It was like the gleam of a fairy-dream, and I felt like earth's first Man, In an Eden bower with the yellow flower of a cactus for a fan; Oranges, peaches, grapes, and figs, cluster'd, ripen'd, and fell, And the cedar scent was pleasant, blent with the soothing 'cacia smell. The squirrels red ran overhead, and I saw the lizards creep, And the woodpecker bright with the chest so white tapt like a sound in sleep; I dreamed and dozed, with eyes half-closed, and felt like a three-year child, And, a plantain blade on his brow for a shade, even Phil Blood look'd mild. Well, back, jest then, came our hunting men, with the Panther at their head, Full of his fun was every one, and the Panther's eyes were red, And he skipt about with grin and shout, for he'd had a drop that day, And he twisted and twirled, and squeal'd and skirl'd, in the foolish Injin way. To the waist all bare Phil Blood lay there, with only his knife in his belt, And I saw his bloodshot eye-balls stare, and I knew how fierce he felt,-- When the Injin dances with grinning glances around him as he lies, With his painted skin and his monkey grin,-- and leers into his eyes! Then before I knew what I should do Phil Blood was on his feet, And the Injin could trace the hate in his face, and his heart began to beat, And, "Git out o' the way," he heard them say, "for he means to hev your life!" But before he could fly at the warning cry, he saw the flash of the knife. "Run, Panther run!" cried each mother's son, and the Panther took the track; With a wicked glare, like a wounded bear, Phil Blood sprang at his back. Up the side so steep of the canon deep the poor old critter sped, And the devil's limb ran after him, till they faded overhead. Now, the spot of ground where our luck was found, was a queerish place, you'll mark, Jest under the jags of the mountain crags and the precipices dark, Far up on high, close to the sky, the two crags leant together, Leaving a gap, like an open trap, with a gleam of golden weather. A pathway led from the beck's dark bed up to the crags on high, And along that path the Injin fled, fast as a man could fly. Some shots were fired, for I desired to keep the white beast back; But I missed my man, and away he ran on the flying Injin's track. Now all below is thick, you know, with 'cacia, alder, and pine, And the bright shrubs deck the side of the beck, and the lian flowers so fine, For the forest creeps all under the steeps, and feathers the feet of the crags With boughs So thick that your path you pick,