[Illustration ** Man with ox and plow, tilling a rocky field.]
Imagine how the Mighty Scheme, The Goal, the Vision, and the Dream Developed in his hands! With such a purpose, such a mind Could easily become inclined To use the worst of lands! Thus once we found him standing still, Enraptured, on a rocky hill; Beneath his feet there stank A swamp immeasurably wide, Wherein a kind of fœtid tide Rose rhythmical and sank, Brackish and pestilent with weeds And absolutely useless reeds, It lay; but nothing daunted At seeing how it heaved and steamed He stood triumphant, and he seemed Like one possessed or haunted.
[Illustration ** Blood standing on an outcropping viewing a vast swamp, waving his hat.]
With arms that welcome and rejoice, We heard him gasping, in a voice By strong emotion rendered harsh: “That Marsh--that Admirable Marsh!” The Tears of Avarice that rise In purely visionary eyes, Were rolling down his nose. He was no longer Blood the Bold, The Terror of his foes; But Blood inflamed with greed of gold.
He saw us, and at once became The Blood we knew, the very same Whom we had loved so long. He looked affectionately sly, And said, “perhaps you wonder why My feelings are so strong? You only see a swamp, but I---- My friends, I will explain it. I know some gentlemen in town Will give me fifty thousand down, Merely for leave to drain it.”
A little later on we found A piece of gently rolling ground That showed above the flat. Such a protuberance or rise As wearies European eyes. To common men, like Sin and me The Eminence appeared to be As purposeless as that. Blood saw another meaning there, He turned with a portentous glare, And shouted for the Native Name. The Black interpreter in shame Replied: “The native name I fear Is something signifying Mud.” Then, with the gay bravado That suits your jolly Pioneer, In his prospectus Captain Blood Baptized it “Eldorado.” He also said the Summit rose Majestic with Eternal Snows.
Now it behoves me (or behooves) To give a retrospect that proves What foresight can achieve, The kind of thing that (by the way) Men in our cold agnostic day Must come from Africa to say, From England to believe.
Blood had, while yet we were in town, Said with his intellectual frown: “Suppose a Rhino knocks you down And walks upon you like a mat, Think of the public irritation, If with an incident like that, We cannot give an illustration.”