And now the moon wheel'd white and vast, A round, unbroken, marbled moon, And touch'd the far bright buttes of snow, Then climb'd their shoulders over soon; And there she seem'd to sit at last, To hang, to hover there, to grow, Grow vaster than vast peaks of snow. Grow whiter than the snow's own breast, Grow softer than September's noon, Until the snow-peaks seem'd at best But one wide, shining, shatter'd moon. She sat the battlements of time; She shone in mail of frost and rime, A time, and then rose up and stood In heaven in sad widowhood. * * * * * The faded moon fell wearily, And then the sun right suddenly Rose up full arm'd, and rushing came Across the land like flood of flame. XXXII. The sun roll'd on. Lo! hills uprose As push'd against the arching skies,-- As if to meet the timid sun-- Rose sharp from out the sultry dun, Set well with wood, and brier, and rose, And seem'd to hold the free repose Of lands where rocky summits rise, Or unfenced fields of Paradise. The black men look'd up from the sands Against the dim, uncertain skies, As men that disbelieved their eyes, And would have laugh'd; they wept instead, With shoulders heaved, with bowing head Hid down between their two black hands. They stood and gazed. Lo! like the call Of spring-time promises, the trees Lean'd from their lifted mountain wall, And stood clear cut against the skies As if they grew in pistol-shot. Yet all the mountains answer'd not, And yet there came no cooling breeze, Nor soothing sense of windy trees. At last old Morgan, looking through His shaded fingers, let them go, And let his load fall down as dead. He groan'd, he clutch'd his beard of snow As was his wont, then bowing low, Took up his life, and moaning said, "Lord Christ! 'tis the mirage, and we Stand blinded in a burning sea." O sweet deceit when minds despair! O mad deceit of man betray'd! O mother Nature, thou art fair, But thou art false as man or maid. Yea, many lessons, mother Earth, Have we thy children learn'd of thee In sweet deceit.... The sudden birth Of hope that dies mocks destiny. O mother Earth, thy promises Are fallen leaves; they lie forgot! Such lessons! How could we learn less? We are but children, blame us not. XXXIII. Again they move, but where or how It recks them little, nothing now. Yet Morgan leads them as before, But totters now; he bends, and he Is like a broken ship a-sea,-- A ship that knows not any shore, And knows it shall not anchor more.