I could not turn from their revel in derision.
Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, |More deliberate. Solemnly chanted|
Cutting through the jungle with a golden track.
Then along that riverbank
A thousand miles
Tattooed cannibals danced in files;
Then I heard the boom of the blood-lust song
And a thigh-bone beating on a tin-pan gong.
And “Blood!” screamed the whistles and the fifes of the warriors, |A rapidly piling climax of speed and racket|
“Blood!” screamed the skull-faced, lean witch-doctors;