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قراءة كتاب The Ship in the Desert
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 5
The multitude, the mob, and these
They know not pearls from yellow corn.
Yea, idly sing or silent dreàm;
My harp, my hand is yours, but I—
My soul moves down that sounding stream.
Adieu, dun, mighty stream, adieu!
Adown thine wooded walls, inwrought
With rose of Cherokee and vine,
Was never heard a minstrel's note,
And none would heed a song of mine.
I find expression for my thought
In other themes.... List! I have seen
A grizzly sporting on the green
Of west sierras with a goat,
And finding pastime all day through....
O sounding, swift Missouri, born
Of Rocky Mountains, and begot
Of thunder-storms and elements
That reign where puny man comes not,
With fountain-head in fields of gold,
And wide arms twining wood and wold,
And everlasting snowy tents,—
I hail you from the Orients.
Shall I return to you once more?
Shall take occasion by the throat
And thrill with wild Æolian note?
Shall sit and sing by your deep shore?
Shall shape a reed and pipe of yore
And wake old melodies made new,
And thrill thine leaf-land through and through?
VII.
Then long the long oars idle lay.
The cabin's smoke came forth and curl'd
Right lazily from river brake,
And Time went by the other way.
And who was she, the strong man's pride?
This one fair woman of the world.
A captive? Bride, or not a bride?
Her eyes, men say, grew sad and dim
With watching from the river's rim,
As waiting for some face denied.
And yet she never wept or spake,
Or breath'd his name for her love's sake.
Yea, who was she?—none ever knew.
The great strong river swept around,
The cabins nestled in its bend,
In bevies by. The black men found
Diversion in the chase: and wide
Old Morgan ranged the wood, nor friend,
Nor foeman ever at his side
Or shared his forests deep and dim,
Or cross'd his path or question'd him.
He stood as one who found and named
The middle world. What visions flamed
Athwart the west! What prophecies
Were his, the gray old man, that day
Who stood alone and look'd away,—
Awest from out the waving trees,
Against the utter sundown seas.
Alone oft-time beside the stream
He stood and gazed as in a dream,
As if he knew a life unknown
To those who knew him thus alone.
By shaggy brows, his strength was shorn,
Yet still he ever gazed awest,
As one who would not, could not rest.
And whence came he? and when, and why?
Men question'd men, but nought was known
Save that he roam'd the woods alone,
And lived alone beneath the stir
Of leaves, and letting life go by,
Did look on her and only her.
And had he fled with bloody hand?
Or had he loved some Helen fair,
And battling lost both land and town?
Say, did he see his walls go down,
Then choose from all his treasures there
This love, and seek some other land?
And yet the current of his life
A monk's, for aught that all men knew.
Mostlike the sad man's only sin,
A cruel one, for thought is strife,
Had been the curse of thought all through.
Mayhap his splendid soul had spurn'd
Insipid, sweet society,
That stinks in nostrils of all men
High-born and fearless-souled and free;—
That tasting to satiety
Her hollow sweets he proudly turn'd,
And did rebel and curse her then;
And then did stoop and from the sod
Pluck this one flower for his breast,
Then turn to solitude for rest,
And turn from man in search of God.
And as to that, I reckon it
But right, but Christian-like and just,
To take men as you find your man,
To take a soul from God on trust,
A fit man, or yourself unfit:
To take man free from the control
Of man's opinion: take a soul
In its own troubled world, all fair
As you behold it then and there,
Set naked in your sight, alone,
Unnamed, unheralded, unknown:
Yea, take him bravely from the hand
That reach'd him forth from nothingness,
That took his tired soul to keep
All night, then reach'd him out from sleep
And sat him equal in the land;
Sent out from where the angels are,
A soul new-born, without one whit
Of bought or borrow'd character.