Ina

INA

by Joaquin Miller

Sad song of the wind in the mountains

And the sea wave of grass on the plain,

That breaks in bloom foam by the fountains,

And forests, that breaketh again

On the mountains, as breaketh a main.

Bold thoughts that were strong as the grizzlies.

Now weak in their prison of words;

Bright fancies that flash'd like the glaciers,

Now dimm'd like the luster of birds,

And butterflies huddled as herds.

Sad symphony, wild, and unmeasured,

Weed warp, and woof woven in strouds

Strange truths that a stray soul had treasured,

Truths seen as through folding of shrouds

Or as stars through the rolling of clouds.

Scene I.

A Hacienda near Tezcuco, Mexico. Young Don CARLOS alone, looking out on the moonlit mountain.

Don Carlos

Popocatapetl looms lone like an island,
Above white-cloud waves that break up against him;
Around him white buttes in the moonlight are flashing
Like silver tents pitch'd in the fair fields of heaven
While standing in line, in their snows everlasting,
Flash peaks, as my eyes into heaven are lifted,
Like mile-stones that lead to the city Eternal.
Ofttime when the sun and the sea lay together,
Red-welded as one, in their red bed of lovers,
Embracing and blushing like loves newly wedded,
I have trod on the trailing crape fringes of twilight,
And stood there and listen'd, and lean'd with lips parted,
Till lordly peaks wrapp'd them, as chill night blew over,
In great cloaks of sable, like proud somber Spaniards
And stalk'd from my presence down night's corridors.
When the red-curtained West has bent red as with weeping
Low over the couch where the prone day lay dying,
I have stood with brow lifted, confronting the mountains heavens,
That held their white faces of snow in the heavens,
And said, "It is theirs to array them so purely,
Because of their nearness to the temple eternal;"
And childlike have said, "They are fair resting places
For the dear weary dead on their way up to heaven."
But my soul is not with you to-night, mighty mountains:
It is held to the levels of earth by an angel
Far more than a star, earth fallen or unfall'n,
Yet fierce in her follies and headstrong and stronger
Than streams of the sea running in with the billows.
Very well. Let him woo, let him thrust his white whiskers
And lips pale and purple with death, in between us;
Let her wed, as she wills, for the gold of the graybeard.
I will set my face for you, 0 mountains, my brothers,
For I yet have my honor, my conscience and freedom,
My fleet-footed mustang, and pistols rich silver'd;
I will turn as the earth turns her back on the sun,
But return to the light of her eyes never more,
While noons have a night and white seas have a shore.

Ina, approaching

Ina.

"I have come, dear Don Carlos, to say you farewell,
I shall wed with Don Castro at dawn of to-morrow,
And be all his own-firm, honest and faithful.
I have promised this thing; that I will keep my promise
You who do know me care never to question.
I have mastered myself to say this thing to you;
Hear me: be strong, then, and say adieu bravely;
The world is his own who will brave its bleak hours.
Dare, then, to confront the cold days in their column;
As they march down upon you, stand, hew them to pieces,
One after another, as you would a fierce foeman,
Till not one abideth between two true bosoms."
[Don Carlos, with a laugh of scorn, flies from the veranda, mounts horse, and disappears.]
Ina (looking out into the night, after a long silence).
How doleful the night hawk screams in the heavens,
How dismally gibbers the gray coyote!
Afar to the south now the turbulent thunder,
Mine equal, my brother, my soul's one companion,
Talks low in his sleep, like a giant deep troubled;
Talks fierce in accord with my own stormy spirit.

Scene II.

Sunset on a spur of Mount Hood. Lamonte contemplates the scene.

Lamonte

A flushed and weary messenger a-west
Is standing at the half-closed door of day,
As he would say, Good night; and now his bright
Red cap he tips to me and turns his face.
Were it an unholy thing to say, an angel now
Beside the door stood with uplifted seal?
Behold the door seal'd with that blood red seal
Now burning, spreading o'er the mighty West.
Never again shall that dead day arise
Therefrom, but must be born and come anew.
The tawny, solemn Night, child of the East,
Her mournful robe trails o'er the distant woods,
And comes this way with firm and stately step.
Afront, and very high, she wears a shield,
A plate of silver, and upon her brow
The radiant Venus burns, a pretty lamp.
Behold! how in her gorgeous flow of hair
Do gleam a million mellow yellow gems,
That spill their molten gold upon the dewy grass.
Now throned on boundless plains, and gazing down
So calmly on the red-seal'd tomb of day,
She rests her form against the Rocky Moun tains,
And rules with silent power a peaceful world.
'Tis midnight now. The bent and broken moon,
All batter'd, black, as from a thousand battles,
Hangs silent on the purple walls of heaven.
The angel warrior, guard of the gates eternal,
In battle-harness girt, sleeps on the field:
But when to-morrow comes, when wicked men
That fret the patient earth are all astir,
He will resume his shield, and, facing earthward,
The gates of heaven guard from sins of earth.
'Tis morn. Behold the kingly day now leaps
The eastern wall of earth, bright sword in hand,
And clad in flowing robe of mellow light,
Like to a king that has regain'd his throne,
He warms his drooping subjects into joy,
That rise renewed to do him fealty,
And rules with pomp the universal world.

