Tinged with the blood of Aztec lands, Sphinx-like, the tawny herdsman stands, A coiled reata in his hands. Devoid of hope, devoid of fear, Half brigand and half cavalier,— This helot, with imperial grace, Wears ever on his tawny face A sad, defiant look of pain. Left by the fierce iconoclast A living fragment of the past, Greek of the Greeks he must remain.
Unmoored, unmanned, unheeded on the deep— Tossed by the restless billow and the breeze, It drifts o’er sultry leagues of tropic seas, Where long Pacific surges swell and sweep. When pale-faced stars their silent watches keep, From their far rhythmic spheres, the Pleiades, In calm beatitude and...
Tinged with the blood of Aztec lands, Sphinx-like, the tawny herdsman stands, A coiled reata in his hands. Devoid of hope, devoid of fear, Half brigand and half cavalier,— This helot, with imperial grace, Wears ever on his tawny face A sad, defiant look of pain. Left by the fierce iconoclast A...
Don juan has ever the grand old air, As he greets me with courtly grace; Like a crown of glory the snow-white hair That halos his swarthy face; And he says, with a courtesy rare and fine, As he ushers me in at the door, “Panchita mia will bring us the wine, And the casa is yours, señor.” His...
He crawls along the mountain walls, From whence the severed river falls; Its seething waters writhe and twist, Then leap, and crumble into mist. Midway between two boundless seas, Prone on a ragged reef he lies; Above him bend the shoreless skies, While helpless, on his bended knees, Into that...
Something more than the lilt of the strain, Something more than the touch of the lute; For the voice of the minstrel is vain, If the heart of the minstrel is mute.
