Songs of Far-Away Lands

Front matter

NOW READY, Uniform with this Volume, By the same Author : SONGS OF THE SIERRAS AND SUNLANDS. TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. Revised Edition. SONGS OF FAR-AWAY LANDS. BY tyOAQUIN MILLER, AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF THR SIERRAS," HTC. — where the sun and the moon lay down together and brought forth the stars. LONDON: LONGMANS, GREEN, READER, AND DYER. 1878. CHISWICK PRESS : — C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. TO LORD HOUGHTON. CONTENTS. PAGE UT of the West. Parti 3 Part II. . . . .67 The Ideal and the Real. Part I. . .137 Part II. . .150 Land of the Shoshonee 157 1 A Dove of St. Mark 231 ' Rome .......... 243 « II Capucin . . 244 v Sunrise in Venice ........ 246 1 A Garibaldian's Story ....... 248 -•Sirocco 252 > Como 254 * A Hailstorm in Venice ....... 257 The Poet 258 Lesley Contents. VIII PAGE * To the Lion os St. Mark 26t -Alone ' 266 -The Quest of Love 269 Africa . .- 272 Crossing the Plains 275 The Men of Forty-nine • 27*5 The Heroes of America 279 — Attila's Throne : Torcello 28° - Santa Maria : Torcello . . . ... • ■ 2°S Carmen ......•••• 2°° To the Jersey Lily ........ 2°9 In a Gondola 289 On Rousseau's Isle 29i 1 — Vale !

Lion of St. Mark In a land so far that you wotider whether The God would know it should you fall dead ; In a land so far through the wilds and weather, That the sun falls weary and well nigh sped — That the heaven and earth seem coming together, Seem closing together, as a book that is read; In the nude weird West, where an unnamed river Rolls restless in bed of bright silver and gold ; Wltere white flashing mountains flow rivers of silver, As a rock of the desert flow d fountains of old ; By a dark wooded river that calls to the dawn, And makes mouths at the sea with his dolorous swan : l In t/te land of the wonderful sun and weather, With green underfoot and with gold over liead, Where sinking suns flame, and you wonder whether They be isles of fire in their foamy bed : Where the ends of the earth they are welding together In a rough-hewn fashion, in a forge flame red : Where the plants are as trees; where the trees arc as towers That toy, as it seems, with the stars at night ; Where the roses are forests ; where t/ie wild-wood flowers Are dense unto darkness ; where, reaching for light, They spill in your bosom t lie ir fragrance in showers Like incense spill' d down in some sacrament rite : ' Tis the new-finish'd world ; how silent with wonder Stand all things around you.

No sweet song of bird. No beast that disputes. You wander on under The broad gnarly boughs. You breathe not a word. You inhale the sweet balsam where boughs break asunder, While, fragrant with newness, earth waits for lier lord. The place is scarce finish' d. Yon footfall retreating, It might be the Maker disturb' d at His task. T/te foots all of God or the far pheasant beating, It is one and the same whatever the mask It may wear unto man. The woods keep repeating The old sacred sermons whatever you ask. i The mouth of the Oregon is often white with swans. E Here brown-muzzled cattle co?ne stealthy .to drink, The wild forest cattle, with high horns as trim As the elk at their side. Their sleek necks are slim And alert like tke deer; they come, then they shrink As afraid of their fellows, or of shadow-beasts seen In the deeps of the dark wooded waters of green.

Part I

My brave world-builders of the West ! Why, who doth know ye ? Who shall know But I, that on thy peaks of snow Brake bread the first ? Who loves ye best ? Who holds ye still, of more stern worth Than all proud peoples of the earth? Yea, I, the rhymer of wild rhymes, Indifferent of blame or praise, Still sing of ye, as one who plays The same shrill air in all strange climes — The same wild piercing highland air, Because, because, his heart is there. I. N the beginning — ay, before The six-days' labours were well o'er, Yea, while the world lay incomplete, Or God had open'd quite the door Of this strange land for strong men's feet, There lay against the westmost sea, One weird-wild land of mystery. A far, white wall, like fallen moon, Girt out the world. The forest lay So deep you scarcely saw the day, Save in the high held middle noon : It lay a land of sleep and dreams, And clouds drew through like shoreless streams That stretch to where no man may say.