Don Carlos ascends the mountain, gesticulating and talking to himself.

Don Carlos.

Oh, for a name that black-eyed maids would sigh
And lean with parted lips at mention of;
That I should seem so tall in minds of men
That I might walk beneath the arch of heaven,
And pluck the ripe red stars as I pass'd on,
As favor'd guests do pluck the purple grapes
That hang above the humble entrance way
Of palm-thatch'd mountain inn of Mexico.
Oh, I would give the green leaves of my life
For something grand, for real and undream'd deeds!
To wear a mantle, broad and richly gemm'd
As purple heaven fringed with gold at sunset;
To wear a crown as dazzling as the sun,
And, holding up a scepter lightning charged,
Stride out among the stars as I once strode
A barefoot boy among the buttercups.
Alas! I am so restless. There is that
Within me doth rebel and rise against
The all I am and half I see in others;
And were't not for contempt of coward act
Of flying all defeated from the world,
As if I feared and dared not face its ills,
I should ere this have known, known more or less
Than any flesh that frets this sullen earth.
I know not where such thoughts will lead me to:
I have had fear that they would drive me mad,
And then have flattered my weak self, and said
The soul's outgrown the body-yea, the soul
Aspires to the stars, and in its struggles upward
Make the dull flesh quiver as an aspen.

Lamonte

What waif is this cast here upon my shore,
From seas of subtle and most selfish men?

Don Carlos

Of subtle and most selfish men!-ah, that's the term!
And if you be but earnest in your spleen,
And other sex across man's shoulders lash,
I'll stand beside you on this crag and howl
And hurl my clenched fists down upon their heads,
Till I am hoarse as yonder cataract.
Why, no, my friend, I'll not consent to that.
No true man yet has ever woman cursed.
And I-I do not hate my fellow man,
For man by nature bears within himself
Nobility that makes him half a god;
But as in somewise he hath made himself,
His universal thirst for gold and pomp,
And purchased fleeting fame and bubble honors,
Forgetting good, so mocking helpless age,
And rushing roughshod o'er lowly merit,
I hold him but a sorry worm indeed;
And so have turn'd me quietly aside
To know the majesty of peaceful woods.

Don Carlos (as if alone)

The fabled font of youth led many fools,
Zealous in its pursuit, to hapless death;
And yet this thirst for fame, this hot ambition,
This soft-toned syren-tongue, enchanting Fame,
Doth lead me headlong on to equal folly,
Like to a wild bird charm'd by shining coils
And swift mesmeric glance of deadly snake:
I would not break the charm, but win a world
Or die with curses blistering my lips.

Lamonte

Give up ambition, petty pride—
By pride the angels fell.

Don Carlos

By pride they reached a place from whence to fall.

Lamonte

You startle me! I am unused to hear
Men talk these fierce and bitter thoughts; and yet
In closed recesses of my soul was once
A dark and gloomy chamber where they dwelt.
Give up ambition - yea, crush such thoughts
As you would crush from hearth a scorpion brood;
For, mark me well, they'll get the mastery,
And drive you on to death-or worse, across
A thousand ruin'd homes and broken hearts.

Don Carlos

Give up ambition! Oh, rather than to die
And glide a lonely, nameless, shivering ghost
Down time's dark tide of utter nothingness,
I'd write a name in blood and orphans' tears.
The temple-burner wiser was than kings.

Lamonte

And would you dare the curse of man and—

Don Carlos

Dare the curse of man!
I'd dare the fearful curse of God!
I'd build a pyramid of whitest skulls,
And step therefrom unto the spotted moon,
And thence to stars, and thence to central suns.
Then with one grand and mighty leap would land
Unhinder'd on the shining shore of heaven,
And, sword in hand, unbared and unabash'd,
Would stand bold forth in presence of the God
Of gods, and on the jewel'd inner side
The walls of heaven, carve with keen Damascus steel,
And, highest up, a grand and titled name
That time nor tide could touch or tarnish ever.

