Part 8 (1/2)

COLUMBUS.

[This poem is taken from the complete works of Joaquin Miller, copyrighted, published by the Whitaker Ray Company, San Francisco.]

Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of sh.o.r.es, Before him only sh.o.r.eless seas.

The good mate said, ”Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone.

Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say!”

”Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'”

”My men grow mutinous by day, My men grow ghastly pale and weak.”

The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.

”What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?”

”Why, you shall say at break of day, 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'”

They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: ”Why, now, not even G.o.d would know Should I and all my men fall dead.

These very winds forget their way, For G.o.d from these dread seas has gone.

Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say”-- He said, ”Sail on! sail on! and on!”

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: ”This mad sea shows its teeth to-night.

He curls his lips, he lies in wait With lifted teeth as if to bite!

Brave Admiral, say but one good word: What shall we do when hope is gone?”

The words leapt like a leaping sword, ”Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!”

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- A light! A light! A light! A light!

It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, He gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: ”On! sail on!”

JOAQUIN MILLER.

MY LAST d.u.c.h.eSS.

FERRARA.

That's my last d.u.c.h.ess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will't please you sit and look at her? I said.

”Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and pa.s.sion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the d.u.c.h.ess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say, ”Her mantle laps Over my Lady's wrist too much,” or ”Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat;” such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace--all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say ”Just this ”Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, ”Or there exceed the mark”--and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, --E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh, Sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I pa.s.sed her; but who pa.s.sed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below, then. I repeat The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!