Part 4

Old, hoar, and dried-up sea! so old! So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold! Yea, thou art old and hoary white With time, and ruin of all things; And on thy lonesome borders night Sits brooding as with wounded wings.

The winds that toss'd thy waves and blew Across thy breast the blowing sail, And cheer'd the hearts of cheering crew From farther seas, no more prevail.

Thy white-wall'd cities all lie prone, With but a pyramid, a stone, Set head and foot in sands to tell The tired stranger where they fell.

The patient ox that bended low His neck, and drew slow up and down Thy thousand freights through rock-built town Is now the free-born buffalo.

No longer of the timid fold, The mountain sheep leaps free and bold His high-built summit and looks down From battlements of buried town.

Thine ancient steeds know not the rein; They lord the land; they come, they go At will; they laugh at man; they blow A cloud of black steeds o'er the plain.

Thy monuments lie buried now, The ashes whiten on thy brow, The winds, the waves, have drawn away, The very wild man dreads to stay.

O! thou art very old. I lay, Made dumb with awe and wonderment, Beneath a palm before my tent, With idle and discouraged hands, Not many days agone, on sands Of awful, silent Africa.

Long gazing on her mighty shades, I did recall a semblance there Of thee. I mused where story fades From her dark brow and found her fair.

A slave, and old, within her veins There runs that warm, forbidden blood That no man dares to dignify In elevated song.

The chains That held her race but yesterday Hold still the hands of men. Forbid Is Ethiop.

The turbid flood Of prejudice lies stagnant still, And all the world is tainted. Will And wit lie broken as a lance Against the brazen mailed face Of old opinion.

None advance Steel-clad and glad to the attack, With trumpet and with song. Look back! Beneath yon pyramids lie hid The histories of her great race. Old Nilus rolls right sullen by, With all his secrets.

Who shall say: My father rear'd a pyramid; My brother clipp'd the dragon's wings; My mother was Semiramis? Yea, harps strike idly out of place; Men sing of savage Saxon kings New-born and known but yesterday, And Norman blood presumes to say....

Nay, ye who boast ancestral name And vaunt deeds dignified by time Must not despise her. Who hath worn Since time began a face that is So all-enduring, old like this-- A face like Africa's? Behold! The Sphinx is Africa. The bond Of silence is upon her. Old And white with tombs, and rent and shorn; With raiment wet with tears, and torn, And trampled on, yet all untamed; All naked now, yet not ashamed,-- The mistress of the young world's prime, Whose obelisks still laugh at Time, And lift to heaven her fair name, Sleeps satisfied upon her fame.

Beyond the Sphinx, and still beyond, Beyond the tawny desert-tomb Of Time; beyond tradition, loom And lift ghostlike from out the gloom Her thousand cities, battle-torn And gray with story and with time. Her very ruins are sublime, Her thrones with mosses overborne Make velvets for the feet of Time.

She points a hand and cries: "Go read The letter'd obelisks that lord Old Rome, and know my name and deed. My archives these, and plunder'd when I had grown weary of all men." We turn to these; we cry: "Abhorr'd Old Sphinx, behold, we cannot read!"

And yet my dried-up desert sea Was populous with blowing sail, And set with city, white-wall'd town, All mann'd with armies bright with mail, Ere yet that awful Sphinx sat down To gaze into eternity, Or Egypt knew her natal hour, Or Africa had name or power.

XXIII.

Away upon the sandy seas, The gleaming, burning, boundless plain. How solemn-like, how still, as when The mighty-minded Genoese Drew three tall ships and led his men From land they might not meet again.

The black men rode in front by two, The fair one follow'd close, and kept Her face held down as if she wept; But Morgan kept the rear, and threw His flowing, swaying beard aback Anon along their lonesome track.

They rode against the level sun, And spake not he or any one.

The weary day fell down to rest, A star upon his mantled breast, Ere scarce the sun fell out of space, And Venus glimmer'd in his place.

