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Translated by K. F. Kroeker
YE zones, so strange and wondrous, | |
| Thou distant magic land, | |
| Where swarthy men are roving | |
| Burnt by the sun’s fierce brand; | |
| Where all things glow and sparkle, | 5 |
| Where Phœbus’ golden beam | |
| The genuine gold doth darken | |
| That flashes bright in every stream. | |
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| Thy forests dark and deserts | |
| Are present to my view, | 10 |
| Thy feathery palms are mirrored | |
| In lakes of deepest blue; | |
| The wild beasts’ roar is sounding | |
| From cleft and cavern black, | |
| With heavy bales and costly | 15 |
| The Arab loads his camel’s back. | |
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| There, too, the curly negro | |
| Gold-dust in rivers seeks, | |
| And there Mount Atlas gravely | |
| Rears heaven-supporting peaks; | 20 |
| The sunlight tinges brightly | |
| Its crags with radiant blush, | |
| While elephants gray and sombre | |
| With ponderous step the meadows crush. | |
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| To dip his mane in the river | 25 |
| The lion stoopeth down, | |
| And swiftly as the lightning | |
| Canoes dart, light and brown; | |
| They pass o’er depths securely, | |
| And dates and rosin bear, | 30 |
| And from the waves dark faces | |
| All dripping and all wet appear. | |
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| O zone! So hot and glowing, | |
| Queen of the earth art thou! | |
| Sand is thy mantle flowing, | 35 |
| The sun doth crown thy brow: | |
| Of gold, thou queenly woman, | |
| Are all the clasps and rims, | |
| That fasten with fiery splendor | |
| The garment to thy burning limbs. | 40 |
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| The strand, with rocks and quicksands, | |
| Naked and parched with heat, | |
| Cut into shapes fantastic, | |
| Is a footstool for thy feet; | |
| The ocean far beneath it | 45 |
| Its edge doth hem and braid, | |
| Washing thy sandals, foaming, | |
| As an anxious and a willing maid. | |
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| On dazzling mats of scarlet | |
| Thou liest thoughtful and calm, | 50 |
| The spotted panthers are licking | |
| The fingers of thy left palm; | |
| While skilfully thy right hand, | |
| Sparkling with jewels rare, | |
| Into a tress is twisting | 55 |
| The lion’s mane of tawny hair, | |
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| And then again, untwining it, | |
| Into a five-toothed prong, | |
| Dost comb the hair’s dense tresses | |
| His curvéd back along: | 60 |
| His flanks are proudly heaving;— | |
| Anon, with the same hand | |
| Commandingly thou scarest | |
| The slim giraffes across the sand. | |
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| Upon thy shoulder sitting | 65 |
| In his plumage’ bright display, | |
| With chattering and with screaming | |
| Perches a parrot gay; | |
| He lays his beak so crooked | |
| Against thy listening ear, | 70 |
| With voice both loud and ringing | |
| Relates he stories strange to hear. | |
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| A silken turban, broidered | |
| With flowers, decks thy hair, | |
| A rich and costly necklace, | 75 |
| Such as sultanas wear, | |
| Of thousand links close-knitted | |
| To chain compact and sound, | |
| With golden coil encircles | |
| Thy neck which sun and heat have browned. | 80 |
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| Who is there, that has seen thee | |
| In all thy splendor quite? | |
| Dense forests ever screen thee, | |
| Waving with leafy night | |
| Before thy golden crescent, | 85 |
| Before thy cheek’s rich bloom, | |
| Before thy lips of ruby, | |
| Before thine eye which flashes gloom. | |
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| None, none have yet beheld thee, | |
| O Queen, from face to face, | 90 |
| Although full many a suitor | |
| Advanced with fearless pace | |
| To lift the veil that covers | |
| Thy brow with mystic fold,— | |
| Ah, with his life atoned he | 95 |
| The attempt he ventured all too bold! | |
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| From off thy throne thou rosest | |
| With menace dread to see,— | |
| “Arouse ye, O my lions, | |
| Tear him, and fight for me; | 100 |
| O sun! thy living fire | |
| From cloudless tent on high | |
| Hurl down on the offender | |
| With scorching ardor, hot and dry! | |
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| “Subdue his strength, ye vapors, | 105 |
| With sultry poisonous breath, | |
| And let at every palm-tree | |
| A javelin threaten death; | |
| Ye curly-headed negroes, | |
| Haste, bring to me his blood, | 110 |
| Let fly your hissing arrows, | |
| And take an aim full sure and good!” | |
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| Then up doth bound the lion, | |
| Roaring with fierce delight, | |
| And strikes his paw unwieldy | 115 |
| In the breast of the hapless white; | |
| From every bush a warrior | |
| With hideous grin doth leap, | |
| And with its breath of poison | |
| Simoom the desert plain doth sweep. | 120 |
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| His spur the Jolof presses | |
| Deep in his charger’s side; | |
| How can the fainting pale-face | |
| Such rage as this abide? | |
| All gashed and gory, sinking | 125 |
| A corpse upon the sand, | |
| He cruelly hath perished, | |
| O dread Sultana, through thy hand! | |
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| Thee, whom he fain desired | |
| To disclose to every eye, | 130 |
| And who didst therefore bear him | |
| Displeasure kindled high; | |
| Thee, in thy sanctuary, | |
| He would have glorified, | |
| Wherefore didst thou deter him | 135 |
| To publish thine own fame and pride? | |
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| The negro-kings who saw thee | |
| Thirst for the white man’s blood, | |
| Now offer it unto thee | |
| In humble suppliant mood; | 140 |
| The golden bowl doth brandish, | |
| Flashing in blood-red sheen, | |
| That many a drop of crimson | |
| Is sprinkled on thy veil of green. | |
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| Thy swelling lips thou pressest | 145 |
| Against the vessel’s rim, | |
| On the yellow sand thou gazest | |
| With savage smile and grim; | |
| The corpse before thee is lying, | |
| Fiercely the sun doth sting; | 150 |
| Through ages and through nations | |
| Thy murdered suitors’ fame shall ring! | |
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