Nay, there was that in his stern air That held e'en these rude men aloof: None came to share the broad-built roof That rose so fortress-like beside The angry, rushing, sullen tide, And only black men gather'd there, The old man's slaves, in dull content, Black, silent, and obedient. Then men push'd westward through his wood, His wild beasts fled, and now he stood Confronting men. He had endear'd No man, but still he went and came Apart, and shook his beard and strode His ways alone, and bore his load, If load it were, apart, alone. Then men grew busy with a name That no man loved, that many fear'd, And cowards stoop'd, and cast a stone, As at some statue overthrown. Some said a pirate blown by night From isles of calm Caribbean land, Who left his comrades; that he fled With many prices on his head, And that he bore in his hot flight The gather'd treasure of his band, In bloody and unholy hand. Then some did say a privateer, Then others, that he fled from fear, And climb'd the mad Missouri far, To where the friendly forests are; And that his illy-gotten gold Lay sunken in his black boat's hold. Then others, watching his fair bride, Said, "There is something more beside." Some said, a stolen bride was she, And that his strong arm in the strife Was red with her own brother's life, And that her lover from the sea Lay waiting for his chosen wife, And that a day of reckoning Lay waiting for this grizzled king. O sweet child-face, that ever gazed From out the wood and down the wave! O eyes, that never once were raised! O mouth, that never murmur gave! IX. O dark-eyed Ina! All the years Brought her but solitude and tears. Lo! ever looking out she stood Adown the wave, adown the wood, Adown the strong stream to the south, Sad-faced, and sorrowful. Her mouth Push'd out so pitiful. Her eyes Fill'd full of sorrow and surprise. Men say that looking from her place A love would sometimes light her face, As if sweet recollections stirr'd Her heart and broke its loneliness, Like far sweet songs that come to us, So soft, so sweet, they are not heard, So far, so faint, they fill the air, A fragrance filling anywhere. And wasting all her summer years That utter'd only through her tears, The seasons went, and still she stood For ever watching down the wood. Yet in her heart there held a strife With all this wasting of sweet life That none who have not lived and died, Held up the two hands crucified Between the ways on either hand, Can look upon or understand.