The Arizonian

by Joaquin Miller

Come to my sunland! Come with me
To the land I love; where the sun and sea
Are wed for ever; where the palm and pine
Are fill'd with singers; where tree and vine
Are voiced with prophets! 0 come, and you
Shall sing a song with the seas that swirl
And kiss their hands to that cold white girl,
To the maiden moon in her mantle of blue.
nd I have said, and I say it ever,
As the years go on and the world goes over,
Twere better to be content and clever,
In the tending of cattle and the tossing of clover,
In the grazing of cattle and growing of grain,
Than a strong man striving for fame or gain;
Be even as kine in the red-tipped clover:
For they lie down and their rests are rests,
And the days are theirs, come sun, come rain,
He said these things as he stood with the Squire
By the river's rim in the field of clover,
While the stream flow'd on and the clouds
To rest, rise up, and repose again;
While we wish and yearn, and do pray in vain,
And hope to ride on the billows of bosoms,
And hope to rest in the haven of breasts,
Till the heart is sicken'd and the fair hope dead —
Be even as clover with its crown of blossoms,
Even as blossoms ere the bloom is shed,
Kiss'd by the kine and the brown sweet bee —
For these have the sun, and moon, and air,
And never a bit of the burthen of care:
Yet with all of our caring what more have we?
"I would court content like a lover lonely,
I would woo her, win her, and wear her only.
And would never go over the white sea wall
For gold or glory or for aught at all."
He said these things as he stood with the Squire
By the river's rim in the field of clover,
While the stream flow'd on and the clouds flew over,
With the sun tangled in and the fringes afire.
So the Squire lean'd with a kindly glory
To humor his guest, and to hear his story;
For his guest had gold, and he yet was clever,
And mild of manner; and, what was more,
In the morning's ramble had praised the kine.
The clover's reach and the meadows fine,
And so made the Squire his friend forever.
His brow was brown'd by the sun and weather,
And touch'd by the terrible hand of time;
His rich black beard had a fringe of rime,
As silk and silver inwove together.
There were hoops of gold all over his hands,
And across his breast in chains and bonds,
Broad and massive as belts of leather.
And the belts of gold were bright in the Sun,
But brighter than gold his black eyes shone
From their sad face-setting so swarth and
dunBrighter than beautiful Santan stone,
Brighter even than balls of fire,
As he said, hot-faced, in the face of the Squire:
"The pines bow'd over, the stream bent under,
The cabin was cover'd with thatches of palm
Down in a canyon so deep, the wonder
Was what it could know in its clime but calm;
Down in a cation so cleft asunder
By sal)bre-stroke in the young world's prime,
It look'd as if broken by bolts of thunder,
And burst asunder and rent and riven
By earthquakes driven that turbulent time
The red cross lifted red hands to heaven.
"And this in that land where the sun goes down,
And gold is gather'd by tide and by stream,
And the maidens are brown as the cocoa br own,
And life is a love and a love is a dream;
Where the winds come in from the far Cathay
With odor of spices and balm and bay,
And summer abideth with man alway,
Nor comes in a tour with the stately June,
And comes too late and returns too soon.
She stood in the shadows as the sun went down,
Fretting her hair with her fingers brown,
As tall as the silk-tipp'd tassel'd corn —
Stood watching, dark brow'd, as I weighed the gold
We had wash'd that day where the river roll'd;
And her proud lip curl'd with a sun-clime scorn,
As she ask'd, 'Is she better, or fairer than I? —
She, that blonde in the land beyond,
Where the sun is hid and the seas are high —
That you gather in gold as the years go by,
And hoard and hide it away for her
As the squirrel burrows the black pine burr?
"Now the gold weigh'd well, but was lighter of weight
Than we two had taken for days of late,
So I was fretted, and brow a-frown,
I said, half angered, with head held down —
'Well, yes, she is fairer; and I loved her first:
And shall love her last, come worst to the worst.'
"Her lips grew livid, and her eyes afire
As I said this thing; and higher and higher
The hot words ran, when the booming thunder
Peal'd in the crags and the pine-tops under,
While up by the cliff in the murky skies
It look'd as the clouds had caught the
fireThe flash and fire of her wonderful eyes!
