I @3That man who lives for self alone Lives for the meanest mortal known.@1 I celebrate no man of strife, I eat no bread with blood upon. 'Twere braver far to live unknown, To live alone and die alone Than owe sweet song, aye owe sweet life, Or sweeter fame, to saber drawn. II Wreathe ye who may the victor's bay, Fill book on book with battles, then Fill every public park you may With iron-fashioned fighting men Begirt with blade and cannon ball, With not one woman's plinth mid all. But she who rocks the cradle, she Who croons and rocks all day, all night, And knows no public place or name Makes far the better, braver fight, Deserves a nobler, fairer fame Than all bronze men of historie. The foot that rocks the babe to rest Keeps step, keeps song with singing dawn. The hand that holds the babe to breast Is sceptered as King Solomon. And yet, for all she does, has done, Has not one monument, not one! III And he who guides the good plowshare, Binds golden sheaves, unnamed, unknown, Who harvests what his hand hath sown, Does more for God, for man, his own -- Dares more than all mad heroes dare. IV And like to him the man who keeps Calm watch on Freedom's outer wall, Who sees the great moon rise and fall Yet sleeps and rests and rests and sleeps -- The man who knows, the man who sees God in the grass, God in the trees, Sees good in all, sees God in all -- Gets more, gives more, does more true weal Than all your storied men of steel. V But nobler still the man who leads Far out the deadly firing line To hew the way, subdue, refine By dauntless and unselfish deeds; Who lays aside his student's book And gathers up his knotted thews And, facing westward, hews and hews The way for plowshare, pruning hook And scarce recks if he win or lose; Who sees white duty over all, Fair duty, halo-topt and tall, Far pointing where his pathway lies, And dares not falter, rest, repine, But forward, forward, wins and -- dies. VI I sing this man who sought man's good, Who fought for peace, unselfish fought, Who silent fell and murmured not, This man whom no man understood, This great man so well-nigh forgot, This man who led, who faltered not, This student, soldier, president, Who chose the weaker side and sent Such spirit through his fearless few As only Khartoum Gordon knew. VII I sing those children of the sun Because I love them and because I would that you should love them, too, As tenderly as he had done Ere Fate laid her cold finger to His bounding pulse and bade him pause. VIIi A man to love, a land to love; A land of gold, of sapphire seas, Such blue below, such blue above, Such fruits and ever-flowered trees -- The fairest Eden-land that is, And I am joyed that it is his; He won it, holds, with dust-full hands -- This soldier born, born and not made, Who scorned to make rude war a trade. IX A soldier born, let this be said Above my brave, dishonored dead; I ask no more, this is not much, Yet I disdain a colder touch To memory as dear as his; For he was true as steel, or star, And brave as Yuba's grizzlies are, Yet gentle as a panther is Mouthing her young in her first fierce kiss. X A dash of sadness in his air, Born, may be, of his over care, And may be, born of a despair In early love -- I never knew; I question not, as many do, Of things as sacred as this is; I only know that he to me Was all a father, friend, could be; I sought to know no more than this Of history of him or his. A piercing eye, a princely air, A presence like a chevalier, Half angel and half Lucifer; Sombrero black, with plume of snow That swept his careless locks below; A red serape with bars of gold, All heedless falling, fold on fold, A sash of silk, where flashing swung A sword as swift as serpent's tongue, In sheath of silver chased in gold; Great Spanish spurs with bells of steel That dash'd and dangled at the heel; A face of blended pride and pain, Of mingled pleading and disdain, With shades of glory and of grief -- The famous filibuster chief Stood front his men among the trees That top the fierce Cordilleras, With bent arm arched above his brow; -- Stood still, he stands, a picture, now -- Long gazing down his inland seas. XI What strange, strong, bearded men were these He led above his tropic seas! Men sometimes of uncommon birth, Men rich in stories all untold, Who boasted not, though more than bold, Blown from the four parts of the earth. Men mighty-thewed, as Sampson was, That had been kings in any cause, A remnant of the races past; Dark-browed, as if in iron cast, Broad-breasted as twin gates of brass, -- Men strangely brave and fiercely true, Who dared the West when giants were, Who erred, yet bravely dared to err -- A remnant of that dauntless few Who held no crime or curse or vice