* * * * *

Yea, all the stars shone just as fair, And constellations kept their round, And look'd from out the great profound, And marched, and countermarch'd, and shone Upon that desolation there, Why just the same as if proud man Strode up and down array'd in gold And purple as in days of old, And reckon'd all of his own plan, Or made at least for man alone And man's dominion from a throne.

Yet on push'd Morgan silently, And straight as strong ship on a sea; And ever as he rode there lay To right, to left, and in his way, Strange objects looming in the dark, Some like a mast, or ark, or bark.

And things half hidden in the sand Lay down before them where they pass'd,-- A broken beam, half-buried mast, A spar or bar, such as might be Blown crosswise, tumbled on the strand Of some sail-crowded stormy sea.

XXIV.

All night by moon, by morning star, The still, black men still kept their way; All night till morn, till burning day, Hot Vasques follow'd fast and far.

The sun shot arrows instantly; And men turn'd east against the sun, And men did look and cry, "The sea!" And Morgan look'd, nay, every one Did look, and lift his hand, and shade His brow and look, and look dismay'd.

Lo! looming up before the sun, Before their eyes, yet far away, A ship with many a tall mast lay,-- Lay resting, as if she had run Some splendid race through seas, and won The right to rest in salt flood bay,-- And lay until the level sun Uprose, and then she fell away, As mists melt in the full of day.

Old Morgan lifts his bony hand, He does not speak or make command,-- Short time for wonder, doubt, delay; Dark objects sudden heave in sight As if blown out or born of night. It is enough, they turn; away!

The sun is high, the sands are hot To touch, and all the tawny plain, That glistens white with salt sea sand, Sinks white and open as they tread And trudge, with half-averted head, As if to swallow them amain. They look, as men look back to land When standing out to stormy sea, But still keep face and murmur not; Keep stern and still as destiny, Or iron king of Germany.

It was a sight! A slim dog slid White-mouth'd and still along the sand, The pleading picture of distress. He stopp'd, leap'd up to lick a hand, A hard black hand that sudden chid Him back and check'd his tenderness; But when the black man turn'd his head His poor mute friend had fallen dead.

The very air hung white with heat, And white, and fair, and far away A lifted, shining snow-shaft lay As if to mock their mad retreat.

The white, salt sands beneath their feet Did make the black men loom as grand, From out the lifting, heaving heat, As they rode sternly on and on, As any bronze men in the land That sit their statue steeds upon.

The men were silent as men dead. The sun hung centred overhead, Nor seem'd to move. It molten hung Like some great central burner swung From lofty beams with golden bars In sacristy set round with stars.

XXV.

Why, flame could hardly be more hot; Yet on the mad pursuer came, Across the gleaming yielding ground, Right on, as if he fed on flame, Right on until the mid-day found The man within a pistol-shot.

He hail'd, but Morgan answer'd not, He hail'd, then came a feeble shot, And strangely, in that vastness there, It seem'd to scarcely fret the air, But fell down harmless anywhere.

He fiercely hail'd; and then there fell A horse. And then a man fell down, And in the sea-sand seem'd to drown. Then Vasques cursed, but scarce could tell The sound of his own voice, and all In mad confusion seem'd to fall.

Yet on push'd Morgan, silent on, And as he rode he lean'd and drew, From his catenas, gold, and threw The bright coins in the glaring sun. But Vasques did not heed a whit, He scarcely deign'd to scowl at it.

Again lean'd Morgan! He uprose, And held a high hand to his foes, And held two goblets up, and one Did shine as if itself a sun.

Then leaning backward from his place, He hurl'd them in his foemen's face, Then drew again, and so kept on, Till goblets, gold, and all were gone.

Yea, strew'd them out upon the sands As men upon a frosty morn, In Mississippi's fertile lands, Hurl out great, yellow ears of corn To hungry swine with hurried hands.

XXVI.

Lo! still hot Vasques urges on, With flashing eye and flushing cheek. What would he have? what does he seek? He does not heed the gold a whit, He does not deign to look at it; But now his gleaming steel is drawn, And now he leans, would hail again,-- He opes his swollen lips in vain.

But look you! See! A lifted hand, And Vasques beckons his command. He cannot speak, he leans, and he Bends low upon his saddle-bow. And now his blade drops to his knee, And now he falters, now comes on, And now his head is bended low; And now his rein, his steel, is gone; Now faint as any child is he, And now his steed sinks to the knee.

XXVII.

The sun hung molten in mid space, Like some great star fix'd in its place. From out the gleaming spaces rose A sheen of gossamer and danced, As Morgan slow and still advanced Before his far-receding foes.

Right on and on the still black line Drove straight through gleaming sand and shine, By spar and beam and mast and stray, And waif of sea and cast-away.

The far peaks faded from their sight, The mountain walls fell down like night, And nothing now was to be seen Save but the dim sun hung in sheen Of fairy garments all blood-red,-- The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead.

A black man tumbled from his steed. He clutch'd in death the moving sands. He caught the round earth in his hands, He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim.... The great sad mother did not heed His hold, but pass'd right on from him, And ere he died grew far and dim.

XXVIII.

The sun seem'd broken loose at last, And settled slowly to the west, Half hidden as he fell a-rest, Yet, like the flying Parthian, cast His keenest arrows as he pass'd.

On, on, the black men slowly drew Their length, like some great serpent through The sands, and left a hollow'd groove: They march'd, they scarcely seem'd to move. How patient in their muffled tread! How like the dead march of the dead!

At last the slow black line was check'd, An instant only; now again It moved, it falter'd now, and now It settled in its sandy bed, And steeds stood rooted to the plain. Then all stood still, and men somehow Look'd down and with averted head; Look'd down, nor dared look up, nor reck'd Of any thing, of ill or good, But bowed and stricken still they stood.

Like some brave band that dared the fierce And bristled steel of gather'd host, These daring men had dared to pierce This awful vastness, dead and gray. And now at last brought well at bay They stood,--but each stood to his post; Each man an unencompassed host.

Then one dismounted, waved a hand, 'Twas Morgan's stern and still command. There fell a clash, like loosen'd chain, And men dismounting loosed the rein.

Then every steed stood loosed and free; And some stepp'd slow and mute aside, And some sank to the sands and died, And some stood still as shadows be, And men stood gazing silently.

XXIX.

Old Morgan turn'd and raised his hand, And laid it level with his eyes, And look'd far back along the land. He saw a dark dust still uprise, Still surely tend to where he lay. He did not curse, he did not say, He did not even look surprise, But silent turned to her his eyes.

Nay, he was over-gentle now, He wiped a time his Titan brow, Then sought dark Ina in her place, Put out his arms, put down his face And look'd in hers.

She reach'd her hands, She lean'd, she fell upon his breast; He reach'd his arms around; she lay As lies a bird in leafy nest. And he look'd out across the sands, And then his face fell down, he smiled, And softly said, "My child, my child!" Then bent his head and strode away.

And as he strode he turn'd his head, He sidewise cast his brief commands; He led right on across the sands. They rose and follow'd where he led.

XXX.

'Twas so like night, the sun was dim, Some black men settled down to rest, But none made murmur or request. The dead were dead, and that were best; The living leaning follow'd him, In huddled heaps, half nude, and grim.

The day through high mid-heaven rode Across the sky, the dim red day; Awest the warlike day-god strode With shoulder'd shield away, away.

The savage, warlike day bent low, As reapers bend in gathering grain, As archer bending bends yew bow, And flush'd and fretted as in pain.

Then down his shoulder slid his shield, So huge, so awful, so blood-red And batter'd as from battle-field: It settled, sunk to his left hand, Sunk down and down, it touch'd the sand, Then day along the land lay dead, Without one candle at his head.