Men reach'd it only from the sea, By black-built ships that seem'd to creep Along the shore suspiciously, Like unnamed monsters of the deep. It was the weirdest land, I ween, That mortal man has ever seen : A dim, dark land of bird and beast, A land that scarce knew prayer or priest, Or law of man or Nature's law, Or aught that good men ever saw ; Where no fix'd line drew sharp dispute 'Twixt savage man and silent brute. It hath a history most fit For cunning hand to fashion on ; No chronicler hath mention'd it — Book-buccaneer set foot upon. 'Tis of a wild and outlaw'd Don ; A cruel man, with pirate's gold That loaded down his deep ship's hold. A deep ship's hold of plunder'd gold ! The golden cruse, the golden cross, From many a church of Mexico, From Panama's mad overthrow, From many a ransom'd city's loss, From many a foeman stark and cold.

He fled with prices on his head ; He found this wild, west land. He drew His ship to shore. His ruthless crew, Like Romulus, laid hold and wed The half-wild women that had fled, And in their bloody forays bore Red firebrands about the shore. The red men rose at night. They came, A firm, unflinching wall of flame ; They swept, as sweeps some fateful sea O'er land of sand and level shore, And howls in far fierce agony ; The red men swept that deep, dark shore As threshers sweep a threshing-floor. And yet beside the old Don's door They left his daughter as they fled. They spared her life, because she bore Their Chieftain's blood. His gory head On pike was borne away. His gold Was burrow'd from the stout ship's hold, through ; And borne in many a slim canoe, To where ? The grey priest only knew.

Revenge at last came like a tide ; 'Twas sweeping, deep, and terrible ; The Saxon found the land and came To take possession in Christ's name. Steel struck to flint, and fire flew For days ; then all was dark as night. The Saxon's steel was strong and bright, The red man's flint was broken quite. Now, ploughshares plough the fragments They throw a thousand flints to light, And that is all that's left to you. For every white man that had died I think a thousand red men fell ; A gentle custom ; and the land Lay lifeless, as some burn'd-out brand. II. Below a leafy arch as grand As ever bended heaven spann'd Tall trees like mighty columns grew — They loom'd as if to pierce the blue, They reach'd as reaching heaven through A shadow'd stream roll'd dark and slow, Some men moved noiseless to and fro ; As in some vast cathedral when The calm of prayer comes to men.

One trackless wood ; one snowy cone That lifted from the wood alone. A wild, wide river dark and deep, A ship against the shore asleep. An Indian woman crept — a crone, Remote around the camp alone, The relic of her perish'd race. She wore rich, rudely-fashion'd bands Of gold above her bony hands : She hiss'd her curses on the place : Go seek the red man's last retreat ! A lonesome land, the haunted lands, Red mouths of beasts, red men's red hands Did ever it occur to you While ranging unknown forests through, That this same rapt half prophet stands All nude and voiceless, nearer to The awful God than I or you ? A maiden by the river's brink, Stood fair to see as you can think, As tall as tul£s at her feet, As sweet as flowers over-sweet. How beautiful she was ! How wild ! How pure as water-plant, this child — ■y This one wild child of Nature here Grown tall in shadows.

And how near To God, where no man stood between Her eyes and scenes no man hath seen. Stop still, my friend, and do not stir, Shut close your page and think of her. Ay, she was fair and very fair. The rippled rivers of her hair That ran in wondrous waves, somehow Flow'd down divided by her brow, And flooded all her breast of snow In its uncommon fold and flow. A red bird built beneath her roof, The squirrels cross'd her cabin sill And frisking came and went at will. A hermit spider wove his woof And up against the roof did spin A net to catch mosquitoes in. The silly elk, the spotted fawn, And all dumb beasts that came to drink That stealthy stole upon the brink, In that weird while that lies between The drowsy night and noisy dawn, On seeing her familiar face Would fearless stop and stand in place.

