XV.

At last he pass'd all men or sign Of man. Yet still his long black line Was push'd and pointed for the west; The sea, the utmost sea, and rest.

He climbed, descended, climbed again, Until he stood at last as lone, As solitary and unknown, As some lost ship upon the main.

O there was grandeur in his air, An old-time splendor in his eye, When he had climb'd the bleak, the high, The rock-built bastions of the plain,

And thrown a-back his blown white hair, And halting turn'd to look again. And long, from out his lofty place, He look'd far down the fading plain

For his pursuers, but in vain. Yea, he was glad. Across his face A careless smile was seen to play, The first for many a stormy day.

He turn'd to Ina, dark and fair As some sad twilight; touch'd her hair, Stoop'd low, and kiss'd her silently, Then silent held her to his breast.

Then waved command to his black men, Look'd east, then mounted slow, and then Led leisurely against the west. And why should he, who dared to die,

Who more than once with hissing breath Had set his teeth and pray'd for death, Have fled these men, or wherefore fly Before them now? why not defy?

His midnight men were strong and true, And not unused to strife, and knew The masonry of steel right well, And all its signs that lead to hell.

It might have been his youth had wrought Some wrong his years would now repair That made him fly and still forbear; It might have been he only sought

To lead them to some fatal snare And let them die by piece-meal there. It might have been that his own blood, A brother, son, pursued with curse.

It might have been this woman fair Was this man's child, an only thing To love in all the universe, And that the old man's iron will

Kept pirate's child from pirate still. These rovers had a world their own, Had laws, lived lives, went ways unknown. I trow it was not shame or fear

Of any man or any thing That death in any shape might bring. It might have been some lofty sense Of his own truth and innocence,

And virtues lofty and severe — Nay, nay! what need of reasons here? They touch'd a fringe of tossing trees That bound a mountain's brow like bay,

And through the fragrant boughs a breeze Blew salt-flood freshness. Far away, From mountain brow to desert base

Lay chaos, space, unbounded space, In one vast belt of purple bound. The black men cried, “The sea!” They bow'd Their black heads in their hard black hands.

They wept for joy. They laugh'd, and broke The silence of an age, and spoke Of rest at last; and, group'd in bands,

They threw their long black arms about Each other's necks, and laugh'd aloud, Then wept again with laugh and shout. Yet Morgan spake no word, but led

His band with oft-averted head Right through the cooling trees, till he Stood out upon the lofty brow And mighty mountain wall.

And now The men who shouted, “Lo, the sea!” Rode in the sun; but silently: Stood in the sun, then look'd below.

They look'd but once, then look'd away, Then look'd each other in the face. They could not lift their brows, nor say, But held their heads, nor spake, for lo!

Nor sea, nor voice of sea, nor breath Of sea, but only sand and death, And one eternity of space Confronted them with fiery face.

‘ Twas vastness even as a sea, So still it sang in symphonies; But yet without the sense of seas, Save depth, and space, and distances.

‘ Twas all so shoreless, so profound, It seem'd it were earth's utter bound. ‘ Twas like the dim edge of death is, ‘ Twas hades, hell, eternity!