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قراءة كتاب The Ship in the Desert
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 6
class="line">Could we as willing clip the wings
Of cruel tales as pleasant things,
How sweet 'twould then be to believe,
How good 'twould then be to be good.
VIII.
The squirrels chatter'd in the leaves,
The turkeys call'd from pawpaw wood,
The deer with lifted nostrils stood,
And humming-birds did wind and weave,
Swim round about, dart in and out,
Through fragrant forest edge made red,
Made many-colour'd overhead
By climbing blossoms sweet with bee
And yellow rose of Cherokee.
Then frosts came by and touch'd the leaves,
Then time hung ices on the eaves,
Then cushion snows possess'd the ground,
And so the seasons kept their round;
Yet still old Morgan went and came
From cabin door to forest dim,
Through golden Indian-summer days,
Hung round in soft September haze,
And no man cross'd or question'd him.
Nay, there was that in his stern air
That held e'en these rude men aloof:
None came to share the broad-built roof
That rose so fortress-like beside
The angry, rushing, sullen tide,
And only black men gather'd there,
The old man's slaves, in dull content,
Black, silent, and obedient.
Then men push'd westward through his wood,
His wild beasts fled, and now he stood
Confronting men. He had endear'd
No man, but still he went and came
Apart, and shook his beard and strode
His ways alone, and bore his load,
Then men grew busy with a name
That no man loved, that many fear'd,
And cowards stoop'd, and cast a stone,
As at some statue overthrown.
Some said a pirate blown by night
From isles of calm Caribbean land,
Who left his comrades; that he fled
With many prices on his head,
And that he bore in his hot flight
The gather'd treasure of his band,
In bloody and unholy hand.
Then some did say a privateer,
Then others, that he fled from fear,
And climb'd the mad Missouri far,
To where the friendly forests are;
And that his illy-gotten gold
Lay sunken in his black boat's hold.
Then others, watching his fair bride,
Some said, a stolen bride was she,
And that his strong arm in the strife
Was red with her own brother's life,
And that her lover from the sea
Lay waiting for his chosen wife,
And that a day of reckoning
Lay waiting for this grizzled king.
O sweet child-face, that ever gazed
From out the wood and down the wave!
O eyes, that never once were raised!
O mouth, that never murmur gave!
IX.
O dark-eyed Ina! All the years
Brought her but solitude and tears.
Lo! ever looking out she stood
Adown the wave, adown the wood,
Adown the strong stream to the south,
Sad-faced, and sorrowful. Her mouth
Push'd out so pitiful. Her eyes
Fill'd full of sorrow and surprise.
Men say that looking from her place
A love would sometimes light her face,
As if sweet recollections stirr'd
Her heart and broke its loneliness,
Like far sweet songs that come to us,
So far, so faint, they fill the air,
A fragrance filling anywhere.
And wasting all her summer years
That utter'd only through her tears,
The seasons went, and still she stood
For ever watching down the wood.
Yet in her heart there held a strife
With all this wasting of sweet life
That none who have not lived and died,
Held up the two hands crucified
Between the ways on either hand,
Can look upon or understand.
The blackest rain-clouds muffle fire:
Between a duty and desire
There lies no middle way or land:
Take thou the right or the left hand,
And so pursue, nor hesitate
In helpless indecisions lie
The rocks on which we strike and die.
'Twere better far to choose the worst
Of all life's ways than to be cursed
With indecision. Turn and choose
Your way, then all the world refuse.
And men who saw her still do say
That never once her lips were heard,
By gloaming dusk or shining day,
To utter or pronounce one word.
Men went and came, and still she stood
In silence watching down the wood.
Yea, still she stood and look'd away,
By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day,
Adown the wood beyond the land,
Her hollow face upon her hand,
Her black, abundant hair all down