the sun!
So many? and they come so soon?
The sky was spotted, rain and moon,
But with the first cloud we were gone;
The while that bull-dog barked right on!
She plucked and let it sift and run
And pointed sunward, ere the sun!
So many? and they come so soon?
The sky was spotted, rain and moon,
But with the first cloud we were gone;
The while that bull-dog barked right on!
He, waiting, leaned and caught her hand,
She stooped, took up, let fall the sand
Then pointed sunward, ere the sun—
A sign, and that brave, worn, guard line,
Swift, single file, still as the dead,
They passed with mournful, martial tread,
Paced back that midnight track again,
A piteous line of blood and pain:
Yet not one man there to repine,
Not one impatient word, not one.
She stooped, took up, let fall the sand
Then pointed sunward, ere the sun—
A sign, and that brave, worn, guard line,
Swift, single file, still as the dead,
They passed with mournful, martial tread,
Paced back that midnight track again,
A piteous line of blood and pain:
Yet not one man there to repine,
Not one impatient word, not one.
XIX
He paused, the last man to retreat,
When all had silent passed the dead,
He stood with bowed, uncovered head,
Devoutest hero of defeat.
And then he turned, hat still in hand,
And bowed before her, low, so low
He almost touched her sandaled feet,
And gently beckoned she should go:
She stirred not and he spake command.
When all had silent passed the dead,
He stood with bowed, uncovered head,
Devoutest hero of defeat.
And then he turned, hat still in hand,
And bowed before her, low, so low
He almost touched her sandaled feet,
28
She stirred not and he spake command.
I had not known she was so tall,
Knew not that she was nobly born
Until I saw her black eyes burn
And instant take command of all
In that long, sudden, sad return,
So silent, drooping and forlorn.
Knew not that she was nobly born
Until I saw her black eyes burn
And instant take command of all
In that long, sudden, sad return,
So silent, drooping and forlorn.
She beckoned him and he obeyed,
Kneeled only as brave men can kneel,
Up rose; and then the clank of steel,
The eager clutching of a blade—
And then the sullen tread and tread:
That baying dog behind—the dead!
Kneeled only as brave men can kneel,
Up rose; and then the clank of steel,
The eager clutching of a blade—
And then the sullen tread and tread:
That baying dog behind—the dead!
XX
She stripped the gold hoops from each hand
From wrists, from arms and nothing said,
But laid them gently by the dead:
Then beckoned quiet, quick command.
From wrists, from arms and nothing said,
But laid them gently by the dead:
Then beckoned quiet, quick command.
“Pass on, on, on, at any cost,
Not one brief moment to be lost!”
Then on, on, on, fast and more fast,
And she, alone, the very last,
Until, just at the break of day—
Were ever bugle notes so clear?
Was ever dinner-horn so dear?
We heard, we heard our horses neigh!
Not one brief moment to be lost!”
Then on, on, on, fast and more fast,
And she, alone, the very last,
Until, just at the break of day—
Were ever bugle notes so clear?
Was ever dinner-horn so dear?
We heard, we heard our horses neigh!
29
CHANT III
I
More marches through brown mesa, wood,More marches through too much blood,
And then at last sweet inland seas.
A city there, white-walled, and brown
With age, in nest of orange trees;
And this we won and many a town
And rancho reaching up and down,
Then rested long, sweet, sultry days
Beneath the blossom'd orange trees,
Made drowsy with the hum of bees,
And drank in peace the south-sea breeze,
Made sweet with sweeping bough of bays.
II
Aye, she was shy, so shy at first,And then, ere long, not over shy,
Yet pure of soul and proudly chare.
No love on earth has such an eye!
No land there is, is bless'd or curs'd
With such a limb or grace of face,
Or gracious form or genial air!
In all the bleak North-land not one
Hath been so warm of soul to me
As coldest soul by that warm sea,
Beneath the bright, hot centered sun.
30
III
No lands where northern ices areApproach, or even dare compare
With warm loves born beneath the sun—
The one so near, the one so far!
The one the cold, white, steady star,
The yellow, shifting sun the one.
IV
I grant you fond, I grant you fair,I grant you honor, trust and truth,
And years as beautiful as youth,
And many years beneath the sun,
And faith as fixed as any star;
But all the North-land hath not one
So warm of soul as sun-maids are.
V
I was but in my boyhood then—Nor knew the coarse, hard ways of men.
