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. 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!" 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! Before the Spanish priest we stood Of San Gregorio's brotherhood-- A shot rang out!--and in her blood My dark-eyed darling lay. O God! I carried her beside The Virgin's altar where she cried,-- Smiling upon me ere she died,-- "Adieu, my love, adieu!" I knelt before St. Mary's shrine And held my dead one's hand in mine, "Vengeance," I cried, "O Lord, be thine, But I thy minister!" I kissed her thrice and sealed my vow,-- Her eyes, her sea-cold lips and brow,-- "Farewell, my heart is dying now, O Marta of Milrone!" Then swift upon my steed I lept; My streaming eyes the desert swept; I saw the accursed where he crept Against the blood-red sun. I galloped straight upon his track, And never more my eyes looked back; The world was barred with red and black; My heart was flaming coal. Through the delirious twilight dim And the black night I followed him; Hills did we cross and rivers swim,-- My fleet foot horse and I. The morn burst red, a gory wound, O'er iron hills and savage ground; And there was never another sound Save beat of horses' hoofs. Unto the murderer's ear they said, "_Thou'rt of the dead! Thou'rt of the dead!_" Still on his stallion black he sped While death spurred on behind. Fiery dust from the blasted plain Burnt like lava in every vein; But I rode on with steady rein Though the fierce sand-devils spun.