[The santamingo is a kind of Oriental bird believed by foolish sailor-
men to confer on its possessor great content and peace of mind.]
East from the Mahanadi and north of the Nicobar
You will come to Evening Island where the santamingoes are;
Their wings are sunrise-orange and their tails are starlight-blue;
You catch a santamingo and all your dreams come true.
They've a crest of flaming scarlet and a purple-golden breast,
And their voice is like all the music that ever you liked the best,
And their eyes are like all the comfort that ever you hoped to find;
You catch a santamingo and you'll get peace of mind.
You won't find buried treasures, you won't get sudden luck,
But things'll just go smoothly that used to get somehow stuck--
The little things that matter, the trumpery things that please,
You catch your santamingo and you're always sure of these.
You don't get thrones and kingdoms, you don't turn great or good,
But you know you're just in tune with things, you know you're understood,
And wherever you chance to be is home and any old time's the best
When you've got your santamingo to keep your heart at rest.
If ever you've dreamed of a golden day when nothing at at all went wrong,
Or a pal who'd want no tellings but would somehow just belong,
Or a place that said, "I was made for you"--well, sailor-men tell you
flat,
You catch your santamingo and you'll find it all like that.
* * * * *
I've sailed from the Mahanadi to north of the Nicobar,
But I can't find Evening Island where the santamingoes are,
Though I've taken salt to put on their tails and all that a hunter
should--
Perhaps you can't _really_ catch them; but don't you wish you could?