I count my fingers over, so,
And find it years and years ago;
But I was tall and lithe and fair,
With rippled tide of yellow hair,
And prone to mellowness of heart,
While she was tawny-red like wine,
With black hair boundless as the night.
As for the rest, I learned my part,
At least was apt, and willing quite
To learn, to listen, and incline
To teacher warm and wise as mine.
31
VI
O bright, bronzed maidens of the Sun!So fairer far to look upon
Than curtains of King Solomon,
Or Kedar's tents, or any one,
Or any thing beneath the Sun!
What followed then? What has been done,
And said, and writ, and read, and sung?
What will be writ and read again,
While love is life and life remain,
While maids will heed and men have tongue?
VII
What followed then? But let that pass.I hold one picture in my heart,
Hung curtain'd, and not any part
Of all its blood tint ever has
Been looked upon by any one
Beneath the broad, all-seeing sun.
VIII
Love well who will, love wise who can,But love, be loved, for God is love;
Love pure, as cherubim above;
Love maid, and hate not any man.
Sit as sat we by orange tree,
Beneath the broad bough and grape-vine
Top-tangled in the tropic shine,
Close face to face, close to the sea,
And full of the red-centered sun,
32
Rolled melody on melody,
As echoes of deep organ's roll,
And love, nor question any one.
IX
If God is love, is love not God?As high priests say, let prophets sing,
Without reproach or reckoning;
This much I say, knees knit to sod,
And low voice lifted, questioning.
X
Let hearts be pure, let love be true,Let lips be luscious, love be red,
Let earth in gold be garmented
And tented in her tent of blue;
Let goodly rivers glide between
Their leaning willow walls of green,
Let all things be filled of the sun,
And full of warm winds of the sea,
And I beneath my vine and tree
Take rest, nor war with any one;
Then I will thank God with full cause,
Say this is well, is as it was.
XI
Let lips be red, for God has saidLove is as one gold-garmented,
And made them so for such a time,
Therefore let lips be red, therefore
Let love be ripe in ruddy prime,
33
And you be wise thereat, and you
Drink deep and ask not any more.
XII
Let red lips lift, proud curl'd to kiss,And round limbs lean and lift and reach
In love too passionate for speech,
Too full of blessedness and bliss
For anything but this and this;
Let pure lips lean warm, kind to kiss;
Swoon in sweet love, while all the air
Is redolent with balm of trees,
And mellow with the song of bees,
While birds sit singing everywhere—
And you will have not any more
Than I in boyhood, by that shore
Of olives, had in years of yore.
XIII
Let men unclean think things unclean;I swear tip-toed, with lifted hand,
That we were pure as sea-wash'd sand,
That not one coarse thought came between;
Believe or disbelieve who will,
Unto the pure all things are pure,
As for the rest, love can endure
Alike your good will or your ill.
XIV
Aye, she was rich in blood and gold—More rich in love, grown over-bold
34
How warm! Oh, not for any cause
Could I declare how warm she was,
In her brown beauty and hair's length.
XV
We loved in the sufficient sun,We lived in elements of fire,
For love is fire, not fierce desire;
Yet lived as pure as priest and nun.
XVI
We lay slow rocking by the bayIn slim canoe beneath the crags
Thick-topp'd with palms, like sweeping flags
Between us and the burning day.
The alligator's head lay low
Or lifted from his rich rank fern,
And watch'd us and the tide by turn,
As we slow cradled to and fro.
XVII
And slow we cradled on till night,And told the old tale, overtold,
As misers in recounting gold
Each time to take a new delight.
XVIII
With her pure passion-given graceShe drew her warm self close to me;
And her two brown hands on my knee,
35
She then grew sad and guessed at ill,
And in the future seemed to see
With woman's ken and prophecy,
Yet proffer'd her devotion still.
XIX
And plaintive so she gave a sign,A token cut of virgin gold,
That all her tribe should ever hold
Its wearer as some one divine,
Nor touch him with unkindly hand.
And I in turn gave her a blade,
A dagger, worn as well by maid
As man, in that hot-temper'd land.
XX
It had a massive silver hilt,It had a keen and cunning blade,
A gift of chief and comrades made
For blood at Rivas reckless spilt.
XXI
“Show this,” said I, “too well 'tis known,And worth a hundred lifted spears,
Should ill beset your sunny years;
There is not one in Walker's band,
But at the sight of this alone,
Will reach a brave and ready hand
And make your right, or wrong, his own.”
