Some white-tail'd antelope blow by So airy-like; some foxes shy And shadow-like shoot to and fro Like weavers' shuttles, as you pass; And now and then from out the grass You hear some lone bird cluck, and call A sharp keen call for her lost brood, That only makes the solitude, That mantles like some sombre pall, Seem deeper still, and that is all. A wide domain of mysteries And signs that men misunderstand! A land of space and dreams; a land Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas! A land of caves and caravans, And lonely wells and pools; A land That hath its purposes and plans, That seems so like dead Palestine, Save that its wastes have no confine Till push'd against the levell'd skies; A land from out whose depths shall rise The new-time prophets. Yea, the land From out whose awful depths shall come, All clad in skins, with dusty feet, A man fresh from his Maker's hand, A singer singing oversweet, A charmer charming very wise; And then all men shall not be dumb. Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say, "Take heed, for I prepare the way For weary feet." Lo! from this land Of Jordan streams and sea-wash'd sand, The Christ shall come when next the race Of man shall look upon his face. XXI. Pursuer and pursued! who knows The why he left the breezy pine, The fragrant tamarack and vine, Red rose and precious yellow rose! Nay, Vasques held the vantage ground Above him by the wooded steep, And right nor left no passage lay, And there was left him but that way,-- The way through blood, or to the deep And lonesome deserts far profound, That know not sight of man, or sound. Hot Vasques stood upon the rim, High, bold, and fierce with crag and spire. He saw a far gray eagle swim, He saw a black hawk wheel, retire, And shun that desert wide a-wing, But saw no other living thing. High in the full sun's gold and flame He halting and half waiting came And stood below the belt of wood, Then moved along the broken hill And looked below. And long he stood With lips set firm and brow a-frown, And warring with his iron will. He mark'd the black line winding down As if into the doors of death. And as he gazed a breath arose As from his far-retreating foes, So hot it almost took his breath. His black eye flashed an angry fire, He stood upon the mountain brow, With lifted arm like oaken bough; The hot pursuer halting stood Irresolute, in nettled ire; Then look'd against the cooling wood, Then strode he sullen to and fro, Then turned and long he gazed below.