Lamonte

Seek not to crop above the heads of men
To be a better mark for envy's shafts.
Come to my peaceful home, and leave behind
These stormy thoughts and daring aspirations.
All earthly power is but a thing comparative.
Is not a petty chief of some lone isle,
With half a dozen nude and starving subjects
As much a king as he the Czar of Rusk?
In yonder sweet retreat and balmy place
I'll abdicate, and you be chief indeed.
There you will reign and tell me of the world
Its life and lights, its sins and sickly shadows.
The pheasant will reveille beat at morn,
And rouse us to the battle of the day.
My swarthy subjects will in circle sit,
And, gazing on your noble presence, deem
You great indeed, and call you chief of chiefs;
And, knowing no one greater than yourself
In all the leafy borders of your realm,
'Gainst what can pride or poor ambition chafe?
'Twill be a kingdom without king, save you,
More broad than that the cruel Cortes won,
With subjects truer than he ever knew,
That know no law but only nature's law,
And no religion know but that of love.
There truth and beauty are, for there is Nature,
Serene and simple. She will be our priestess,
And in her calm and uncomplaining face
We two will read her rubric and be wise.

Don Carlos

Why, truly now, this fierce and broken.
Seen through your eyes, assumes a fairer shape.
Lead up, for you are nearer God than I.

Scene III.

Ina,in black, alone. Midnight

Ina

I weep? I weep? I laugh to think of it!
I lift my dark brow to the breath of the, ocean,
Soft kissing me now like the lips of my mother,
And laugh low and long as I crush the brown grasses,
To think I should weep! Why, I never wept-never,
Not even in punishments dealt me in childhood!
Yea, all of my wrongs and my bitterness buried
In my brave baby heart, all alone and unfriended.
And I pitied, with proud and disdain fullest pity,
The weak who would weep, and I laugh'd at the folly
Of those who could laugh and make merry with playthings.
Nay, I will not weep now over that I desired.
Desired? Yes: I to myself dare confess it,
Ah, too, to the world should it question too closely,
And bathe me and sport in a deep sea of candor.
Let the world be deceived; it insists upon it:
Let it bundle me round in its black woe garments;
But I, self with self-my free soul fearless—
Am frank as the sun, nor the toss of a copper
Care I if the world call it good or evil.
I am glad to-night, and in new-born freedom
Forget all earth with my old companions,—
The moon and the stars and the moon-clad ocean.
I am face to face with the stars that know me,
And gaze as I gazed in the eyes of my mother,
Forgetting the city and the coarse things in it;
For there's naught but God in the shape of mortal,
Save one— my wandering, wild boy-lover—
That I esteem worth a stale banana.
The hair hangs heavy and is warm on my shoulder,
And is thick with odors of balm and of blossom,
The great bay sleeps with the ships on her bosom;
Through the Golden Gate, to the left hand yonder,
The white sea lies in a deep sleep, breathing,
The father of melody, mother of measure.

Scene IV.

A wood by a rivulet on a spur of Mount Hood, overlooking the Columbia. Lamonte and Don Carlos, on their way to the camp, are reposing under the shadow of the forest. Some deer are observed descending to the brook, and Don Carlos seizes his rifle.

Lamonte

Nay, nay, my friend, strike not from your covert,
Strike like a serpent in the grass well hidden?
What, steal into their homes, and, when they, thirsting,
And all unsuspecting, come down in couples
And dip brown muzzles in the mossy brink,
Then shoot them down without chance to fly—
The only means that God has given them,
Poor, unarm'd mutes, to baffle man's cunning?
Ah, now I see you had not thought of this!
The hare is fleet, and is most quick at sound,
His coat is changed with the changing fields;
Yon deer turn brown when the leaves turn brown;
The dog has teeth, the cat has talons,
And man has craft and sinewy arms:
All things that live have some means of defense
All, all-save only fair lovely woman.

Don Carlos

Nay, she has her tongue; is armed to the teeth.

Lamonte

Thou Timon, what can'scape your bitterness?
But for this sweet content of Nature here,
Upon whose breast we now recline and rest,
Why, you might lift your voice and rail at her!

Don Carlos

Oh, I am out of patience with your faith!
What! She content and peaceful, uncomplaining?
I've seen her fretted like a lion caged,
Chafe like a peevish woman cross'd and churl'd,
Tramping and foaming like a whelpless bear;
Have seen her weep till earth was wet with tears,
Then turn all smiles-a jade that won her point?
Have seen her tear the hoary hair of ocean,
While he, himself full half a world, would moan
And roll and toss his clumsy hands all day
To earth like some great helpless babe,
Rude-rock'd and cradled by an unkind nurse,
Then stain her snowy hem with salt-sea tears;
And when the peaceful, mellow moon came forth,
To walk and meditate among the blooms
That make so blest the upper purple fields,
This wroth dyspeptic sea ran after her
With all his soul, as if to pour himself,
All sick and helpless, in her snowy lap.
Content! Oh, she has crack'd the ribs of earth
And made her shake poor trembling man from off
Her back, e'en as a grizzly shakes the hounds;
She has upheaved her rocky spine agairst
The flowing robes of the eternal God.

