XVIII.
A distant shout! quick oaths! alarms!
The black men start up suddenly,
Stand in the stirrup, clutch their arms,
And bare bright arms all instantly.
But he, he slowly turns, and he
Looks all his full soul in her face.
He does not shout, he does not say,
But sits serenely in his place
A time, then slowly turns, looks back
Between the trim-bough'd tamarack,
And up the winding mountain way,
To where the long strong grasses lay.
He raised his glass in his two hands,
Then in his left hand let it fall,
Then seem'd to count his fingers o'er,
Then reach'd his glass, waved cold commands,
Then tapp'd his stirrup as before,
Stood in the stirrup stern and tall,
Then ran his hand along the mane
Half nervous-like, and that was all.
His head half settled on his breast,
His face a-beard like bird a-nest,
And then he roused himself, he spoke,
He reach'd an arm like arm of oak,
He struck a-west his great broad hand,
And seem'd to hurl his hot command.
He clutch'd his rein, struck sharp his heel,
Look'd at his men, and smiled half sad,
Half desperate, then hitch'd his steel,
And all his stormy presence had,
As if he kept once more his keel
On listless seas where breakers reel.
He toss'd again his iron hand
Above the deep, steep desert space,
Above the burning seas of sand,
And look'd his black men in the face.
They spake not, nor look'd back again,
They struck the heel, they clutch'd the rein,
And down the darkling plunging steep
They dropped toward the dried-up deep.
Below! It seem'd a league below,
The black men rode, and she rode well,
Against the gleaming sheening haze
That shone like some vast sea ablaze,
That seem'd to gleam, to glint, to glow
As if it mark'd the shores of hell.
Then Morgan stood alone, look'd back
From off the fierce wall where he stood,
And watch'd his dusk approaching foe.
He saw him creep along his track,
Saw him descending from the wood,
And smiled to see how worn and slow.
Then when his foemen hounding came
In pistol-shot of where he stood,
He wound his hand in his steed's mane,
And plunging to the desert plain,
Threw back his white beard like a cloud,
And looking back did shout aloud
Defiance like a stormy flood,
And shouted, "Vasques!" called his name,
And dared him to the desert flame.