"It seemed too good; I laughed to scorn Her trustful tale. She answered not; But meekly on the morrow morn Two massive bags of bright gold brought. "And when she brought this gold to me, Red Creole gold, rich, rare, and old,-- When I at last had gold, sweet gold, I cried in very ecstasy! "Red gold! rich gold! two bags of gold! The two stout bags of gold she brought And gave with scarce a second thought,-- Why, her two hands could hardly hold! "Now I had gold! two bags of gold! Two wings of gold to fly, and fly The wide world's girth; red gold to hold Against my heart for aye and aye! "My country's lesson: 'Gold! get gold!' I learned it well in land of snow; And what can glow, so brightly glow, Long winter nights of Northern cold? "Ay, now at last, at last I had The one thing, all fair things above My land had taught me most to love! A miser now! and I grew mad. "With those two bags of gold my own, I then began to plan that night For flight, for far and sudden flight,-- For flight; and, too, for flight alone. "I feared! I feared! My heart grew cold,-- Some one might claim this gold of me! I feared her,--feared her purity, Feared all things but my bags of gold. "I grew to hate her face, her creed,-- That face the fairest ever yet That bowed o'er holy cross or bead, Or yet was in God's image set. "I fled,--nay, not so knavish low As you have fancied, did I fly; I sought her at that shrine, and I Told her full frankly I should go. "I stood a giant in my power,-- And did she question or dispute? I stood a savage, selfish brute,-- She bowed her head, a lily-flower. "And when I sudden turned to go, And told her I should come no more, She bowed her head so low, so low, Her vast black hair fell pouring o'er. "And that was all; her splendid face Was mantled from me, and her night Of hair half hid her from my sight As she fell moaning in her place. "And there, 'mid her dark night of hair, She sobbed, low moaning through her tears, That she would wait, wait all the years,-- Would wait and pray in her despair. "Nay, did not murmur, not deny,-- She did not cross me one sweet word! I turned and fled: I thought I heard A night-bird's piercing low death-cry!" THE RHYME OF THE GREAT RIVER. PART II. How soft this moonlight of the South! How sweet my South in soft moonlight! I want to kiss her warm sweet mouth As she lies sleeping here to-night. How still! I do not hear a mouse. I see some bursting buds appear; I hear God in His garden,--hear Him trim some flowers for His house. I hear some singing stars; the mouth Of my vast river sings and sings, And pipes on reeds of pleasant things,-- Of splendid promise for my South: