| |
| LITHE and long as the serpent train, | |
| Springing and clinging from tree to tree, | |
| Now darting upward, now down again, | |
| With a twist and a twirl that are strange to see; | |
| Never took serpent a deadlier hold, | 5 |
| Never the cougar a wilder spring, | |
| Strangling the oak with the boa’s fold, | |
| Spanning the beach with the condor’s wing. | |
| |
| Yet no foe that we fear to seek,— | |
| The boy leaps wild to thy rude embrace; | 10 |
| Thy bulging arms bear as soft a cheek | |
| As ever on lover’s breast found place; | |
| On thy waving train is a playful hold | |
| Thou shalt never to lighter grasp persuade, | |
| While a maiden sits in thy drooping fold, | 15 |
| And swings and sings in the noonday shade! | |
| |
| O giant strange of our Southern woods! | |
| I dream of thee still in the well-known spot, | |
| Though our vessel strains o’er the ocean floods, | |
| And the northern forest beholds thee not; | 20 |
| I think of thee still with a sweet regret, | |
| As the cordage yields to my playful grasp,— | |
| Dost thou spring and cling in our woodlands yet? | |
| Does the maiden still swing in thy giant clasp? | |
| |