XXXI.

And now the moon wheel'd white and vast, A round, unbroken, marbled moon, And touch'd the far bright buttes of snow, Then climb'd their shoulders over soon; And there she seem'd to sit at last, To hang, to hover there, to grow, Grow vaster than vast peaks of snow.

Grow whiter than the snow's own breast, Grow softer than September's noon, Until the snow-peaks seem'd at best But one wide, shining, shatter'd moon.

She sat the battlements of time; She shone in mail of frost and rime, A time, and then rose up and stood In heaven in sad widowhood.

* * * * *

The faded moon fell wearily, And then the sun right suddenly Rose up full arm'd, and rushing came Across the land like flood of flame.

XXXII.

The sun roll'd on. Lo! hills uprose As push'd against the arching skies,-- As if to meet the timid sun-- Rose sharp from out the sultry dun, Set well with wood, and brier, and rose, And seem'd to hold the free repose Of lands where rocky summits rise, Or unfenced fields of Paradise.

The black men look'd up from the sands Against the dim, uncertain skies, As men that disbelieved their eyes, And would have laugh'd; they wept instead, With shoulders heaved, with bowing head Hid down between their two black hands.

They stood and gazed. Lo! like the call Of spring-time promises, the trees Lean'd from their lifted mountain wall, And stood clear cut against the skies As if they grew in pistol-shot. Yet all the mountains answer'd not, And yet there came no cooling breeze, Nor soothing sense of windy trees.

At last old Morgan, looking through His shaded fingers, let them go, And let his load fall down as dead. He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snow As was his wont, then bowing low, Took up his life, and moaning said, "Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and we Stand blinded in a burning sea."

O sweet deceit when minds despair! O mad deceit of man betray'd! O mother Nature, thou art fair, But thou art false as man or maid.

Yea, many lessons, mother Earth, Have we thy children learn'd of thee In sweet deceit.... The sudden birth Of hope that dies mocks destiny.

O mother Earth, thy promises Are fallen leaves; they lie forgot! Such lessons! How could we learn less? We are but children, blame us not.

XXXIII.

Again they move, but where or how It recks them little, nothing now. Yet Morgan leads them as before, But totters now; he bends, and he Is like a broken ship a-sea,-- A ship that knows not any shore, And knows it shall not anchor more.

Some leaning shadows crooning crept Through desolation, crown'd in dust. And had the mad pursuer kept His path, and cherished his pursuit? There lay no choice. Advance he must: Advance, and eat his ashen fruit.

Yet on and on old Morgan led. His black men totter'd to and fro, A leaning, huddled heap of woe; Then one fell down, then two fell dead; Yet not one moaning word was said.

They made no sign, they said no word, Nor lifted once black, helpless hands; And all the time no sound was heard Save but the dull, dead, muffled tread Of shuffled feet in shining sands.

Again the still moon rose and stood Above the dim, dark belt of wood, Above the buttes, above the snow, And bent a sad, sweet face below.

She reach'd along the level plain Her long, white fingers. Then again She reach'd, she touch'd the snowy sands, Then reach'd far out until she touch'd A heap that lay with doubled hands, Reach'd from its sable self, and clutch'd With death. O tenderly That black, that dead and hollow face Was kiss'd at midnight.... What if I say The long, white moonbeams reaching there, Caressing idle hands of clay, And resting on the wrinkled hair And great lips push'd in sullen pout, Were God's own fingers reaching out From heaven to that lonesome place?

XXXIV.

By waif and stray and cast-away, Such as are seen in seas withdrawn, Old Morgan led in silence on, And sometime lifting up his head To guide his footsteps as he led, He deem'd he saw a great ship lay Her keel along the sea-wash'd sand, As with her captain's old command.