36
XXII
Love while 'tis day; night cometh soon,Wherein no man or maiden may;
Love in the strong young prime of day;
Drink drunk with love in ripe red noon,
Red noon of love and life and sun;
Walk in love's light as in sunshine,
Drink in that sun as drinking wine,
Drink swift, nor question any one;
For fortunes change, like man, or moon,
And wane like warm full day of June.
XXIII
Oh Love, so fair of promises,Bend here thy bow, blow here thy kiss,
Bend here thy bow above the storm
But once, if only this once more!
Comes there no patient Christ to save,
Touch and reanimate thy form
Long three days dead and in the grave?
Yea, spread ye now thy silken net;
Since fortunes change, turn and forget,
Since man must fall for some sharp sin,
Be thou the pit that I fall in;
I seek no safer fall than this.
XXIV
You lift your face to ask of her,This wine-hued woman, warm sun-maid,
This wine-hued woman warm as wine,
So purely and so surely mine,
Who loved, who dared, was not afraid—
37
I never knew or sought to know;
I cared not what she might have been;
I only knew she was such queen
As only death could overthrow.
XXV
Aye, lover, would you love with zest,
Win, hold, and hold her fast and well?
Believe, believe the best the best
Though she have singed her skirts in hell!
Hold not one doubt, house just this thought—
That she is all in all you sought.
Win, hold, and hold her fast and well?
Believe, believe the best the best
Though she have singed her skirts in hell!
Hold not one doubt, house just this thought—
That she is all in all you sought.
I loved, loved purely, loved profound,
I raised love's temple, round by round.
I built my temple heavens high,
Then shut the door, and she and I
Forgot all things, all things save one,
Beneath the hot path of the sun.
I raised love's temple, round by round.
I built my temple heavens high,
Then shut the door, and she and I
Forgot all things, all things save one,
Beneath the hot path of the sun.
XXVI
I would I could forget, and yetI would not to my death forget.
I reared my temple to the sky,
That glad full moon, and laughed that I
Could toy with lightning, till I found,
Like some poor fool who toys with fire,
And counts him stronger than desire,
My temple burning to the ground.
38
XXVII
Aye, I had knelt, as priest might kneelBefore his saint's shrine, all that day;
Had dared to count me strong as steel
To stand for aye, clean, tall and white.
Yet I broke in that very night,
And stole shewbread and wine away.
XXVIII
I would forget that scene, that place,I would forget that pleading face,
Yet hide it deepest in my heart,
As coffin in the heart of earth—
Alas! a heart so little worth—
Locked iron doors and somber lid!
Yea, I would have my shrine so hid,
So sacred and so set apart,
That only I might enter in,
Each sleepless, penitential night,
And, kneeling, burn my lorn love light
To burn away my bitter sin.
XXIX
Love lifts on white wings to the gatesOf Paradise and enters in:
Lust has for wings two leaden weights
That sink into the lake of sin.
Lust squats, toad-like, his loathsome cell,
Love seeks the light, on, on, above;
Love is as God, as God is love,
But lust is Lucifer in hell.
39
XXX
Ills come not singly, birds of preyFlock not more closely on than they;
Ill comes disguised in many forms;
Fair winds are but a prophecy
Of foulest winds full soon to be—
The brighter these, the blacker they;
The brightest night has darkest day
And brightest days bring blackest storms.
XXXI
A land-lost sea with sable bredes,Save where some bastions still are seen,
A river stealing through the reeds,
Dark, silent, sinuous, serpentine,
In sullen haste toward the sun—
Such lonesome land, such lonesome sea,
Such wine-hued women at the oar,
In silent pairs along the shore!
But not one man in sight, not one
To draw machete or bear a gun.
XXXII
A shaft of flame, a lifted torch,Leaps sudden from this midland sea,
As if to light the very porch
Of God's high house eternally.
It drops its ashen embers slow
40
On granite columns, gods of stone
Hewn ere the gods of Baal were known.
XXXIII
Some sweet brown hills, like Galilee,Group here or there this dark, still sea,
Some costly woods, mahogany,
Red cedar, like to Lebanon,
Broad olives, like Gethsemane;
But silence sits all things upon,
As in some dark, hushed house of death.
You look behind, you would turn back,
You question if you yet take breath.
The blackness of this silent sea
Is oiled and burnished ebony—
The very silence turns to black.
