The brown-muzzled cattle come stealthy to drink, The wild forest cattle, with high horns as trim As the elk at their side: their sleek necks are slim And alert like the deer. They come, then they shrink As afraid of their fellows, of shadow-beasts seen In the deeps of the dark-wooded waters of green. It is man in his garden, scarce wakened as yet From the sleep that fell on him when woman was made. The new-finished garden is plastic and wet From the hand that has fashioned its unpeopled shade; And the wonder still looks from the fair woman's eyes As she shines through the wood like the light from the skies. And a ship now and then from some far Ophir's shore Draws in from the sea. It lies close to the bank; Then a dull, muffled sound of the slow-shuffled plank As they load the black ship; but you hear nothing more, And the dark dewy vines, and the tall sombre wood Like twilight droop over the deep sweeping flood. The black masts are tangled with branches that cross, The rich, fragrant gums fall from branches to deck, The thin ropes are swinging with streamers of moss That mantle all things like the shreds of a wreck; The long mosses swing, there is never a breath: The river rolls still as the river of death. I. In the beginning,--ay, before The six-days' labors were well o'er; Yea, while the world lay incomplete, Ere God had opened quite the door Of this strange land for strong men's feet,-- There lay against that westmost sea One weird-wild land of mystery. A far white wall, like fallen moon, Girt out the world. The forest lay So deep you scarcely saw the day, Save in the high-held middle noon: It lay a land of sleep and dreams, And clouds drew through like shoreless streams That stretch to where no man may say. Men reached it only from the sea, By black-built ships, that seemed to creep Along the shore suspiciously, Like unnamed monsters of the deep. It was the weirdest land, I ween, That mortal eye has ever seen: A dim, dark land of bird and beast, Black shaggy beasts with cloven claw,-- A land that scarce knew prayer or priest, Or law of man, or Nature's law; Where no fixed line drew sharp dispute 'Twixt savage man and silent brute. II. It hath a history most fit For cunning hand to fashion on; No chronicler hath mentioned it; No buccaneer set foot upon. 'Tis of an outlawed Spanish Don,-- A cruel man, with pirate's gold That loaded down his deep ship's hold. A deep ship's hold of plundered gold! The golden cruise, the golden cross, From many a church of Mexico, From Panama's mad overthrow, From many a ransomed city's loss, From many a follower stanch and bold, And many a foeman stark and cold.