528 THE ZAMANG OF GUAYRA. 



magnificent, that the effect seems over-proportioned to the object and 

 to the effect. A similar feeling is excited by this epistolary com- 

 position. 



Our analysis completed, we feel bound to recognize and express 

 our admiration of the skill and care of the printer, Mr. Childs, of Bun- 

 gay, in Suffolk. The volume is printed with a neatness and taste 

 commensurate with its importance ; and its convenience is consider- 

 ably enhanced by the appendage of a copious index. 



THE ZAMANG OF GUAYRA. 



[*' On leaving the village of Turmero we discover, at the distance of a league, an object which 

 appears on the horizon like a round hillock or a tumulus covered with vegetation. It is not a hill, 

 however, or a group of very close trees, but a single tree the celebrated Zamang of Guayra, 

 known over the whole province for the enormous extent of its branches, which form a hemisphe- 

 rical top 614 feet in circumference. The Zamang is a beautiful species of mimosa, whose tor- 

 tuous branches divide by forking. Its slim and delicate foliage is agreeably detached on the blue of 

 the sky. We rested a long while beneath this vegetable arch. The branches stretch out like the 

 spokes of a great umbrella, and all incline towards the ground, from which they uniformly remain 

 from twelve to fifteen feet distant. The inhabitants of these rallies, and especially the Indians, 

 have a great veneration for the Guayra Zamang, which the first conquerors seem to have found 

 nearly in the same state as that in which we now see it. Since it has been first noticed attentively, 

 no change has been observed in its size or form. It must be at least five or six hundred years old, 

 and seems likely to live many centuries." Humboldt's Travels.'] 



OH mighty glorious fane ! almost immortal tree ! 

 Age after age the Indian comes bows down, and worships thee ; 

 A simple faith a splendid shrine one built by God's own hand, 

 That murmurs forth its living prayer o'er all that sunny land. 



How sweet how gentle is thy voice ! are angels singing there ? 



Or is it but thy feathery leaves stirr'd by the playful air ? 



Or is it that thy million tongues in choral sweetness sing, 



While round a world of breathing flow'rs their speechless odours fling ? 



Within thy breathing arch, an Indian girl is sighing, 

 Tears gem her sun-stain'd cheek her warrior love is dying ; 

 Prostrate she bends, she prays then hears thy seer-like voice, 

 Whispering, it seems to say " Thy warrior lives rejoice !" 



There kneels a weeping mother a fever'd child she bears ; 



Such eloquence as mothers have, she pours to thee in pray'rs; 



Eas'd by thy cooling breath hush'd by thy soothing voice, 



The mother hears thee whispering round " He lives he sleepsrejoice !' 



