This is the story Of Santo Domingo, The first established Permanent city
Built in the New World. Miguel Dias, A Spanish sailor In the fleet of Columbus,
Fought with a captain, Wounded him, then in fear Fled from his punishment. Ranging the wilds, he came
On a secluded Indian village Of the peace-loving Comely Caguisas.
There he found shelter, Food, fire, and hiding,— Welcome unstinted. Over this tribe ruled —
No cunning chieftain Grown gray in world-craft, But a young soft-eyed Girl, tender-hearted,
Loving, and regal Only in beauty, With no suspicion Of the perfidious
Merciless gold-lust Of the white sea-wolves,— Roving, rapacious, Conquerors, destroyers.
Strongly the stranger Wooed with his foreign Manners, his Latin Fervor and graces;
Beat down her gentle, Unreserved strangeness; Made himself consort Of a young queen, all
Loveliness, ardor, And generous devotion. Her world she gave him, Nothing denied him,
All, all for love's sake Poured out before him,— Lived but to pleasure And worship her lover.
Such is the way Of free-hearted women, Radiant beings Who carry God's secret;
All their seraphic Unworldly wisdom Spent without fearing Or calculation
For the enrichment Of — whom, what, and wherefore? Ask why the sun shines And is not measured,
Ask why the rain falls Aeon by aeon, Ask why the wind comes Making the strong trees
Blossom in springtime, Forever unwearied! Whoever earned these gifts, Air, sun, and water?
Whoever earned his share In that unfathomed Full benediction, Passing the old earth's
Cunningest knowledge, Greater than all The ambition of ages, Light as a thistle-seed,
Strong as a tide-run, Vast and mysterious As the night sky,— The love of woman?
Not long did Miguel Dias abide content With his good fortune. Back to his voyaging
Turned his desire, Restless once more to rove With boon companions, Filled with the covetous
Thirst for adventure,— The white man's folly. Then poor Zamcaca, In consternation
Lest she lack merit Worthy to tether His wayward fancy, Knowing no way but love,
Guileless, and sedulous Only to gladden, Quick and sweet-souled As another madonna,
Gave him the secret Of her realm's treasure,— Raw gold unweighed, Stored wealth unimagined;
Decked him with trappings Of that yellow peril; And bade him go Bring his comrades to settle
In her dominion. Not long the Spaniards Stood on that bidding. Gold was their madness,
Their Siren and Pandar. Trooping they followed Their friend the explorer, Greed-fevered ravagers
Of all things goodly, Hot-foot to plunder The land of his love-dream. They swooped on that country,
Founded their city, Made Miguel Dias Its first Alcalde,— Flattered and fooled him,
Loud in false praises For the great wealth he had By his love's bounty. Then the old story,
Older than Adam,— Treachery, rapine, Ingratitude, bloodshed, Wrought by the strong man
On unsuspecting And gentler brothers. The rabid Spaniard, Christian and ruthless
( Like any modern Magnate of Mammon ), Harried that fearless, Light-hearted, trustful folk
Under his booted heel. Tears ( ah, a woman's tears,— The grief of angels,—) Fell from Zamcaca,
Sorrowing, hopeless, Alone, for her people. Sick from injustice, Distraught, and disheartened,
Tortured by sight and sound Of wrong and ruin, When the kind, silent, Tropical moonlight,
Lay on the city, In the dead hour When the soul trembles Within the portals
Of its own province, While far away seem All deeds of daytime, She rose and wondered;
Gazed on the sleeping Face of her loved one, Alien and cruel; Kissed her strange children,
Longingly laying a hand In farewell on each, Crept to the door, and fled Back to the forest.
Only the deep heart Of the World-mother, Brooding below the storms Of human madness,
Can know what desolate Anguish possessed her. Only the far mind Of the World-father,
Seeing the mystic End and beginning, Knows why the pageant Is so betattered
With mortal sorrow.
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