XXXIV
The silence is as when your deadLies waiting, candles foot and head,
When mourners turn them slowly back
With all their sad, sweet prayers said.
The sea is black, the shore is black
Below Granada's storied steep,
Save where red trumpet blossoms blow
And trumpet, trumpet night and day,
For brave brown soldiers far away
In battle for this dreamful deep
Where silent women come and go.
41
XXXV
Such wine-hued women! such soft eyes!What need one single word be said?
A fool might talk and talk all day,
Talk, talk and talk until he dies,
And yet, for all his hard, loud lies,
Will never make one inch advance,
Will never say, year and a day,
So much as she in one warm glance.
XXXVI
I see sad mothers here and thereSit by and braid their heavy hair,
The while they watch their babes at play.
I note no fear, I hear no sigh,
Not even hear a baby cry;
But Oh! Madonna, mother, bride,
Dark mourning with your ebon tide,
My heart is with you here today,
As yours is with him far away.
XXXVII
Yet is this sea not always so:I've seen him laughing in the sun,
Seen soft brown wavelets leap and flow,
Seen opal dimples come and go,
Seen argent billows rise and run,
Seen fleets of gay boats lifting, borne
Along his leaping, laughing tide
In all their semi-savage pride.
But list! the sea, the shore, is black
42
He mourns because his daughters mourn.
XXXVIII
Yon solitary cone of flameThat lifts mid-sea to light the skies?
I nothing know, scarce know the name,
Of yon lost, buried town that lies
Beneath its ashes, yet I know
The story is, a pretty town,
With people passing up and down,
Lies just beyond, and deep, so deep
That never plummet breaks its sleep.
XXXIX
And, too, the tale is we are deadAnd cast forth unto burning hell,
While they, down there, live, laugh instead;
That with them, down there, all is well,
The while they dance all night, all day—
While we are dead and cast in hell.
XL
Aye, idle talk, and yet the townIs there, and perfect, to this day.
Row out, far out, and peer you down,
A half mile down, some sultry noon,
And see shapes passing up and down,
As dancers dancing to a tune
On some fair, happy day in May.
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XLI
Aye, idle talk, and maybe these,The dancers, be but kelp adrift
With undertow of under-seas—
Strange under-seas that fall or lift
And voiceless ever ebb and flow
Beneath the burning crater's plain
Through unknown channels to the main;
I only note the things I know
And loved and lived long years ago.
XLII
Then came reverses to our arms;I saw the signal light's alarms
All night red-crescenting the bay.
The foe poured down a flood next day
As strong as tides when tides are high,
And drove us to the open sea,
In such wild haste of flight that we
Had hardly time to arm and fly.
XLIII
Far tossed upon the broadest sea,
I lifted my two hands on high,
With wild soul plashing to the sky,
And cried, “O more than crowns to me,
Farewell at last to love and thee!”
I lifted my two hands on high,
With wild soul plashing to the sky,
And cried, “O more than crowns to me,
Farewell at last to love and thee!”
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I walked the deck, I kissed my hand
Back to the far and fading shore,
And bent a knee as to implore,
Until the last dark head of land
Slid down behind the dimpled sea.
At last I sank in troubled sleep,
A very child, rocked by the deep,
Sad questioning the fate of her
Before the cruel conqueror.
Back to the far and fading shore,
And bent a knee as to implore,
Until the last dark head of land
Slid down behind the dimpled sea.
At last I sank in troubled sleep,
A very child, rocked by the deep,
Sad questioning the fate of her
Before the cruel conqueror.
XLIV
The loss of comrades, power, place,A city walled, cool, shaded ways,
Cost me no care at all, somehow,
I only saw her sad, sweet face,
And—I was younger then than now.
XLV
Red flashed the sun across the deck,Slow flapped the idle sail, and slow
The black ship cradled to and fro.
Afar my city lay, a speck
Of white against a line of blue;
Hard by, half-lounging on the deck,
Some comrades chatted, two by two.
I held a new-filled glass of wine,
And with the Mate talked as in play
Of fierce events of yesterday,
To coax his light life into mine.
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XLVI
He jerked the wheel, as slow he said,Low laughing with averted head,
And so half sad: “You bet, they'll fight;
They followed in canim, canoe,
A perfect fleet, that on the blue
Lay dancing till the mid of night.
