Classic Poem

PART II

Forsake those People. What are they
That laugh, that live, that love by rule?
Forsake the Saxon. Who are these
That shun the shadows of the trees;
The perfumed forests? ... Go thy way,
We are not one. I will not please
You: — fare you well, O wiser fool!

But ye who love me: — Ye who love
The shaggy forests, fierce delights
Of sounding waterfalls, of heights
That hang like broken moons above,
With brows of pine that brush the sun,
Believe and follow. We are one:
The wild man shall to us be tame,
The woods shall yield their mysteries;
The stars shall answer to a name,
And be as birds above the trees.

They swept to their Isles through the furrows of foam;
Thy alit on the land, as love hastening home,
And below the banana, with leaf like a tent,
They tenderly laid him, they bade him take rest,
They brought him strange fishes and fruits of the best,
And he ate and took rest with a patient content.

They watched so well that he rose up strong,
And stood in their midst, and they said, " How fair! "
And they said, " How tall! " And they toy'd with his hair.

And they touched his limbs and they said, " How long
And how strong they are; and how brave she is,
That she made her way through the wiles of man,
That she braved his wrath, that she broke the ban
Of his desolate life for the love of this! "

They wrought for him armor and cunning attire,
They brought him a sword and a great shell shield,
And implored him to shiver the lance on the field,
And to follow their beautiful Queen in her ire.

But he took him apart; then the Amazons came
And entreated of him with their eloquent eyes
And their earnest and passionate souls of flame,
And the soft, sweet words that are broken of sighs,
To be one of their own, but he still denied
And bow'd and abash'd he stole further aside.

He stood by the Palms and he lean'd in unrest,
And standing alone, looked out and afar,
For his own fair land where the castles are,
With irresolute arms on a restless breast.

He re-lived his loves, he recall'd his wars,
He gazed and he gazed with a soul distress'd,
Like a far sweet star that is lost in the west,
Till the day was broken to a dust of stars.

They sigh'd, and they left him alone in the care
Of faithfullest matron; they moved to the field
With the lifted sword and the sounding shield
High fretting magnificent storms of hair.

And, true as the moon in her march of stars,
The Queen stood forth in her fierce attire
Worn as they trained or worn in the wars,
As bright and as chaste as a flash of fire.

With girdles of gold and of silver cross'd,
And plaited, and chased, and bound together,
Broader and stronger than belts of leather,
Cunningly fashion'd and blazon'd and boss'd —

With diamonds circling her, stone upon stone,
Above the breast where the borders fail,
Below the breast where the fringes zone,
She moved in a glittering garment of mail.

The form made hardy and the waist made spare
From athlete sports and adventures bold,
The breastplate, fasten'd with clasps of gold,
Was clasp'd, as close as the breasts could bear, —

And bound and drawn to a delicate span,
It flash'd in the red front ranks of the field —
Was fashion'd full trim in its intricate plan
And gleam'd as a sign, as well as a shield,

That the virgin Queen was unyielding still,
And pure as the tides that around her ran;
True to her trust, and strong in her will
Of war, and hatred to the touch of man.

The field it was theirs in storm or in shine,
So fairly they stood that the foe came not
To battle again, and the fair forgot
The rage of battle; and they trimm'd the vine,

They tended the fields of the tall green corn,
They crush'd the grape and they drew the wine
In the great round gourds and the bended horn —
And they lived as the gods in the days divine.

They bathed in the wave in the amber morn,
They took repose in the peaceful shade
Of eternal palms, and were never afraid;
Yet oft did they sigh, and look far and forlorn.

Where the rim of the wave was weaving a spell,
And the grass grew soft where it hid from the sun,
Would the Amazons gather them every one
At the call of the Queen or the sound of her shell:

Would come in strides through the kingly trees,
And train and marshal them brave and well
In the golden noon, in the hush of peace
Where the shifting shades of the fan-palms fell;
Would train till flush'd and as warm as wine:
Would reach with their limbs, would thrust with the lance,
Attack, retire, retreat and advance,
Then wheel in column, then fall in line;
Stand thigh and thigh with the limbs made hard
And rich and round as the swift limb'd pard,
Or a racer train'd, or a white bull caught
In the lasso's toils, where the tame are not:
Would curve as the waves curve, swerve in line;
Would dash through the trees, would train with the bow,
Then back to the lines, now sudden, then slow,
Then flash their swords in the sun at a sign:

Would settle the foot right firmly afront,
Then sound the shield till the sound was heard
Afar, as the horn in the black boar hunt;
Yet, strangest of all, say never one word.

When shadows fell far from the westward, and when
The sun had kiss'd hands and set forth for the east,
They would kindle campfires and gather them then,
Well-worn and most merry with song, to the feast.

They sang of all things, but the one, sacred one,
That could make them most glad, as they lifted the gourd
And pass'd it around, with its rich purple hoard,
From the island that lay with its face to the sun.

Though lips were most luscious, and eyes as divine
As the eyes of the skies that bend down from above;
Though hearts were made glad and most mellow with love,
As dripping gourds drain'd of their burthens of wine;
Though brimming, and dripping, and bent of their shape
Were the generous gourds from the juice of the grape,
They could sing not of love, they could breathe not a thought
Of the savor of life; of love sought, or unsought.

Their loves they were not; they had banished the name
Of man, and the uttermost mention of love, —
The moonbeams about them, the quick stars above,
The mellow-voiced waves, they were ever the same,
In sign, and in saying, of the old true lies;
But they took no heed; no answering sign,
Save glances averted and half-hush'd sighs,
Went back from the breasts with their loves divine.

They sang of free life with a will, and well,
They had paid for it well when the price was blood;
They beat on the shield, and they blew on the shell,
When their wars were not, for they held it good
To be glad, and to sing the flush of the day,
In an annual feast, when the broad leaves fell;
Yet some sang not, and some sighed, " Ah, well! " —
For there's far less left you to sing or to say,
When mettlesome love is banish'd, I ween —
To hint at as hidden, or to half disclose
In the swift sword-cuts of the tongue, made keen
With wine at a feast, — than one would suppose.

So the days wore by but they brought no rest
To the minstrel knight, though the sun was as gold,
And the Isles were green, and the great Queen blest
In the splendor of arms, and as pure as bold.

He would now resolve to reveal to her all,
His sex and his race in a well-timed song;
And his love of peace, his hatred of wrong,
And his own deceit, though the sun should fall.

Then again he would linger, and knew not how
He could best proceed, and deferr'd him now
Till a favorite day, then the fair day came,
And still he delay'd, and reproached him the same.

And he still said nought, but, subduing his head
He wander'd one day in a dubious spell
Of unutterable thought of the truth unsaid,
To the indolent shore, and he gather'd a shell,
And he shaped its point to his passionate mouth,
And he turn'd to a bank and began to blow,
While the Amazons trained in a troop below —
Blew soft and sweet as a kiss of the south
.
The Amazons lifted with glad surprise,
Stood splendid and glad and look'd far and fair,
Set forward a foot, and shook back their hair,
Like clouds push'd back from the sun-lit skies.

It stirr'd their souls, and they ceased to train
In troop by the shore, as the tremulous strain
Fell down from the hill through the tasselling trees;
And a murmur of song, like the sound of bees
In the clover crown of a queenly spring,
Came back unto him, and he laid the shell
Aside on the bank, and began to sing
Of eloquent love; and the ancient spell
Of passionate song was his, and the Isle,
As waked to delight from its slumber long,
Came back in echoes; yet all this while
He knew not at all the sin of his song.