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 wold of snows, through wood of flame,

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, If load it were, apart, alone. 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,

Said, “There is something more beside.” 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!