Would you believe! one little cuss—”
(He turned his hard head slow sidewise
And 'neath his hat-rim took the skies)—
“In petticoats did follow us
The livelong night, and at the dawn
Her boat lay rocking in the lee,
Scarce one short pistol-shot from me.”
This said the mate, half mournfully,
Then pecked at us; for he had drawn,
By bright light heart and homely wit,
A knot of men around the wheel,
Which he stood whirling like a reel,
For the still ship reck'd not of it.
XLVII
“And where's she now?” one careless said,With eyes slow lifting to the brine,
Swift swept the instant far by mine,
The bronze mate listed, shook his head,
Spirted a stream of ambier wide
Across and over the ship side,
Jerked at the wheel and slow replied:
“She had a dagger in her hand,
She rose, she raised it, tried to stand,
But fell, and so upset herself;
Yet still the poor brown, pretty elf,
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And lift her form from out the sea,
Would shake a sharp, bright blade at me,
With rich hilt chased a cunning cross.
At last she sank, but still the same
She shook her dagger in the air,
As if to still defy or dare,
And sinking seemed to call your name.”
XLVIII
I let the wine glass crashing fall,I rushed across the deck, and all
The sea I swept and swept again,
With lifted hand, with eye and glass,
But all was idle and in vain.
I saw a red-billed sea bird pass,
A petrel sweeping 'round and 'round,
I heard the far, white sea-surf sound,
But no sign could I hear or see
Of one so more than all to me.
XLIX
I cursed the ship, the shore, the sea,The brave brown mate, the bearded men;
I had a fever then, and then
Ship, shore and sea were one to me:
And weeks we on the dead waves lay,
And I more truly dead than they.
L
At last some rested on an isle;The few strong-breasted, with a smile,
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Scarce counting of the pain or cost,
Scarce recking if they won or lost;
They sought but action, asked no more;
They counted life but as a game,
With full per cent against them, and
Staked all upon a single hand,
And lost or won, content the same.
LI
I never saw my chief again,I never sought again the shore,
Or saw the wood-walled city more.
I could not bear the more than pain
At sight of blossom'd orange trees,
Or blended song of birds and bees,
The sweeping shadows of the palm
Or spicy breath of bay and balm.
LII
And, striving to forget the while,I wandered through a dreary isle,
Here black with juniper, and there
Made white with goats in shaggy coats,
The only things that anywhere
We found with life in all the land,
Save birds that ran, long-bill'd and brown,
Long-legg'd and still as shadows are,
Like dancing shadows, up and down
The sea-rim on the swelt'ring sand.
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LIII
The warm sea laid his dimpled face,With all his white locks smoothed in place,
As if asleep against the land;
Great turtles slept upon his breast,
As thick as eggs in any nest;
I could have touched them with my hand.
LIV
I would some things were dead and hid,Well dead and buried deep as hell,
With recollection dead as well,
And resurrection God-forbid.
They irk me with their weary spell
Of fascination, eye to eye,
And hot, mesmeric, serpent-hiss,
Through all the dull, eternal days.
Let them turn by, go on their ways,
Let them depart or let me die;
For life is but a beggar's lie,
And as for death, I grin at it;
I do not care one whiff or whit
Whether it be or that or this.
LV
I give my hand; the world is wide;Then farewell, memories of yore!
Between us let strife be no more;
Turn as you choose to either side;
Say Fare-you-well, shake hands and say—
Speak fair, and say with stately grace,
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Farewell, forever and a day!
LVI
O passion-toss'd and piteous past,Part now, part well, part wide apart,
As ever ships on ocean slid
Down, down the sea, hull, sail and mast;
And in the album of your heart
Let hide the pictures of your face,
With other pictures in their place,
Slid over, like a coffin's lid.
LVII
The days and grass grow long together;They now fell short and crisp again,
And all the fair face of the main
Grew dark and wrinkled as the weather.
Through all the summer sun's decline
Fell news of triumphs and defeats,
Of hard advances, hot retreats—
Then days and days and not a line.
LVIII
At last one night they came. I knew,Ere yet the boat had touched the land,
That all was lost; they were so few
I near could count them on one hand;
But he, the leader, led no more.
The proud chief still disdained to fly,
But like one wrecked, clung to the shore,
And struggled on, and struggling fell
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And only left that cell to die.
LIX
My recollection, like a ghost,Goes from this sea to that sea-side,
Goes and returns, as turns the tide,
Then turns again unto the coast.
I know not which I mourn the most,
My chief or my unwedded wife.