As dark as that of cowardice; With blendings of the worst and best Of faults and virtues that have blest Or cursed or thrilled the human breast. XII They rode, a troop of bearded men, Rode two and two out from the town, And some were blonde and some were brown, And all as brave as Sioux; but when From warlike Leon south, the line That bound them in the laws of man Was passed, and peace stood mute behind And streamed a banner to the wind The world knew not, there was a sign Of awe, of silence, rear and van. XIII Men thought who scarce had thought before; I heard the clang and clash of steel From sword at hand and spur at heel And iron feet, but nothing more. XIV Some thought of Texas, some of Maine, But one of wood-set Tennessee. And one of Avon thought, and one Thought of an isle beneath the sun, And one, a dusky son of Spain, Soft hummed his senorita's air, Half laughed, shook back his heavy hair And then -- he would not think again, And one of Wabash thought, and he Thought tenderly, thought tearfully; And one turned sadly to the Spree. XV Defeat meant something more than death; The world was ready, keen to smite, As stern and still beneath its ban With iron will and bated breath, Their hands against their fellow-man, They rode -- each man an Ishmaelite. XVI But when we topped the hills of pine, These men dismounted, doffed their cares, Talk'd loud and laugh'd old love affairs, And on the grass took meat and wine, And never gave a thought again To land or life that lay behind, Or love, or care of any kind Beyond the present cross or pain. XVII And I, a waif of stormy seas, A child among such men as these, Was blown along this savage surf And rested with them on the turf, And took delight below the trees. XVIII I did not question, did not care To know the right or wrong. I saw That savage freedom had a spell, And loved it more than word can tell. I snapped my fingers at the law, And dared to laugh, and laughed to dare. XIX I bear my burden of the shame, -- I shun it not, and naught forget, However much I may regret; I claim some candor to my name, And courage cannot change or die, -- Did they deserve to die? they died! Let justice then be satisfied, And as for me, why, what am I? XX The standing side by side till death, The dying for some wounded friend, The faith that failed not to the end, The strong endurance till the breath And body took their ways apart, I only know. I keep my trust. Their vices! earth has them by heart: Their virtues! they are with the dust. XXI How we descended, troop on troop, As wide-winged eagles downward swoop! How wound we through the fragrant wood, With all its broad boughs hung in green, With sweeping mosses trailed between! How waked the spotted beasts of prey, Deep sleeping from the face of day, And dashed them, like a dashing flood, Down deep defile and densest wood! XXII What snakes! long, lithe and beautiful As green and graceful boughed bamboo. How they did twine them through and through Green boughs that hung red-fruited full! One, monster-sized, above me hung, Close eyed me with his bright pink eyes, Then raised his folds, and swayed and swung, And licked like lightning his red tongue, Then oped his wide mouth with surprise; He writhed and curved and raised and lowered His folds, like liftings of the tide, Then sank so low I touched his side, As I rode by, with my boy's sword. The trees shook hands high overhead, And bowed and intertwined across The narrow way, while leaves and moss And luscious fruit, gold-hued and red, Through all the canopy of green, Let not one sun-shaft shoot between. XXIII Birds hung and swung, green-robed and red, Or drooped in curved lines dreamily, Rainbows reversed, from tree to tree, Or sang low hanging overhead -- Sang low, as if they sang and slept, Sang faint like some far waterfall, And took no note of us at all, Though nuts that in the way were spread Did crash and crackle where we stept. XXIV Wild lilies, tall as maidens are, As sweet of breath, as purely fair, As fair as faith, as true as truth, Fell thick before our iron tread, In fragrant sacrifice of ruth. Rich ripened fruit a fragrance shed And hung in hand-reach overhead, In nest of blossoms on the shoot, The very shoot that bore the fruit. XXV How ran lithe monkeys through the leaves! How rush'd they through, brown clad and blue, Like shuttles hurried through and through The threads a hasty weaver weaves! How quick they cast us fruits of gold, Then loosened hand and all foothold, And hung, limp, limber, as if dead, Hung low and listless overhead; And all the time with half-oped eyes Bent full on us in mute surprise -- Looked wisely too, as wise hens do That watch you with the head askew. XXVI The long day through, from