Of eyes of jungle prowlers who at night
A-sniffling and a-growling hunt for mates.
Her mellow, soft and sing-song voice was whisp’ring
Enticing promises of untold joys
To taste of in this paradise of jet.
Alas! the curse of value, price and profit
Indelibly was branded on her brow,
The brow that ages past was of a savage.
Oh! thou hast conquered glorious Christian progress.