British law to give him safety,
   British fleets to guard his shore,
And a square of British freehold—­
   He had all we have, and more.

Fattening through the endless summer,
   Like his own provision ground,
He had reached the summum bonum
   Which our latest wits have found.

So he thought; and in his hammock
   Gnawed his junk of sugar-cane,
Toasted plantains at the fire-stick,
   Gnawed, and dozed, and gnawed again.

Had a wife in his ajoupa {332}—­
   Or, at least, what did instead;
Children, too, who died so early,
   He’d no need to earn their bread.

Never stole, save what he needed,
   From the Crown woods round about;
Never lied, except when summoned—­
   Let the warden find him out.

Never drank, except at market;
   Never beat his sturdy mate;
She could hit as hard as he could,
   And had just as hard a pate.

Had no care for priest nor parson,
   Hope of heaven nor fear of hell;
And in all his views of nature
   Held with Comte and Peter Bell.

Healthy, happy, silly, kindly,
   Neither care nor toil had he,
Save to work an hour at sunrise,
   And then hunt the colibri.

Not a bad man; not a good man: 
   Scarce a man at all, one fears,
If the Man be that within us
   Which is born of fire and tears.

Round the palm-stems, round the creepers,
   Flashed a feathered jewel past,
Ruby-crested, topaz-throated,
   Plucked the cocorite bast,

Plucked the fallen ceiba-cotton, {333}
   Whirred away to build his nest,
Hung at last, with happy humming,
   Round some flower he fancied best.

Up then went the rusty muzzle,
   ‘Dat de tenth I shot to-day:’ 
But out sprang the Indian shouting,
   Balked the negro of his prey.

’Eh, you Senor Trinidada! 
   What dis new ondacent plan? 
Spoil a genl’man’s chance ob shooting? 
   I as good as any man.

’Dese not your woods; dese de Queen’s woods: 
   You seem not know whar you ar,
Gibbin’ yuself dese buckra airs here,
   You black Indian Papist!  Dar!’

Stately, courteous, stood the Indian;
   Pointed through the palm-tree shade: 
’Does the gentleman of colour
   Know how yon Pitch Lake was made?’

Grinned the negro, grinned and trembled—­
   Through his nerves a shudder ran—­
Saw a snake-like eye that held him;
   Saw—­he’d met an Obeah man.

Saw a fetish—­such a bottle—­
   Buried at his cottage door;
Toad and spider, dirty water,
   Rusty nails, and nine charms more.

Saw in vision such a cock’s head
   In the path—­and it was white! 
Saw Brinvilliers {334} in his pottage: 
   Faltered, cold and damp with fright.

Fearful is the chance of poison: 
   Fearful, too, the great unknown: 
Magic brings some positivists
   Humbly on their marrow-bone.