Yet in her splendid strength, her eyes, There lay the lightning of the skies ; The love-rage of the lioness, To kill the instant, or caress : A pent-up soul that sometimes grew Impatient ; why she hardly knew. She sometimes sigh'd, then rousing, threw Her strong arms out as if to hand Her great love, sun-born and complete At birth, to some fair high god's feet On some far, fair and unseen land. And when the priest, her only friend, The hairy, hated Spanish priest, By Saxon shunn'd as some wild beast, Would tell of cities and intend Instruction, she would lean, would rise, And all the glory of her eyes Would fill the humble home, and she Would clasp her hands, and at his knee Compel long tales of stormy life, Of love, of hate, of social strife And conquest, till the proud girl grew Far wiser than the good priest knew.

Now all men hated him. They said His hands were red with human blood. They said he ofttimes in the flood Plunged in, yet still his hands were red. He seem'd so utterly cast out That woodmen, meeting, did dispute And seem to hold in lusty doubt If he, so hairy-clad and mute, Was more than some misshapen brute. Mostlike they hated him because Adora loved him ; that she drew From him deep knowledge of the laws Of God and man, and therefore grew Beyond their tallest growth, and stood The one fair flower of the wood. Brown woodmen came, brawn woodmen Tall hunters from the solitude ; woo'd They saw her face, then stood as tall And kingly as the sons of Saul. But ever prowl'd the grey priest near, And men felt more than mortal fear. None knew just where he dwelt, but — well, Black Mungo mutter'd, " Down in hell."

One twilight, as the priest did stoop And humbly pass a laughing group Of mocking men, one pluck'd his beard, While others peer'd and, leaning, jeer'd. hear He signall'd to the wood. There came, With measured and majestic tread, A great, black beast, with glossy mane, — A broad-foot beast, -with eyes that shone Like sentry stars that stand alone On edge of storms where cyclones reign. He made, men said, some fiendish sign To this huge brute, and pointing to The maid Adora, hasten'd through The dim path, dark with wood and vine, And ere they dared lay hand upon Or stir, the hairy man was gone. They started, terrified. They knew No fear akin to this. They flew To arms, they call'd black Mungo, ran To stout-built cabins, and each man That erst, that oft, had laugh'd at death, Went crouching low with bated breath.

This man commanded beasts, and they Came forth bright-eyed and did obey ! What if the million beasts should come ? The red-mouth'd monsters ? You could Their sheath-knives shiver as with fear ; And hairy lips were white and dumb. How beautiful she was ! Why, she Was inspiration. She was born To walk God's summer-hills at morn, Nor waste her by a wood-dark sea. What wonder, then, her soul's white wings Beat at the bars, like living things ? She ofttime sigh'd, and wander'd through The sea-bound wood, then stopp'd and drew Her hand above her brow, and swept The lonesome sea, and ever kept Her face to sea, as if she knew Some day, some near or distant day, Her destiny should come that way. How pure she was ! How purely fair ! How full of faith, of love and strength ! Her great, proud eyes ! Her great hair's length Her long, strong, tumbled, careless hair, Half curl'd and knotted anywhere, From brow to breast, from cheek to chin, For love to trip and tangle in.

At last a weary sail was seen. It came so slow, so wearily, Came creeping cautious up the sea, As if it crept from out between The half-closed sea and sky that lay Tight wedged together, far away. She watch'd it, woo'd it. She did pray It might not pass her by, but bring Some love, some hate — some anything To break the awful loneliness That like a nightly nightmare lay Upon her proud and pent-up soul, Until it hardly brook'd control. To think of it ! This hairy priest : Then men as rude as ruthless beast : And that was all this great soul knew Of empire she was born unto. O, it was pitiful to see ! Here hung a ripe peach from the tree, And not one man among them all That stood up strong enough, or tall Enough to pluck it ere it fall. The ship crept feebly up the sea, And came — You cannot understand How grand this girl ; how sudden she Had shot to full-grown womanhood : How gracious, yet how tall and grand ; How glorified, yet fresh and free, How human, yet how more than good.

