# Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse/Marco Polo

7. MARCO POLO.
I, Marco Polo, Christian and Venetian, Acknowledge God the Trinity and cherish Hope of salvation in eternity For my sin-laden soul: In this my faith, In this my trust is set. What of my love, Ye ask? And I give answer tranquilly: My love is long and distant journeys; ever New-found horizons, new-found peoples, fresh Exploits on ocean and dry land, and ever Fresh enterprises. (This, my forebears' blood) Much have I seen, to much have given ear; I reached the land, whereof ye scarce have inkling, Where amber grows like golden foliage, Where salamanders (that ye dub asbestos) Blossom and blaze like lilies petrified, Where glowing naphtha gushes from the earth, Where there is equal wealth of rubies, as
Of holly here in winter; where across Their back and on their shoulders they tattoo The image of an eagle; where the women Alone rule, and the men are given up From birth to heavy service till they die. I gazed upon the realm whose ruler is Khan of Cathay; and I have sat at meat With those who feed on men: I was a wave Amid the surf: the mighty emerald (Pre-destined for the vizier of Bagdad) Beneath my tongue I carried through the desert. For thirty days and nights I came not down Out of my saddle. I have seen great deserts Like ruffled raiment billowing afar; The ocean sleeping underneath the moon Like a stiff winding-sheet; strange stars ablaze Beneath strange zones. I visited the realms Of Prester John, where goodness, virtue and Righteousness ruled, as in a legend,—yea, Now meseems almost that I even reached The wondrous nook of earth, where Alexander Once lighted on the wilderness of Ind, And came no farther on his way, because Of mighty downpours that abated not. (Perchance upon the faery realm he there Set foot, or e'en upon the town celestial, And shrank away in dread, when at the gate An angel put a skull into his hand, Saying: "A few more years, and this shall be Thy portion,—this, and not a tittle more!")
And I beheld that land of mystery Where lay the paradise of earth, where flowed The spring of youth, concealed within the grass Amid a thousand others, whence I drank From many, and, 'tis very like, from youth: And therefore all endured I with acclaim, And therefore all, as in a mirror, I Perceive within my soul, and now portray it. The world is changed of aspect: I shall die Like others, but my heritage remains: The lust for seeing all and learning all, To ransack all for the delight of man; Legion shall be my sons: they shall proceed Farther than I, but scarcely shall see more, For earth sheds wonders as a snake its skin.
Old age I know, with many dreams and secrets, And that suffices me. And they who come After me, let them take, as it may chance, Of what remains to them, as best they can, As I did. I sit foremost at the feast Of distant journeys, and it likes me well. All prospers me, and I fare well with all. To make all life a vigil over books, To rack one's brain 'mid piles of yellow parchments, Seeking the truth of writing and of thought, Is much, in sooth; to live an age in camps 'Mid roll of drums and trumpets in assaults, O'er ramparts in a rain of missiles, in
Ruins of towns, amid laments of women, Weeping of children, groaning of the fallen, Is much, in sooth; to be a holy bishop, Legions of spirits heavenward to escort, (The which be knoweth not) by solace of The faith alone, and by the word of God, In marble and in gold to hearken to The cadence and the dreamy grief of psalms. Is much, in sooth; but to behold and know With one's own eyes the distant, ample lands, And oceans, plains and star-tracks of the skies, And divers folk, their habit, usage, gods, This too, availeth somewhat, and hath charm By special token of its newness, that Doth ever change. And I have lived it through, I, Marco Polo, Christian and Venetian.
"New Fragments of an Epic" (1894).
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