Running the Rapids of the RatamaPAGE 217
ACROSS THE
ANDES
BY
CHARLES JOHNSON POST
A Tale of Wandering Days Among the Mountains of Bolivia and the Jungles of the Upper Amazon
Illustrated by the Author
NEW YORK
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
MCMXII
Copyright, 1912, by
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
All rights reserved
Thanks are due to Harper and Brothers and to the CenturyCompany for permission to incorporate as chapters in thisvolume, articles appearing in Harper’s Magazine and The Century,and to the latter for the drawings and paintings accompanyingsuch articles.
THE TROPICS
“The legion that never was listed,”
The soft-lilting rhythm and song,
The starlight, and shadowy tropics,
The palms—and all that belong;
The unknown that ever persisted
In dreams that were epics of bliss,
Of glory and gain without effort—
And the visions have faded, like this.
From dusk to dawn, when the heat is gone,
The home thoughts nestle and throb,
And the drifting breeze through the dim, gray trees
Stirs up the fancies wan
Of the old, cool life and a white man’s wife
With a white man’s babes on a lawn,
Where the soft greens please—yet each morrow sees
The flame that follows the dawn.
From dawn till eve the hot hours leave
Their mark like a slow-burned scar;
And a dull, red hate ’gainst the grilling fate,
Impulse and fevers weave;
While the days to come—in years their sum—
The helpless thoughts perceive
As an endless state, sans time or date,
That only gods relieve.
Rubber or gold—the game is old,
The lust and lure and venture;
And the trails gleam white in the tropic night
Where the restless spirits mould;
A vine-tied cross ’neath the festooned moss,
Bones in a matting rolled;
No wrong or right, the loss is slight,
The world-old fooled of gold.
“The legion that never was listed”—
The glamor of words in a song,
The lure of the strange and exotic,
The drift of the few from the throng;
The past that was never resisted
In the ebb or the flow of desire,
The foolish, the sordid, ambitious,
Now pay what the gods req