"She turn'd from the door and down to the river,
And mirror'd her face in the whimsical tide,
Then threw back her hair as one throwing a quiver,
As an Indian throws it back far from his side
And free from his hands, swinging fast to the shoulder
When rushing to battle; and, turning, she sigh'd
And shook, and shiver'd as aspens shiver.
Then a great green snake slid into the river,
Glistening green, and with eyes of fire;
Quick, double-handed she seized a boulder,
And cast it with all the fury of passion,
As with lifted head it went curving across,
Swift darting its tongue like a fierce desire,
Curving and curving, lifting higher and higher,
Bent and beautiful as a river moss;
Then, smitten, it turn'd, bent, broken and doubled
And lick'd, red-tongued, like a forked fire,
Then sank and the troubled waters bubbled
And so swept on in the old swift fashion.
"I lay in my hammock: the air was heavy
And hot and threat'ning; the very heaven
Was holding its breath; and bees in a bevy
Hid under my thatch; and birds were driven
In clouds to the rocks in a hurried whirr
As I peer'd down by the path for her.
She stood like a bronze bent over the river,
The proud eyes fix'd,the passion unspoken.
Then the heavens broke like a great dyke broken;
And ere I fairly had time to give her
A shout of warning, a rushing of wind
And the rolling of clouds and a deafening din
And a darkness that had been black to the blind
Came down, as I shouted'Come in! Come in!
Come under the roof, come up from the river,
As up from a grave—come now, or come never!'
The tassel'd tops of the pines were as weeds,
The red-woods rock'd like to lake-side reeds,
And the world seeme d darken'd and drown'd forever,
While I crouched low; as a beast that bleeds.
"One time in the night as the black wind shifted,
And a flash of lightning stretch'd over the stream,
I seemed to see her with her brown hands lifted —
Only seem'd to see as one sees in a dream —
With her eyes wide wild and her pale lips press'd,
And the blood from her brow, and the flood to her breast;
When the flood caught her hair as flax in a wheel,
And wheeling and whirling her round like a reel;
Laugh'd loud her despair, then leapt like a steed,
Holding tight to her hair, folding fast to her heel,
Laughing fierce, leaping far as if spurr'd to its speed!
"Now mind, I tell you all this did but seem
Was seen as you see fearful scenes in a dream;
For what the devil could the lighting show
In a night like that, I should like to know?
"And then I slept, and sleeping I dream'd
Of great green serpents with tongues of fire,
And of death by drowning, and of after death —
Of the day of judgment, wherein it seem'd
That she, the heathen, was bidden higher,
Higher than I; that I clung to her side,
And clinging struggled, and struggling cried,
And crying, wakened all weak of my breath.
"Long leaves of the sun lay over the floor,
And a chipmunk chirp'd in the open door,
While above on his crag the eagle scream'd,
Scream'd as he never had scream'd before.
I rush'd to the river: the flood had gone
Like a thief, with only his tracks upon
The weeds and grasses and warm wet sand,
And I ran after with reaching hand,
And call'd as I reach'd, and reach'd as I ran,
And ran till I came to the cailon's van,
Where the waters lay in a bent lagoon,
Hook'd and crook'd like the horned moon.
"And there in the surge where the waters met,
And the warm wave lifted, and the winds did fret
The wave till it foam'd with rage on the land,
She lay with the wave on the warm white sand;
Her rich hair trailed with the trailing weeds,
While her small brown hands lay prone or lifted
As the waves sang strophes in the broken reeds,
Or paused in pity, and in silence sifted
Sands of gold, as upon her grave.
"And as sure as you see yon browsing kine,
And breathe the breath of your meadows fine,
When I went to my waist in the warm white wave
And stood all pale in the wave to my breast,
And reach'd my hands in her rest and unrest,
Her hands were lifted and reach'd to mine.
"Now mind, I tell you, I cried, 'Come in!'
Come into the house, come out from the hollow,
Come out of the storm, come up from the river!'
Aye, cried, and call'd in that desolate din,
Though I did not rush out, and in plain words give her
A wordy warning of the flood to follow,
Word by word, and letter by letter;
But she knew it as well as I, and better;
For once in the desert of New Mexico
When we two sought frantically far and wide
For the famous spot where Apaches shot
With bullets of gold their buffalo,
And she stood faithful to death at my side,
I threw me down in the hard hot sand
Utterly famish'd, and ready to die;
Then a speck arose in the red-hot sky —
A speck no larger than a lady's hand —
While she at my side bent tenderly over,
Shielding my face from the sun as a cover,
And wetting my face, as she watch'd by my side,
From a skin she had borne till the high noontide,
(I had emptied mine ill the heat of the morning)
When the thunder mutter'd far over the plain
Like a monster bound or a beast in pain:
She sprang the instant, and gave the warning,
With her brown hand pointed to the burning skies,
For I was too weak unto death to rise.
But she knew t he peril, and her iron will,
With a heart as true as the great North Star,
Did bear me up to the palm-tipp'd hill,
Where the fiercest beasts in a brother hood,
Beasts that had fled from the plain and far,
In perfectest peace expectant stood,
With their heads held high, and their limbs a-quiver.
Then ere she barely had time to breathe
The boiling waters began to seethe
From hill to hill in a booming river,
Beating and breaking from hill to hill —
Even while yet the sun shot fire,
Without the shield of a cloud above —
Filling the canyon as you would fill
A wine-cup, drinking in swift desire,
With the brim new-kiss'd by the lips you love!
"So you see she knew-knew perfectly well,
As well as I could shout and tell,
That the mountain would send a flood to the plain,
Sweeping the gorge like a hurricane,
When the fire flash'd and the thunder fell.
"Therefore it is wrong, and I say therefore
Unfair, that a mystical, brown-wing'd moth
Or midnight bat should forevermore
Fan past my face with its wings of air,
And follow me up, down, everywhere,
Flit past, pursue me, or fly before,
Dimly limning in each fair place
The full fixed eyes and the sad, brown face,
So forty times worse than if it were wroth!
"I gather'd the gold I had hid in the earth,
Hid over the door and hid under the hearth:
Hoarded and hid, as the world went over,
For the love of a blonde by a sun-brown'd lover,
And I said to myself, as I set my face
To the East and afar from the desolate place,
'She has braided her tresses, and through her tears
Look'd away to the West for years, the years
That I have wrought where the sun tans brown;
She has waked by night, she has watch'd by day,
She has wept and wonder'd at my delay,
Alone and in tears, with her head held down,
Where the ships sail out and the seas swirl in,
Forgetting to knit and refusing to spin.
"She shall lift her head, she shall see her lover,
She shall hear his voice like a sea that rushes,
She shall hold his gold in her hands of snow,
And down on his breast she shall hide her blushes,
And never a care shall her true heart know,
While the clods are below, or the clouds are above her.
"On the fringe of the night she stood with her pitcher
At the old town fountain: and oh! passingn fair.
'I am riper now,' I said,'but am richer,'
And I lifted my hand to my beard and hair;
'I am burnt by the sun, I am brown'd by the sea;
I am white of my beard, and am bald, may be;
Yet for all such things what can her heart care?'
Then s he moved; and I said,' How marvelous fair!'
She look'd to the West, with her arm arch'd
'Looking for me, her sun-brown'd lover,'
I said to myself, and my heart grew bold,
And I stepp'd me nearer to her presence there,
As approaching a friend; for'twas here of old
Our troths were plighted and the tale was told.
"I How young she was and how fair she was!
How tall as a palm, and how pearly fair,
As the night came down on her glorious hair!
Then the night grew deep and my eyes grew dim,
And a sad-faced figure began to swim
And float by my face, flit past, then pause,
With her hands held up and her head held tears,
Yet face to my face; and that face was brown!
"Now why did she come and confront me there,
With the flood to her face and the moist in her hair,
And a mystical stare in her marvelous eyes?