The one was as the lordly sun,
To joy in, bask in and admire;
The twilight star was as the one
To love, to look to and desire,
And both a part of my young life.
LX
Years after, sheltered from the sunBeneath a Sacramento bay,
A black Muchacho by me lay
Along the long grass crisp and dun,
His brown mule browsing by his side,
And told with all a Peon's pride
How he once fought; how long and well,
Brave breast to breast, red hand to hand,
Against a foe for his fair land,
And how the fierce invader fell;
And, artless, told me how he died;
How walked he from the prison-wall,
Serene, prince-like, as for parade,
And made no note of man or maid,
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How looked he far, half paused, and then
Above the mottled sea of men
Slow kissed his thin hand to the sun;
Then smiled so proudly none had known
But he was stepping to a throne.
LXI
A nude brown beggar Peon child,Encouraged as the captive smiled,
Looked up, half scared, half pitying;
He stopped, he caught it from the sand,
Put bright coins in its two brown hands,
Then strode on like another king.
LXII
Two deep, a musket's length they stoodAfront, in sandals, grim, and dun
As death and darkness wove in one,
Their thick lips thirsting for his blood.
He took each black hand, one by one,
And, bowing with a patient grace,
Forgave them all and took his place.
LXIII
He bared his broad brow pleasantly,
Gave one long, last look to the sky,
The white-winged clouds that hurried by,
The olive hills in orange hue;
A last list to the cockatoo
That hung by beak from mango-bough
Hard by and hung and cried as though
He never was to call again,
Hung all red-crowned and robed in green,
With belts of gold and blue between.—
Gave one long, last look to the sky,
The white-winged clouds that hurried by,
The olive hills in orange hue;
A last list to the cockatoo
That hung by beak from mango-bough
Hard by and hung and cried as though
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Hung all red-crowned and robed in green,
With belts of gold and blue between.—
A bow, a touch of heart, a pall
Of purple smoke, a crash, a thud,
A warrior's raiment rolled in blood,
A face in dust and—that was all.
Of purple smoke, a crash, a thud,
A warrior's raiment rolled in blood,
A face in dust and—that was all.
Success had made him more than king;
Defeat made him the vilest thing
In name, contempt or hate can bring;
So much the leaden dice of war
Do make or mar of character.
Defeat made him the vilest thing
In name, contempt or hate can bring;
So much the leaden dice of war
Do make or mar of character.
LXIV
Speak ill who will of him, he diedIn all disgrace, say of the dead
His heart was black, his hands were red—
Say this much and be satisfied;
Gloat over it all undenied.
I simply say he was my friend
When strong of hand and fair of fame:
Dead and disgraced, I stand the same
To him, and so shall to the end.
LXV
I lay this crude wreath on his dust,Inwove with sad, sweet memories
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I leave the wild bird with his trust,
To sing and say him nothing wrong;
I wake no rivalry of song.
LXVI
He lies low in the level'd sand,Unshelter'd from the tropic sun,
And now, of all he knew, not one
Will speak him fair in that far land.
Perhaps 'twas this that made me seek,
Disguised, his grave one winter-tide,
A weakness for the weaker side,
A siding with the helpless weak.
LXVII
His warm Hondurian seas are warm,Warm to the heart, warm all the time;
Huge sea-beasts wallow in their slime
And slide, claw foot and serpent form,
Slow down the bank, and bellow deep
And pitiful, as if it were
A very pain to even stir,
So close akin to death they keep.
LXVIII
The low sea bank is worn and torn,All things seem old, so very old;
All things are gray with moss and mould,
The very seas seem old and worn.
Life scarce bides here in any form,
The very winds wake not nor say,
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Nor even dream of stress or storm.
LXIX
The Carib sea comes in so slow!It stays and stays, as loth to go,
A sense of death is in the air,
A sense of listless, dull despair,
As if Truxillo, land and tide,
And all things, died when Walker died.
LXX
A palm not far held out a hand,Hard by a long green bamboo swung,
And bent like some great bow unstrung,
And quiver'd like a willow wand;
Perched on its fruits that crooked hang,
Beneath a broad banana's leaf,
A bird in rainbow splendor sang
A low, sad song of temper'd grief.
LXXI
No sod, no sign, no cross nor stoneBut at his side a cactus green
Upheld its lances long and keen;
It stood in sacred sands alone,
Flat-palmed and fierce with lifted spears;
One bloom of crimson crowned its head,
A drop of blood, so bright, so red,
Yet redolent as roses' tears.