Lamonte

He stood a barehead boy upon a cliff
Pine-crown'd, that hung high o'er a bleak north sea.
His long hair stream'd and flashed like yellow silk,
His sea-blue eyes lay deep and still as lakes
O'erhung by mountains arch'd in virgin snow;
And far astray, and friendless and alone,
A tropic bird blown through the north frost wind,
He stood above the sea in the cold white moon,
His thin face lifted to the flashing stars.
He talk'd familiarly and face to face
With the eternal God, in solemn night,
Confronting Him with free and flippant air
As one confronts a merchant o'er his counter,
And in vehement blasphemy did say:
"God, put aside this world-show me another!
God, this world's but a cheat-hand down another!
I will not buy—not have it as a gift.
Put this aside and hand me down another—
Another, and another, still another,
Till I have tried the fairest world that hangs
Upon the walls and broad dome of your shop.
For I am proud of soul and regal born,
And will not have a cheap and cheating world."

Don Carlos

The noble youth! So God gave him another?

Lamonte

A bear, as in old time, came from the woods
And tare him there upon that storm-swept cliff—
A grim and grizzled bear, like unto hunger.
A tall ship sail'd adown the sea next morn,
And, standing with his glass upon the prow.
The captain saw a vulture on a cliff,
Gorging, and pecking, stretching his long neck
Bracing his raven plumes against the wind,
Fretting the tempest with his sable feathers.

A Young POET ascends the mountain and approaches.

Don Carlos.

Ho! ho! whom have we here? Talk of the devil,
And he's at hand. Say, who are you, and whence?

Poet.

I am a poet, and dwell down by the sea.

Don Carlos.

A poet! a poet, forsooth! A hungry fool!
Would you know what it means to be a poet now?
It is to want a friend, to want a home,
A country, money,—ay, to want a meal.
It is not wise to be a poet now,
For, oh, the world it has so modest grown
It will not praise a poet to his face,
But waits till he is dead some hundred years,
Then uprears marbles cold and stupid as itself.
[POET rises to go.]

Don Carlos

Why, what's the haste? You'll reach there soon enough.

Poet

Reach where?

Don Carlos

The inn to which all earthly roads do tend:
The " neat apartments furnish'd -see within;"
The "furnish'd rooms for quiet, single gentlemen;"
The narrow six-by-two where you will lie
With cold blue nose up-pointing to the grass,
Labell'd and box'd, and ready all for shipment.

POET(loosening hair and letting fall a mantle.)

Ah me! my Don Carlos, look kindly upon me!
With my hand on your arm and my dark brow lifted
Full level to yours, do you not now know me?
'Tis I, your Ina, whom you loved by the ocean,
In the warm-spiced winds from the far Cathay.

Don Carlos(bitterly)

With the smell of the dead man still upon you!
Your dark hair wet from his death-damp forehead!
You are not my Ina, for she is a memory.
A marble chisell'd, in my heart's dark chamber
Set up for ever, and naught can change her;
And you are a stranger, and the gulf between us
Is wide as the plains, and as deep as Pacific.
And now, good night. In your serape folded
Hard by in the light of the pine-knot fire,
Sleep you as sound as you will be welcome;
And on the morrow-now mark me, madam—
When to-morrow comes, why, you will turn you
To the right or left as did Father Abram.
Good night, for ever and for aye, good by;
My bitter is sweet and your truth is a lie.

Ina (letting go his arm and stepping back).

Well, then! 'tis over, and 'tis well thus ended;
I am well escaped from my life's devotion.
The waters of bliss are a waste of bitterness;
The day of joy I did join hands over,
As a bow of promise when my years were weary,
And set high up as a brazen serpent
To look upon'when I else had fainted
In burning deserts, while you sipp'd ices
And snowy sherbets, and roam'd unfetter'd,
Is a deadly asp in the fruit and flowers
That you in your bitterness now bear to me;
But its fangs unfasten and it glides down from me,
From a Cleopatra of cold white marble.
I have but done what I would do over,
Did I find one worthy of so much devotion;
And, standing here with my clean hands folded
Above a bosom whose crime is courage,
The only regret that my heart discovers
Is that I should do and have dared so greatly
For the love of one who deserved so little.
Nay! say no more, nor attempt to approach me!
This ten feet line lying now between us
Shall never be less while the land has measure.
See! night is forgetting the east in the heavens;
The birds pipe shrill and the beasts howl answer.

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Poetry

INA

by Joaquin Miller