in the cypress gates
Of the Ocklawaha.

"High the silver ibis flies--
Silver wings in silver skies;
In the sun the Saurian lies:
Comes the mockingbird and prates
To the boatman at the gates
Of the Ocklawaha.

"Now the broader waters gleam--
Seems my voyage upon the stream
Like a semblance of a dream,
And the dream my Soul elates;
Life flows through the cypress gates
Of the Ocklawaha.

"Ibis, thou wilt fly again,
Ring-dove, thou wilt sigh again,
Jessamines bloom in golden rain;
And a loving song-bird waits
Me beyond the cypress gates
Of the Ocklawaha."

CHAPTER XIX.

SUNBEAM, THE SEMINOLE.

When I had concluded the recitation of the poem which closes the
preceding chapter, a fine-looking gentleman sitting near us arose, and
lifting his hat very gracefully, said:

"Pardon me. As a native Floridian, I have much enjoyed hearing you
repeat that poem relating to my State."

This led to a pleasant conversation, during which he introduced us to
his wife as being one of the aborigines. We expressed much interest in
this statement, and finally persuaded him to give us an account of
his courtship, which, with some amplifications, was substantially as
follows:

It is midnight in the vast everglades of Florida. The mammoth forest
trees seem to support the arch of heaven as the pillars uphold the
great dome of the nation's capitol. Here and there the century-old
orange trees are resplendent with the golden globes of the luscious
fruit, and millions of flowering vines beautify even the dead monarchs
of the woods.

All these tropical splendors are illumined by the rays of the full
hunter's moon, which transforms the trailing streamers of dewy Spanish
moss into long-drawn chains of sparkling silver. From swamp and
foliage the voices of the night fill the balmy air with quavering
wailings, punctured by the occasional screams of wild-cats and
hootings of the melancholy owls. Here in this forest primeval, mid
the murmuring pines and star-eyed magnolias, nature rules supreme,
uncontaminated by the trammels of civilization.

But what is that? Surely human forms swinging noiselessly from limb
to limb over dark pools where the deadly moccasins and ferocious
alligators slumber, over stagnant lagoons beautified by great lilies,
and densely populated with rainbow colored fishes, and gaily decorated
by water-fowl now all motionless in the embrace of sleep, the brother
of death.