blossomed trees, There came the sweet song of sweet bees, With chorus tones of cockatoo That slid his beak along the bough And walked and talked and hung and swung, In crown of gold and coat of blue, The wisest fool that ever sung, Or wore a crown or held a tongue. XXVII Oh! when we broke the somber wood And pierced at last a sunny plain, How wild and still with wonder stood The proud mustangs with bannered mane And necks that never knew a rein, And nostrils lifted high, and blown, Fierce breathing as a hurricane: Yet by their leader held the while In solid column, square and file, And ranks more martial than our own! XXVIII Some one above the common kind, Some one to look to, lean upon, May be, is much a woman's mind; But it was mine, and I had drawn A rein beside the chief while we Rode down the mesa leisurely. Then he grew kind and questioned me Of kindred, home, and home affair, Of how I came to wander there, And had my father herds and land And men in hundreds at command? At which I, silent, shook my head, Then, timid, met his eyes and said: "Not so. Where sunny foothills run Down to the North Pacific sea, And where Willamette meets the sun In many angles, patiently My father tends some flocks of snow, And turns alone the mellow sod And sows some fields not over broad, And mourns my long delay in vain, Nor bids one serve man come or go; While mother from her wheel or churn, And maybe from the milking shed, Oft lifts an humbled wearied head To watch and wish her boy's return Across the camas' blossomed plain." XXIX He held his bent head very low, A sudden sadness in his air; Then reached and touched my yellow hair And tossed the long locks in his hand, Toyed with them, sudden let them go, Then thrummed about his saddle bow As thought ran swift across his face; Then turning instant in his place, He gave some short and quick command. They brought the best steed of the band, They swung a carbine at my side, He bade me mount and by him ride, And from that hour to the end I never felt the need of friend. XXX Far in a wildest quinine wood We found a city old -- so old Its very walls were turned to mould And stately trees upon them stood. No history has mentioned it, No map has given it a place; The last dim trace of tribe and race -- The world's forgetfulness is fit. XXXI It held one structure grand and moss'd, Mighty as any castle sung, And old when oldest Ind was young, With threshold Christian never crossed; A temple builded to the sun, Along whose somber altar-stone Brown, bleeding virgins had been strown Like leaves, when leaves are crisp and dun, In ages ere the Sphynx was born, Or Babylon knew night, or morn. XXXII My chief swift up the marble stept -- He ever led, through that wild land -- When down the stones, with double hand To his machete, a Sun priest leapt. Hot bent to barter life for life, A Texan drave his Bowie knife Full through his thick and broad breast bone, And broke the point against the stone, The dark stone of the temple wall. I saw him loose all hold and fall Full length with head hung down the stone; I saw run down a ruddy flood Of smoking, pulsing human blood. Then from the dusk there crept a crone And kissed the gory hands and face, And smote herself. Then one by one Some dusk priests crept and did the same, Then bore the dead man from the place. Down darkened aisles the brown priests came, So picture-like, with sandaled feet And long, gray, dismal, grass-wove gowns, So like the pictures of old time, And stood all still and dark of frowns, At blood upon the stone and street. Stern men laid ready hand to sword And boldly spake some bitter word; But they were stubborn still and stood Fierce frowning as a winter wood, And mutt'ring something of the crime Of blood upon their temple stone, As if the first that it had known! XXXIII We strode on through each massive door With clash of steel at heel, and with Some swords all red and ready drawn. I traced the sharp edge of my sword Along both marble wall and floor For crack or crevice; there was none. From one vast mount of marble stone The mighty temple had been cored By nut-brown children of the sun, When stars were newly bright and blithe Of song along the rim of dawn, A mighty marble monolith! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAPPER KAPLINSKI AT THE NORTH SIDE CUE CLUB by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO A LITTLE INVISIBLE BEING WHO IS EXPECTED SOON TO BECOME VISIBLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WHERE SHALL THE BABY'S DIMPLE BE? by JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND IN AN ATELIER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE NATURAL FIRE by CLIFFORD ALLEN EDGE by CHARLOTTE FARRINGTON BABCOCK |