University of Virginia Library

CHANT I

I

II

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 keeps
Calm 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 leads
Far 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;
Who sees white duty over all,
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 sun
Because 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,
And I am joyed that it is his;
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 said
Above 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

XI

What strange, strong, bearded men were these
He 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
As dark as that of cowardice;
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,
And one of Wabash thought, and he
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.

XVIII

I did not question, did not care
To 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!
How wound we through the fragrant wood,
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 beautiful
As 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,
Or sang low hanging overhead—
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.

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 wood
And 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

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,
And from that hour to the end
I never felt the need of friend.

XXX

Far in a wildest quinine wood
We 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,
A Texan drave his Bowie knife
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 door
With 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.
From one vast mount of marble stone
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!