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LXXII
In my left hand I held a shell,All rosy-lipp'd and pearly red;
I laid it by his lowly bed,
For he did love so passing well
The grand songs of his solemn sea.
O shell! sing well, wild, with a will,
When storms blow loud and birds be still,
The wildest sea-song known to thee!
LXXIII
I said some things with folded hands,Soft whisper'd in the dim sea-sound,
And eyes held humbly to the ground,
And frail knees sunken in the sands.
He had done more than this for me,
And yet I could not well do more;
I turned me down the olive shore,
And set a sad face to the sea.
General William Walker, citizen, soldier, president and historian of Nicaragua, was born in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1824, of Scotch ancestry, and educated at a university in Paris, after which he studied international law in London. He voyaged to California in 1850 and, after some experience in the gold mines and gathering many bold men about him he became editor of the San Francisco Herald and began to publish his plans to his followers. He made two bold attempts to establish a settlement in Baja California, but was twice driven out by the Mexicans. Returning to California he raised a company and sailed for Nicaragua. War had been raging there for a long time between the aristocrats, or church party, of Granada, and the Democrats of Leon, to the north. Americans as well as British were fighting on both sides.
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Colonel Doubleday, whose book on the subject is worth reading, was in the field long before Walker, who went into the country by special invitation from the president of the Democrats, whose capital was at Leon. Here, Doubleday, an English man by birth, joined Walker and, so far as he could, kept at his side to the end.
Doubleday says Walker was ambitious, and that in many quiet walks along the silvery beach of Lake Nicaragua he told him of vast plans of conquest, to include Honduras, Mexico and all Central America. And yet, Doubleday, in this same book, tells us that Walker was morose, reserved and had no confidants.
True, these accusations were made and published broadcast over the world right along and were not denied; but from Colonel Doubleday's own account of Walker's character he would certainly be the last man to tell the Colonel, or any one else, of any such fatal purpose. I know that I never heard a hint of it from him or any one near him. Still, we must ascribe his downfall to these stories; for he had hardly been seated in the Presidential chair when he found not only the Church party of his own adopted country against him but every little neighboring republic in arms to expel him.
After fearful fighting at Granada, Walker, shut up in Rivas, surrendered to the United States and was taken to New Orleans for trial, his men going whither they would or could.
He now published an elaborate book, giving the wealth and wonderful resources of the country and, at the same time, giving every detail of the war, under the title of The War in Nicaragua. It is written in the third person, like the books of the first Cæsar, and is as conservative and exact as an equation.
He was tried in New Orleans and, on his vindication, raised in that city and Mobile a force far exceeding that with which he had left California and with which he had fought his way to the presidency; but his Californians were dead or scattered, and these untried men of enervating cities knew little of arms and were, comparatively, worthless.
Walker's last expedition was closely watched by British gunboats. He took refuge up a river on the coast of Honduras and soon found himself cut off on all sides. He led his men up the coast and down, facing fifty to one, as at Rivas and Granada, but they soon became disheartened and he surrendered to the captain of a British man-of-war, who at once turned him over to Honduras, when he was promptly tried at the drum's head, condemned and shot.
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General Walker was the cleanest man in word and deed I ever knew. He never used tobacco in any form, never drank anything at all, except water, and always ate most sparingly. He never jested and I cannot recall that I ever saw him smile. He was very thin of flesh and of most impressive presence, especially when on the firing line. At such times he was simply terrible; his gray eyes expanding and glittering like broken steel with the rage of battle. He was, in the eyes of his devoted Californians, truly “The bravest of the brave.” The manner of his death showed not only the true courage but the serene Christian peace and dignity of this “gray-eyed man of destiny.”
The priest who attended him in his last moments told me that Walker had no sooner been put in prison than he sent for his spiritual adviser. He knew his fate beforehand.
“Father, my political career is ended and I wish to prepare to die.”
And even as he spoke to the priest an officer with a platoon of executioners entered the prison to inform him that he was sentenced to be shot. Walker had disdained to make any show of defense for himself, but begged to the last moment that his followers should not be made to suffer. “My men knew nothing of my sudden resolve to reach Nicaragua by way of Truxillo when I found I could not escape the British gunboat. I alone am to blame. I was wrong in making war upon Honduras.”