* * * * *

The stars were seal'd; and then a haze Of gossamer fill'd all the west, So like in Indian summer days, And veil'd all things. And then the moon Grew pale, and faint, and far. She died, And now nor star nor any sign Fell out of heaven. Oversoon Some black men fell. Then at their side Some one sat down to watch, to rest ... To rest, to watch, or what you will, The man sits resting, watching still.

XXXV.

The day glared through the eastern rim Of rocky peaks, as prison bars; With light as dim as distant stars The sultry sunbeams filter'd down Through misty phantoms weird and dim, Through shifting shapes bat-wing'd brown.

Like some vast ruin wrapp'd in flame The sun fell down before them now. Behind them wheel'd white peaks of snow, As they proceeded. Gray and grim And awful objects went and came Before them then. They pierced at last The desert's middle depths, and lo! There loom'd from out the desert vast A lonely ship, well-built and trim, And perfect all in hull and mast.

No storm had stain'd it any whit, No seasons set their teeth in it. Her masts were white as ghosts, and tall; Her decks were as of yesterday. The rains, the elements, and all The moving things that bring decay By fair green lands or fairer seas, Had touch'd not here for centuries.

Lo! date had lost all reckoning, And Time had long forgotten all In this lost land, and no new thing Or old could anywise befall, Or morrows, or a yesterday, For Time went by the other way.

The ages have not any course Across this untrack'd waste. The sky Wears here one blue, unbending hue, The heavens one unchanging mood. The far still stars they filter through The heavens, falling bright and bold Against the sands as beams of gold. The wide, white moon forgets her force; The very sun rides round and high, As if to shun this solitude.

What dreams of gold or conquest drew The oak-built sea-king to these seas, Ere Earth, old Earth, unsatisfied, Rose up and shook man in disgust From off her wearied breast, and threw And smote his cities down, and dried These measured, town-set seas to dust? Who trod these decks? What captain knew The straits that led to lands like these?

Blew south-sea breeze or north-sea breeze? What spiced winds whistled through this sail? What banners stream'd above these seas? And what strange seaman answer'd back To other sea-king's beck and hail, That blew across his foamy track!

Sought Jason here the golden fleece? Came Trojan ship or ships of Greece? Came decks dark-mann'd from sultry Ind, Woo'd here by spacious wooing wind? So like a grand, sweet woman, when A great love moves her soul to men?

Came here strong ships of Solomon In quest of Ophir by Cathay?... Sit down and dream of seas withdrawn, And every sea-breath drawn away.... Sit down, sit down! What is the good That we go on still fashioning Great iron ships or walls of wood, High masts of oak, or any thing?

Lo! all things moving must go by. The sea lies dead. Behold, this land Sits desolate in dust beside His snow-white, seamless shroud of sand; The very clouds have wept and died, And only God is in the sky.

XXXVI.

The sands lay heaved, as heaved by waves, As fashion'd in a thousand graves: And wrecks of storm blown here and there, And dead men scatter'd everywhere; And strangely clad they seem'd to be Just as they sank in that old sea.

The mermaid with her splendid hair Had clung about a wreck's beam there; And sung her song of sweet despair, The time she saw the seas withdrawn And all her home and glory gone:

Had sung her melancholy dirge, Above the last receding surge, And, looking down the rippled tide, Had sung, and with her song had died.

The monsters of the sea lay bound In strange contortions. Coil'd around A mast half heaved above the sand, The great sea-serpent's folds were found, As solid as ship's iron band. And basking in the burning sun There rose the great whale's skeleton.

A thousand sea things stretch'd across Their weary and bewilder'd way: Great unnamed monsters wrinkled lay With sunken eyes and shrunken form. The strong sea-horse that rode the storm With mane as light and white as floss, Lay tangled in his mane of moss.

And anchor, hull, and cast-away, And all things that the miser deep Doth in his darkling locker keep, To right and left around them lay.

Yea, coins lay there on either hand, Lay shining in the silver sand; As plenty in the wide sands lay As stars along the Milky Way.