And men who saw her still do say That never once her lips were heard, By gloaming dusk or shining day, To utter or pronounce one word. Men went and came, and still she stood In silence watching down the wood.
Yea, still she stood and look'd away, By tawny night, by fair-fac'd day, Adown the wood beyond the land, Her hollow face upon her hand, Her black, abundant hair all down About her loose, ungather'd gown.
And what her thought? her life unsaid? Was it of love? of hate? of him, The tall, dark Southerner? Her head Bow'd down. The day fell dim Upon her eyes. She bow'd, she slept. She waken'd then, and waking wept.
She dream'd, perchance, of island home, A land of palms ring'd round with foam, Where summer on her shelly shore Sits down and rests for evermore.
And one who watch'd her wasted youth Did guess, mayhap with much of truth, Her heart was with that band that came Against her isle with sword and flame: And this the tale he told of her And her fierce, silent follower:
A Spaniard and adventurer, A man who saw her, loved, and fell Upon his knees and worshipp'd her; And with that fervor and mad zeal That only sunborn bosoms feel, Did vow to love, to follow her Unto the altar ... or to hell:
That then her gray-hair'd father bore The beauteous maiden hurriedly From out her fair isle of the sea To sombre wold and woody shore And far away, and kept her well, As from a habitant of hell, And vow'd she should not meet him more: That fearing still the buccaneer, He silent kept his forests here. The while men came, and still she stood For ever watching from the wood.
The black-eyed bushy squirrels ran Like shadows shatter'd through the boughs; The gallant robin chirp'd his vows, The far-off pheasant thrumm'd his fan, A thousand blackbirds were a-wing In walnut-top, and it was spring.
Old Morgan left his cabin door, And one sat watching as of yore; But why turned Morgan's face as white As his white beard? A bird aflight, A squirrel peering through the trees, Saw some one silent steal away Like darkness from the face of day, Saw two black eyes look back, and these Saw her hand beckon through the trees.
He knew him, though he had not seen That form or face for a decade, Though time had shorn his locks, had made His form another's, flow'd between Their lives like some uncompass'd sea, Yet still he knew him as before. He pursed his lips, and silently He turn'd and sought his cabin's door.