And I loved gold. What else could I Or you, or any earnest one Born in this getting age have done?
"With this one lesson taught from youth, And ever taught us, to get gold,-- To get and hold, and ever hold,-- What else could I have done, forsooth?
"She, seeing how I sought for gold,-- This girl, my wife, one late night told Of treasures hidden close at hand, In her dead father"s mellow land:
"Of gold she helped her brothers hide Beneath a broad banana tree, The day the two in battle died,-- The night she dying fled to me.
"It seemed too good; I laughed to scorn Her trustful tale. She answered not; But meekly on the morrow morn Two ma.s.sive bags of bright gold brought.
"And when she brought this gold to me, Red Creole gold, rich, rare, and old,-- When I at last had gold, sweet gold, I cried in very ecstasy!
"Red gold! rich gold! two bags of gold!
The two stout bags of gold she brought And gave with scarce a second thought,-- Why, her two hands could hardly hold!
"Now I had gold! two bags of gold!
Two wings of gold to fly, and fly The wide world"s girth; red gold to hold Against my heart for aye and aye!
"My country"s lesson: "Gold! get gold!"
I learned it well in land of snow; And what can glow, so brightly glow, Long winter nights of Northern cold?
"Ay, now at last, at last I had The one thing, all fair things above My land had taught me most to love!
A miser now! and I grew mad.
"With those two bags of gold my own, I then began to plan that night For flight, for far and sudden flight,-- For flight; and, too, for flight alone.
"I feared! I feared! My heart grew cold,-- Some one might claim this gold of me!
I feared her,--feared her purity, Feared all things but my bags of gold.
"I grew to hate her face, her creed,-- That face the fairest ever yet That bowed o"er holy cross or bead, Or yet was in G.o.d"s image set.
"I fled,--nay, not so knavish low As you have fancied, did I fly; I sought her at that shrine, and I Told her full frankly I should go.
"I stood a giant in my power,-- And did she question or dispute?
I stood a savage, selfish brute,-- She bowed her head, a lily-flower.
"And when I sudden turned to go, And told her I should come no more, She bowed her head so low, so low, Her vast black hair fell pouring o"er.
"And that was all; her splendid face Was mantled from me, and her night Of hair half hid her from my sight As she fell moaning in her place.
"And there, "mid her dark night of hair, She sobbed, low moaning through her tears, That she would wait, wait all the years,-- Would wait and pray in her despair.
"Nay, did not murmur, not deny,-- She did not cross me one sweet word!
I turned and fled: I thought I heard A night-bird"s piercing low death-cry!"
THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER.
PART II.
How soft this moonlight of the South!
How sweet my South in soft moonlight!
I want to kiss her warm sweet mouth As she lies sleeping here to-night.
How still! I do not hear a mouse.
I see some bursting buds appear; I hear G.o.d in His garden,--hear Him trim some flowers for His house.
I hear some singing stars; the mouth Of my vast river sings and sings, And pipes on reeds of pleasant things,-- Of splendid promise for my South:
My great South-woman, soon to rise And tiptoe up and loose her hair; Tiptoe, and take from all the skies G.o.d"s stars and glorious moon to wear!
I.
The poet shall create or kill, Bid heroes live, bid braggarts die.
I look against a lurid sky,-- My silent South lies proudly still.
The lurid light of burning lands Still climbs to G.o.d"s house overhead; Mute women wring white withered hands; Their eyes are red, their skies are red.
Poor man! still boast your bitter wars!
Still burn and burn, and burning die.
But G.o.d"s white finger spins the stars In calm dominion of the sky.
And not one ray of light the less Comes down to bid the gra.s.ses spring; No drop of dew nor anything Shall fail for all your bitterness.
The land that nursed a nation"s youth, Ye burned it, sacked it, sapped it dry.
Ye gave it falsehoods for its truth, And fame was fashioned from a lie.
If man grows large, is G.o.d the less?
The moon shall rise and set the same, The great sun spill his splendid flame And clothe the world in queenliness.
And from that very soil ye trod Some large-souled seeing youth shall come Some day, and he shall not be dumb Before the awful court of G.o.d.
II.
The weary moon had turned away, The far North-Star was turning pale To hear the stranger"s boastful tale Of blood and flame that battle day.
And yet again the two men glared, Close face to face above that tomb; Each seemed as jealous of the room The other eager waiting shared.
Again the man began to say,-- As taking up some broken thread, As talking to the patient dead,-- The Creole was as still as they:
"That night we burned yon gra.s.s-grown town,-- The gra.s.ses, vines are reaching up; The ruins they are reaching down, As sun-browned soldiers when they sup.
"I knew her,--knew her constancy.
She said, this night of every year She here would come, and kneeling here, Would pray the live-long night for me.