THE JOURNEY TO THE AMAZON 277 



And through the green janellas 1 



(Which we should like to raise) 

 Dark eyes of the senhoras 



Upon the strangers gaze. 

 The many foreign faces, 



The lingo stranger still, — 

 All breathe to us in whispers 



That we are in Brazil. 



' We stroll about the suburbs, 



Beneath the mango groves, 

 Where friends appoint their meetings 



And lovers seek their loves; 

 Where fruit and doce vendors, 



With many a varied cry, 

 Invite the evening stroller 



Their luxuries to buy. 

 Here soars the lofty cocoa, 



Here feathery palm-trees rise, 

 And the green broad-leaved banana 



Swells forth 'neath sunny skies. 

 The cooling water-melon, 



The wild pine by the rill, — 

 All breathe to us in whispers 



That we are in Brazil. 



Once more upon the waters, 



Adieu to thee, Para, 

 Adieu, kind friends, whose latticed homes 



Are fading now afar. 

 We sail 'mid lovely islands, 



Where man has seldom trod, 

 Where the wild deer and the onga 



Are owners of the sod; 

 By forests high and gloomy, 



Where never a ray of sun 

 Can pierce its way to enter 



Those shades so thick and dun, 

 The cry of parrots overhead, 



The toucan with his bill, — 

 All breathe to us in whispers 



That we are in Brazil. 



1 Venetian shutters in place of sashes. 



