I looked upon the land and sky,
Nor hoped to live nor feared to die;
And from my hollow breast a sigh
Fell o'er the burning waste.
But strong I grew and tall I grew;
I drank the region's balm and dew,—
It made me lithe in limb and thew,—
How swift I rode and ran!
And oft it was my joy to ride
Over the sand-blown ocean wide
While, ever smiling at my side,
Rode Marta of Milrone.
[p. 47]
A flood of horned heads before,
The trampled thunder, smoke and roar,
Of full four thousand hoofs, or more —
A cloud, a sea, a storm!
Oh, wonderful the desert gleamed,
As, man and maid, we spoke and dreamed
Of love in life, till white wastes seemed
Like plains of paradise.
Her eyes with Love's great magic shone.
"Be mine, O Marta of Milrone,—
Your hand, your heart be all my own!"
Her lips made sweet response.
"I love you, yes; for you are he
Who from the East should come to me —
And I have waited long!" Oh, we
Were happy as the sun.
There came upon a hopeless quest,
With hell and hatred in his breast,
A stranger, who his love confessed
To Marta long in vain.
To me she spoke: "Chosen mate,
His eyes are terrible with fate,—
I fear his love, I fear his hate,—
I fear some looming ill!"
[p. 48]
Then to the church we twain did ride,
I kissed her as she rode beside.
How fair — how passing fair my bride
With gold combs in her hair!