The ship stole slowly, slowly on — If you in Californian dawn, And ample flower time, have seen The Southern rose, like Orient Queen In court extravagance, uphold Her gorgeous self, all suddenly A double handful of heap'd gold, Why you, perhaps, may understand How splendid and how sudden she Shot up beside that westmost sea. The storm-worn ship scarce seem'd to creep From wave to wave. It scarce could keep- How grand my lady stood, how tall ! How proud her presence as she stood Between the vast sea and west wood ! How large and liberal her soul, How confident, how kind to all, How trusting ! how untried the whole Great heart, grand faith, defying fall ! This child was as Madonna to The tawny, brawny, lonely few Who touch'd her hand and knew her soul. She drew them, drew them as the pole Points all things to itself.

She drew Men upward as a moon of spring, High wheeling, vast and bosom full, Half clad in clouds and white as wool, Draws all the strong seas following. And yet she was as sad, as lone As that same moon that leans above And seems to search all heaven through, For one brave love to be her own — For some strong, all-sufficient love To lean upon, to love, to woo — To walk her high, blue world, to seek Some place to rest her pallid cheek. O ! I did know a sad white dove That died for some sufficient love, Some high-born soul with wings to soar ; That stood up equal in his place, That look'd her level in the face, Nor wearied her with leaning o'er, To lift him where she lonely trod In sad delight the hills of God. How slow before the sultry wind That lazy ship from isles or Ind ; How like to Dido by her sea, When reaching arms imploringly, This one fair lady leaning stood Above the sea by belt of wood ! — The breeze sprang up ; the batter'd ship Began to flap his weary wings ; The tall, torn masts began to dip And walk the wave like living things.

She rounded in, she struck the stream, She moved like tall ship in a dream. A captain kept the deck. He stood A Hercules among his men ; And now he watch'd the sea, and then He peer'd as if to pierce the wood, And then he laugh'd in merry mood, As mocking fate, half desperate, And cheer'd his men with ready wit Of reckless sort, as counting it A jolly jest to find at last The land, and all their perils past. He now look'd back, as if pursued, Then swept the shore with glass, as though He fled or fear'd some mortal foe. And yet he jested all the whiles And wreath'd his lifted lips in smiles. Slow sailing up the river's mouth, Slow tacking north and tacking south, He touch'd the steep shore where she stood He touch'd the overhanging wood ; He tack'd his ship, his tall, black mast Touch'd tree-top mosses as he pass'd. Her hands were clasp'd as if in prayer ; Sweet prayer set to silentness ; Her great, white throat uplifted, bare And beautiful.

Her eager face Illumed with love and tenderness, And all her presence was a grace Dark shadow'd in her cloud of hair. He saw. He could not speak. No more With lifted glass he sought the sea ; No more he laugh'd all carelessly ; No more he watch'd the wild, new shore. Now foes might come or friends might fleer He could not speak, he would not stir, He saw but her, he fear'd but her. The biack ship rounded to the shore. She ground against the bank as one With long and weary journey doner That would not rise to journey more.. Yet still the tall, proud captain stood And gazed against that wall of wood. At last he roused him, stepp'd to land, Like some Columbus, and laid hand c On land and fruit, and rested there. And who was he ? And who were they, The few he found that landing day? We do not know.

They did not care. Convenient custom. No man knew His neighbour's creed. Each man began A fair race with his fellow-man, As Christian-like as ancient Jew; As if 'twere some earth-fashion'd heaven Where all who came had been forgiven ; Where each man's oak-ancestral stood Above his head, the native wood. They met, this maiden and this man : He, laughing in the face of fate, Yet proud and resolute and bold. She, coy at first, and mute and cold, Held back and seem'd to hesitate — Half frighten'd at this love that ran Hard gallop, till her hot heart beat Like sounding of swift courser's feet. Two strong streams of a land must run Together surely as the sun Succeeds the moon. Who shall gainsay The gods that reign ? That wisely reign. Love is, love was, shall be again. Like death, inevitable it is — Perchance like death, the dawn of bliss.