His dress, language and bearing were those of a clergyman, when not on the firing line, and his whole time was spent in reading. He never wasted a moment in idle talk, never took advice but always gave commands, and they must be obeyed. On entering a town he, as a rule, issued a proclamation making death the penalty alike for insulting a woman, for theft or for entering a church save as a Christian should. He lived and died a devout Catholic.
[OMITTED]
“If you will open my heart when I am dead you will see Calais burned there; burned in the very heart of my heart.”
I have no warrant for saying that plans for the Nicaraguan canal crowded in upon the last moments of General Walker, for I was not with him in this last expedition, but I know that this one colossal idea towered over, and high above, all his other plans from the first, and even after his surrender to Lieutenant
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I am quite certain, however, that General Walker proposed to bring out many ship loads of the strong Celt, Saxon, and North Sea people to do the work, serve as soldiers and then help populate and civilize the richest and most favored spot of all this earth. I remember how carefully he noted that the health of his men, who were made to take care of themselves, was so much better than that of the native soldiers, who ate and drank, when they ate at all, whatever came to hand. Indeed, it would seem as if we were once miraculously saved from annihilation by breaking out of cholera in the enemy's camp, not ten miles distant.
The first real work towards the trans-continental canal was done by George Squier, our Minister to Peru; seconded by Stevens, another learned, able, and enterprising engineer. Five different routes were surveyed, or at least shown to be possible.
The first chapters in the story of the great canal, after these two able men had done their work and gone their ways, are far from complimentary to either the wisdom or the worth of most of those concerned.
At last the French took hold of the idea, but a treacherous Nicaraguan, high in authority, was bribed and to the consternation and disgust of all who knew anything about the resources and glory of Nicaragua, Panama was preferred. Of course America will now soon complete it. But we must do more than complete the Panama Canal.
As a dying queen proffered millions of money for a moment
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But there is something more than time and trade in the proposition. The world is learning at last to say with Socrates, “Know thyself”: the world wants to see the world and to see it at its best and to see it in its sublimest aspect and place. And the one sublimest place on the face of the earth is the mountains, the forests and the inland seas of Nicaragua. The five mountains of eternal fires beyond Leon, the gleaming, bottomless and flower-hung lakes, the sinuous and forest-swept rivers, the rainbow birds, monstrous reptiles of land and sea, blossoming trees heavy with perfume where mountains of snow and of flame look down on you as you sail by—these the world will see and know at whatever cost, as it comes to its own and comes to know itself. There is grandeur of scene in Canada as you glide by over the iron spans; but it is monotonously grand and cold and lifeless. The gleaming snow peaks of the Oregon Sierra, with their verdant fields, lowing herds and responsive human life, make a good second, but these two most favored parts of scenery under the northern path of the sun are so entirely surpassed by the endless summers in Nicaragua as to make any sort of comparison quite impossible. And so it results that the civilized and seeing world must and will pass that way, as surely as the crowding and ever-conquering battleships of commerce must and will lead that way.
If the Panama route proves to be a success, the Nicaragua route will be at once begun. If it proves a failure, this Nicaraguan route must and will be at once pushed to conclusion.
And who will build it? England? France? Germany? Russia? Japan? It matters not which of the three or four or five. But Russia, with her millions of money and men and her burning jealousy of the Island Empire, might try to build it; or even Japan with her brave ambition and steel-built walls. And we could and would plead the Monroe Doctrine and fight any one or all of them? We could and would do nothing of the sort. There is a precedent to the contrary. We allowed France to embark in the costly venture and we could not now refuse a like courtesy to any other nation, even if we would. Besides, this Monroe Doctrine is a chain of “glittering generalities” which
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Then since by earthquakes, sudden floods, tidal waves and uncertain sea levels we may fail at Panama and so tempt some foreign power to invade Nicaragua, and since our success would be a tenfold temptation, what should we do but at once secure the right of way to ourselves, from Nicaragua, and so insure peace and prosperity to all before other nations step in. Cast bread on the waters here and it will surely return an hundred-fold. When we were building the first Pacific railroad no one ever dreamed we would need a second one. But we are building others right along. We must control the second Darien Canal.
A great canal must and will be built across Nicaragua. And we this great republic, with its millions and billions, must build it. We have more than a right. We have a Duty!
Nicaragua is a healthy country. The water is good, the wood abundant and the people industrious, able and willing to do all the work, so there need be no loss of time or great loss of life in its construction.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |