ruin, And be told ’twas all my doing, While the villain grinn’d in glee! “Wretch!” I thunder’d, “Where’s my tree?” And these words came from his lips, “There’s the tree, and them’s the Chips.”

p. 61

p. 62TRANSFORMATION.

p. 62

THE LAST SPEECH AND CONFESSION OF A MAHOGANY-TREE NYMPH.

THE LAST SPEECH AND CONFESSION OF A MAHOGANY-TREE NYMPH.

You’ve heard in Greek mythology Of nymph and hamadryad Who had their being in a tree; Perchance, the tale admired. Yet live we, in oblivion sunk; Though strange, my tale’s as sure as That I was once a stately trunk In the forests of Honduras.

You’ve

My home was in a jungle low, And tall tree ferns grew round me; The humming-birds flew to and fro, And wild lianas bound me; The panther, jaguar, and ounce, Lurk’d ever in my branches On weary travellers to pounce While journeying to their ranches. Me, merchants from Honduras found Who had not got a log any; They cut me prostrate on the ground To make first-rate mahogany.

They pack’d me in a darksome hold; We cross’d the ocean quivering; They took me to a region cold That set my timbers shivering; p. 63Above, an atmosphere of fog; Around me, masts upstanding— When they had piled me log by log, Upon the dockyard landing.

p. 63

And then they came with rule and chalk Numb’ring my feet and inches, And pack’d us high beside that walk With pullies, cranks, and winches; And one by one my logs were sold, And one by one were taken, Till I, the spirit of the whole, Was left of form forsaken.

And when the auction sale was past, Mourning each separate splinter I flitted formless round the masts, Through all that ice-bound winter, Still with benumb’d and torpid sense All plan or hope deferring, Till, when the spring sun shone intense, My spirit’s sap was stirring,

I heard a wordless, whisper’d sound,  (Such as we tree-nymphs utter,) Of swelling twigs, and buds unbound, And tremulous leaflets’ flutter,— And saw a dim, green, glossy face With eyes like pearly flowers,— And knew 

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