Let us then love the perfect day, The twelve o'clock of life, and stop The two hands pointing to the top, And hold them tightly while we may. How beautiful she was ! The walks By wooded ways ; the silent talks Beneath the broad and fragrant bough, The dark, deep wood, the dense, black dell Where scarce a single gold beam fell From out the sun. They rested now On mossy trunk. They wander'd then By paths of beasts, through tall fern fen Where never fell the foot of men. And yet she was as pure and white As angel, and as fearless quite. Of fear, of falsehood, or of shame — She did not even know the name Of doubt, of falsehood or deceit. How firmly set her honest feet By square and compass and the rule Of truth that needs nor creed nor school. And looking in this stranger's eyes, This man that overtopp'd all men Otit of the West. 20 ■> i She heard him tell, in hush'd surprise And pity, of his battles, when He bled for others ; how he fell A prisoner — the prison cell In Californian fortress, and His flight in perils from the land In stolen ship.

Then at his feet She sat, all tenderness and tears ; She bade him rest, put by his fears And rest for ever. This retreat Were surely safe and sweet with peace. Once, springing up, she raised her hand, And cried, " Behold this boundless land Here God has built high freedom's wall, And drawn a line that tyranny Shall not invade. Here fat increase Awaits the gathering. Why strive And stir the thickly-peopled hive, While here all lone the honey tree Droops fragrant and for ever free?" And as she spake, her great arms bare Save when the folds and flow of hair Blew down about them, and her face Upheld to heaven with a grace That shamed man's eloquence, this man Believed he loved her, and the zest Of enterprise and battle's plan He thought to put aside and rest, For ever rest, and deem it best. How beautiful !

How proud and free ! How more than Greek or Tuscan she In full development. Her mouth Was majesty itself. Give me A mouth as warm as summer South — A great, Greek mouth, for through this gate Man first must pass to love's estate. Then you had loved her for her eyes, Their large and melancholy look. — Her mouth ! 'Twas roses gathered from the South, The warm south side of Paradise. Her mouth ! 'twas inspiration. Pride And pity bless'd it side by side. 'Twas large and generous, arch'd out By dimples and a tempting pout ; Playful, proud ; lips ne'er the same, Yet ever warm as wedded flame. She scarcely spoke. All seem'd a dream She would not waken from. She lay All night but waiting for the day When she might see his face and deem This man, with all his perils pass'd, Had found his Lotus-land at last. ■j Then longer walks, then deeper woods, Then tender words, sufficient sweet, In denser, greener solitudes — Sweet, careless ways for careless feet, Sweet talks of Paradise for two, And only two, to watch or woo.

Betime upon the ancient moss With mighty boughs high clang'd across, The man with sweet words, over-sweet, Fell pleading plaintive at her feet. She sat upon a mossy throne, An ancient pine, long ages prone, And overgrown with brown green moss, And many a frail vine twined across. The wood was dark as cavern'd seas, Save where one gold-beam through the trees. Shot down about her throne and shed A still, soft halo round her head. He spoke of love, of boundless love, Of love that knew no other land, Or face, or place, or anything; Of love that, like the wearied dove, Could light nowhere, but kept the wing Till she alone put forth her hand, And so received it in her ark, From outer seas and storm and dark. He clasp'd her hands, fell to his knees, Forgot her hands, climb'd to her hair : The while her two hands clasp'd in prayer, And fair face lifted to the trees.

Her proud breast heaved, her pure, white breast Rose like some sea in its unrest. Her mouth was lifted, as if she Disdain'd the cup of passion he Hard press'd her pouting lips to touch. She sprang up proudly, tall and free ; She stood as some storm-stricken tree ; She stood a tower, tall as when Old Roman mothers suckled men Of old-time truth and taught them such. At last she slow bent down her face, She lean'd, then push'd him back apace, Then caught his eye. Calm, silently Her eyes look'd down into his eyes, As one looks down some mossy well In hope by some sweet chance to tell By image there what fortune lies Before him, and what face shall be The pole-star of his destiny. " And you do love me, Delos ? " She Was trembling as the courser when His thin flank quivers, and his feet Touch velvet on the turf, and he Is all afoam, alert, and fleet As sunlight glancing on the sea And full of triumph before men, "And you do love me, Delos?"

