Later Poems

by Bliss Carman

 

El Dorado

 
THIS is the story
Of Santo Domingo,
The first established
Permanent city
Built in the New World.
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Miguel Dias,
A Spanish sailor
In the fleet of Columbus,
Fought with a captain,
Wounded him, then in fear
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Fled from his punishment.

Ranging the wilds, he came
On a secluded
Indian village
Of the peace-loving
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Comely Caguisas.
There he found shelter,
Food, fire, and hiding,—
Welcome unstinted.

Over this tribe ruled—
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No cunning chieftain
Grown gray in world-craft,
But a young soft-eyed
Girl, tender-hearted,
Loving, and regal
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Only in beauty,
With no suspicion
Of the perfidious
Merciless gold-lust
Of the white sea-wolves,—
Roving, rapacious,
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Conquerors, destroyers.
Strongly the stranger
Wooed with his foreign
Manners, his Latin
Fervor and graces;
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Beat down her gentle,
Unreserved strangeness;

Made himself consort
Of a young queen, all
Loveliness, ardour,
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And generous devotion.
Her world she gave him,
Nothing denied him,
All, all for love’s sake
Poured out before him,—
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Lived but to pleasure
And worship her lover.

Such is the way
Of free-hearted women,
Radiant beings
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Who carry God’s secret;
All their seraphic
Unworldly wisdom
Spent without fearing
Or calculation
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For the enrichment
Of—whom, what, and wherefore?

Ask why the sun shines
And is not measured,
Ask why the rain falls
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Aeon by aeon,
Ask why the wind comes
Making the strong trees
Blossom in springtime,
Forever unwearied!
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Whoever earned these gifts,
Air, sun, and water?
Whoever earned his share
In that unfathomed
Full benediction,
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Passing the old earth’s
Cunningest knowledge,
Greater than all
The ambition of ages,
Light as a thistle-seed,
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Strong as a tide-run,
Vast and mysterious
As the night sky,—
The love of woman?
Not long did Miguel
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Dias abide content
With his good fortune.
Back to his voyaging
Turned his desire,
Restless once more to rove
85
With boon companions,
Filled with covetous
Thirst for adventure,—
The white man’s folly.

Then poor Zamcaca,
90
In consternation
Lest she lack merit
Worthy to tether
His wayward fancy,
Knowing no way but love,
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Guileless, and sedulous
Only to gladden,
Quick and sweet-souled
As another Madonna,
Gave him the secret
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Of her realm’s treasure,—
Raw gold unweighed,
Stored wealth unimagined;
Decked him with trappings
Of that yellow peril;
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And bade him go
Bring his comrades to settle
In her dominion.

Not long the Spaniards
Stood on that bidding.
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Gold was their madness,
Their Siren and Pandar.
Trooping they followed
Their friend the explorer,
Greed-fevered ravagers
115
Of all things goodly,
Hot-foot to plunder
The land of his love-dream.
They swooped on that country,
Founded their city,
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Made Miguel Dias
Its first Alcalde,—
Flattered and fooled him,
Loud in false praises
For the great wealth he had
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By his love’s bounty.

Then the old story,
Older than Adam,—
Treachery, rapine,
Ingratitude, bloodshed,
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Wrought by the strong man
On unsuspecting
And gentler brothers.
The rabid Spaniard,
Christian and ruthless

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(Like any modern
Magnate of Mammon),
Harried that fearless,
Light-hearted, trustful folk
Under his booted heel.
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Tears (ah, a woman’s tears,—
The grief of angels,—)
Fell from Zamcaca,
Sorrowing, hopeless,
Alone, for her people.
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Sick from injustice,
Distraught, and disheartened,
Tortured by sight and sound
Of wrong and ruin,
When the kind, silent,
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Tropical moonlight,
Lay on the city,
In the dead hour
When the soul trembles
Within the portals
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Of its own province,
While far away seem
All deeds of daytime,
She rose and wondered;
Gazed on the sleeping
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Face of her loved one,
Alien and cruel;
Kissed her strange children,
Longingly laying a hand
In farewell on each,
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Crept to the door, and fled
Back to the forest

Only the deep heart
Of the World-mother,
Brooding below the storms
170
Of human madness,
Can know what desolate
Anguish possessed her.

Only the far mind
Of the World-father,
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Seeing the mystic
End and beginning,
Knows why the pageant
Is so betattered
With mortal sorrow.
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