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(From With Walker in Nicaragua)
HOW wound we through the solid wood, | |
| With all its broad boughs hung in green, | |
| With lichen-mosses trailed between! | |
| How waked the spotted beasts of prey, | |
| Deep sleeping from the face of day, | 5 |
| And dashed them like a troubled flood | |
| Down some defile and denser wood! | |
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| And snakes, long, lithe, and beautiful | |
| As green and graceful-boughed bamboo, | |
| Did twist and twine them through and through | 10 |
| The boughs that hung red-fruited full. | |
| One, monster-sized, above me hung, | |
| Close eyed me with his bright pink eyes, | |
| Then raised his folds, and swayed and swung, | |
| And licked like lightning his red tongue, | 15 |
| Then oped his wide mouth with surprise; | |
| He writhed and curved, and raised and lowered | |
| His folds like liftings of the tide, | |
| And sank so low I touched his side, | |
| As I rode by, with my broad sword. | 20 |
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| The trees shook hands high overhead, | |
| And bowed and intertwined across | |
| The narrow way, while leaves and moss | |
| And luscious fruit, gold-hued and red, | |
| Through all the canopy of green, | 25 |
| Let not one sunshaft shoot between. | |
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| Birds hung and swung, green-robed and red, | |
| Or drooped in curved lines dreamily, | |
| Rainbows reversed, from tree to tree, | |
| Or sang low-hanging overhead,— | 30 |
| Sang low, as if they sang and slept, | |
| Sang faint, like some far waterfall, | |
| And took no note of us at all, | |
| Though nuts that in the way were spread | |
| Did crush and crackle as we stept. | 35 |
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| Wild lilies, tall as maidens are, | |
| As sweet of breath, as pearly fair, | |
| As fair as faith, as pure as truth, | |
| Fell thick before our every tread, | |
| As in a sacrifice to ruth, | 40 |
| And all the air with perfume filled | |
| More sweet than ever man distilled. | |
| The ripened fruit a fragrance shed | |
| And hung in hand-reach overhead, | |
| In nest of blossoms on the shoot, | 45 |
| The bending shoot that bore the fruit. | |
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| How ran the monkeys through the leaves! | |
| How rushed they through, brown-clad and blue, | |
| Like shuttles hurried through and through | |
| The threads a hasty weaver weaves! | 50 |
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| How quick they cast us fruits of gold, | |
| Then loosened hand and all foothold, | |
| And hung limp, limber, as if dead, | |
| Hung low and listless overhead; | |
| And all the time, with half-oped eyes | 55 |
| Bent full on us in mute surprise,— | |
| Looked wisely too, as wise hens do | |
| That watch you with the head askew. | |
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| The long days through from blossomed trees | |
| There came the sweet song of sweet bees, | 60 |
| With chorus-tones of cockatoo | |
| That slid his beak along the bough, | |
| And walked and talked and hung and swung, | |
| In crown of gold and coat of blue, | |
| The wisest fool that ever sung, | 65 |
| Or had a crown, or held a tongue. | |
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| Oh, when we broke the sombre wood | |
| And pierced at last the sunny plain, | |
| How wild and still with wonder stood | |
| The proud mustangs with bannered mane, | 70 |
| And necks that never knew a rein, | |
| And nostrils lifted high, and blown, | |
| Fierce breathing as a hurricane: | |
| Yet by their leader held the while | |
| In solid column, square, and file, | 75 |
| And ranks more martial than our own! | |
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| Some one above the common kind, | |
| Some one to look to, lean upon, | |
| I think is much a woman’s mind; | |
| But it was mine, and I had drawn | 80 |
| A rein beside the chief while we | |
| Rode through the forest leisurely; | |
| When he grew kind and questioned me | |
| Of kindred, home, and home affair, | |
| Of how I came to wander there, | 85 |
| And had my father herds and land | |
| And men in hundreds at command? | |
| At which I silent shook my head, | |
| Then, timid, met his eyes and said, | |
| “Not so. Where sunny foot-hills run | 90 |
| Down to the North Pacific sea, | |
| And Willamette meets the sun | |
| In many angles, patiently | |
| My father tends his flocks of snow, | |
| And turns alone the mellow sod, | 95 |
| And sows some fields not over broad, | |
| And mourns my long delay in vain, | |
| Nor bids one serve-man come or go; | |
| While mother from her wheel or churn, | |
| And may be from the milking shed, | 100 |
| There lifts an humble weary head | |
| To watch and wish for my return | |
| Across the camas’ blossomed plain.” | |
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| He held his bent head very low, | |
| A sudden sadness in his air; | 105 |
| Then turned and touched my yellow hair | |
| And took the long locks in his hand, | |
| Toyed with them, smiled, and let them go, | |
| Then thrummed about his saddle-bow | |
| As thought ran swift across his face; | 110 |
| Then turning sudden from his place, | |
| He gave some short and quick command. | |
| They brought the best steed of the band, | |
| They swung a bright sword at my side, | |
| He bade me mount and by him ride, | 115 |
| And from that hour to the end | |
| I never felt the need of friend. | |
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