I had call'd to her twice,'Come in! come in,
Now, that is the reason I do make complain
That for ever and ever her face should rise,
Facing face to face with her great sad eyes.
"I said then to myself, and I say it again,
Gainsay it you, gainsay it who will,
I shall say it over and over still,
And will say it ever; for I know it true,
That I did all that a man could do
(Some menl's good doings are done in vain)
To save that passionate child of the sun,
With her love as deep as the doubled main,
And as strong and fierce as a troubled sea —
That beautiful bronze with its soul of fire,
Its tropical love and its kingly ire —
That child as fix'd as a pyramid,
As tall as a tule and pure as a nun —
And all there is of it, the all I did,
As often happens was done in vain.
So there is no bit of her blood on me.
'She is marvelous young and is wonder fulfair,'
I said again, and my heart grew bold,
And beat and beat a charge for my feet.
'Time that defaces us, places, and replaces us,
And trenches our faces in furrows for tears,
Has traced here nothing in all these years.
'Tis the hair of gold that I vex'd of old,
The marvelous flowing, gold-flower of hair,
And the peaceful eyes in their sweet sur prise
That I have kiss'd till the head swam round.
And the delicate curve of the dimpled
And the pouting lips and the pearls within!
Are the same, the same, but so young, so fair!'
My heart leapt out and back at a bound,
As a child that starts, then stops, then lingers.
I How wonderful young!' I lifted my fingers.
And fell to counting the round years down
That I had dwelt where the sun tans brown.
"Four full hands, and a finger over!
'She does not know me, her truant lover,'
I said to myself, for her brow was a-frown
As I stepp'd still nearer, with my head held down,
All abash'd and in blushes my brown face over;
'She does not know me, her long lost lover,
For my beard's so long and my skin's so brown
That I well might pass myself for another.'
So I lifted my voice and I spake aloud:
'Annette, my darling! Annette Macleod!'
She started, she stopped, she turn'd, amazed,
She stood all wonder, her eyes wild-wide,
Then turn'd in terror down the dusk way-side,
And cried as she fled,'The man he is crazed,
And he calls the maiden name of my mother!'
"Let the world turn over, and over. and over,
And toss and tumble like beasts in pain,
Crack, quake, and tremble, and turn full over
And die, and never rise up again;
Let her dash her peaks through the purple cover,
Let her plash her seas in the face of the sun —
I have no one to love me now, not one,
In a world as full as a world can hold;
So I will get gold as I erst have done,
I will gather a coffin top-full of gold,
To take to the door of Death, to buy —
Buy what, when I double my hands and die?
"Go down, go down to your fields of clover,
Go down with your kine to the pastures fine,
And give no thought, or care, or labor
For maid or man, good name or neighbor;
For I gave all as the years went over —
Gave all my youth, my years and labor,
And a heart as warm as the world is cold,
For a beautiful, bright, and delusive lie:
Gave youth, gave years, gave love for gold;
Giving and getting, yet what have I?
"The red ripe stars hang low overhead,
Let the good and the light of soul reach up,
Pluck gold as plucking a butter-cup:
But I am as lead, and my hands are red.
"So the sun climbs up, and on, and over,
And the days go out and the tides come in,
And the pale moon rubs on her purple cover
Till worn as thin and as bright as tin;
But the ways are dark and the days are dreary,
And the dreams of youth are but dust in age,
And the heart grows harden'd and the hands grow weary,
Holding them up for their heritage.
"For we promise so great and we gain so little;
For we promise so great of glory and gold,
And we gain so little that the hands grow cold,
And the strained heart-strings wear bare and brittle,
And for gold and glory we but gain instead
A fond heart sicken'd and a fair hope dead.
"So I have said, and I say it over,
And can prove it over and over again,
That the four-footed beasts in the red-crown'd clover,
The pied and horned beasts on the plain
That lie down, rise up, and repose again,
And do never take care or toil or spin,
Nor buy, nor build, nor gather in gold,
As t he days go out and the tides come in,
Are better than we by a thousand-fold;
For what is it all, in the words of fire,
But a vexing of soul and a vain desire?"

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The Arizonian

by Joaquin Miller