Fierce fighting to the tropic seas!

Men ofttime of no common birth,

Men rich in histories untold,

That boasted not, though more than bold,
Blown from the four parts of the earth.
Men mighty-thew'd as Samson was,

A remnant of a race that's past,
Dark-brow'd as kings in iron cast,
Broad-breasted as twin gates of brass,---
Men strangely brave and fiercely true,
Who dared the West when giants were,
Who err'd, yet bravely dared to err;
A remnant of that early few

Who held no crime or curse or vice
As dark as that of cowardice;

With blendings of the worst and best
Of faults and virtues that have blest
Or cursed or thrill'd the human breast.

*

How wound we through the solid wood, With all its broad boughs hung in green, With lichen-mosses trail'd between!

D

How waked the spotted beasts of prey,
'Deep sleeping from the face of day,

And dash'd them like a troubled flood
Down some defile and denser wood!

And snakes, long, lithe and beautiful As green and graceful bough'd bamboo, Did twist and twine them through and through

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 sway'd and swung, And lick'd like lightning his red tongue,

Then oped his wide mouth with surprise.

He writhed and curved, and raised and lower'd His folds like liftings of the tide,

And sank so low, I touch'd his side,

As I rode by, with my broad sword.

The trees shook hands high overhead, And bow'd and intertwined across

The narrow way, while leaves and moss

And luscious fruit, gold-hued and red,
Through the cool canopy of green,

Let not one sunshaft shoot between.

Birds hung and swung, green-robed and red, Or droop'd in curved lines dreamily, Rainbows reversed, from tree to tree, Or sang low-hanging overhead— Sang low, as if they sang and slept, Sang faint, like some far waterfall, And took no note of us at all, Though ripe nuts crush'd at every step.

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,

And all the air with perfume fill'd
More sweet than ever man distill'd.
The ripen'd fruit a fragrance shed
And hung in hand-reach overhead,

In nest of blossoms on the shoot,

The bending shoot that bore the fruit.

How ran the monkeys through the leaves ! How rush'd they through, brown clad and blue, Like shuttles hurried through and through

The threads a hasty weaver weaves !

How quick they cast us fruits of gold,
Then loosen'd hand and all foothold,
And hung limp, limber, as if dead,
Hung low and listless overhead;
And all the time, with half-oped eyes
Bent full on us in mute surprise—
Look'd wisely too, as wise hens do

That watch you with the head askew.

The long days through from blossom'd trees

There came the sweet song of sweet bees,

With chorus-tones of cockatoo,

That slid his beak along the bough,

And walk'd and talk'd and hung and swung,

In crown of gold and coat of blue,

The wisest fool that ever sung,

Or had a crown, or held a tongue.

O when we broke the sombre wood
And pierced at last the sunny plain,
How wild and still with wonder stood
The proud mustangs with banner'd mane,

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,

And ranks more martial than our own!

These things seem like some romance old,

By mad tale-monger made and told,

As I recount my reckless youth

In dry detail, dull word for word,
And deed for deed, as they occurr'd,
With less embellishment than truth.