In bulrush and in brake;

Where waving mosses shroud the pine,

And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine

Is spotted like the snake;

“Where hardly a human foot could pass,

Or a human heart would dare,—

On the quaking turf of the green morass

He crouched in the rank and tangled grass,

Like a wild beast in his lair.

“A poor old slave! infirm and lame,