He, From all his baser self withdrawn, Uprose like some great, gather'd sea, Some strong, third wave that thunders on In hollow hoarseness, daring all Resistance that might rise or fall : Then said, " I swear, yea, I do swear By all the peace and love that lies Through upper paths of Paradise, I love. I seem to rise or fall With you. My stormy past is gone, A tale that's told. I shall grow old And die with you. Your blown black hair Shall be my banner in the fight By day, and mantle me by night." " Nay, swear not, Delos ! you do love " — Her arms were wide with welcome. She Stood tall and worthy conquest now, And sweet love sat her lifted brow A diadem. The storm-blown dove Took refuge from the deluged sea Out of tlie West. 25 And her two hands went out for it In eager welcome, warm and fit.

Her proud throat swell'd, her lips were dumb, But all her presence bade him come. Her eyes look'd level in his eyes. They flow'd with love. Her half-pent sighs Were drown'd by his strong, flowing sea Of passion, surging ceaselessly. Pure child of nature, as she was, And lawless lover ; loving him With love that made all pathways dim And difficult where he was not, And knowing only nature's laws That laid hard tribute on desire And tried her as a seven-fold fire — Then marvel not at form forgot. She sigh'd, she bended down her brow, She battled not with nature now. Why should she ? Doth the priest know aught Of sign or holy unction brought From over sea that ever can Make man love maid or maid love man One whit the more, one bit the less, For all his mummeries to bless ? Yea, all his blessing or his ban ?

" I love you, Delos." And her arms Wound round his neck, and all her charms Lay like ripe fruit for gathering. He drown'd his hot face in her hair, He felt her bosom swell. The air Swoon'd sweet with essence of her form. Her breast was warm, her breath was warm. And warm her warm, submissive mouth As summer journey through the South. Her form bent down, a laden bough Of ripest, richest kisses now. And yet do what he dared or might She kept her white soul snowy white. A bright brown nut dropp'd like a star From woody heaven overhead ; A wild beast trumpeting afar Aroused her ere the light had fled. A stray, dead leaf was in her hair — Her long, strong, tumbled storm of hair ; Her eyes seem'd floating anywhere. Her proud development, half bare, And beautiful as chisell'd stone Of famed far Napoli, lean'd there Like some fair Thracian overthrown.

She was not shamed. Her love was high And pure and fair as heaven's blue. Her love was passionate, yet true As upward flame. A stifled sigh And then a flood of tears, and lo ! A sigh that shook her being so It startled Delos where he stood, Like some bow'd monarch of the wood. Her proud face now fell white as wool, Her lips fell pale and pitiful. Her great, proud mouth, a splendid flower Droop'd pale and passionless. Her arms Reach'd out in suppliance. Her charms Like gather'd lilies lay. Until this hour She had been all herself. But now She trusted not herself. Somehow The sighs would come, and come, and come, Though eyes bent down, though lips kept dumb, As seas that beat upon the shore. Her soul was beaten as a shore Is beaten by a storm just o'er That will but beat and beat the more. She did essay to go.

Again She droop'd, a goddess slain. She lay half lounging in a strange surprise, Scarce knowing what she wholly knew. She could not lift her face, her eyes — Her eyes were on the ground. They grew Familiar with the meek-eyed plant, Familiar with the little ant, And other insects as they ran And built their lowly world ; all wise, In perfect carelessness of man. He stood before her, sigh'd, " Alas ! " Look'd down as if to catch her eyes, Recall her soul and bid her rise — Her soul that kept its snowy white, Dare what he dared, do what he might. He spoke. She could not answer him. Her small hand clutch'd a tuft of grass As if she fear'd the world might pass From out her hand, she was so weak. Then lifting, doubtfully and dim, Her brimming eyes — she could not speak For tears that flooded down her cheek.