Behind us, on the desert brown, "At length was heard a river sounding Among the madden'd cattle rushing, "Hoarse-roaring, dark, the broad Gareep But that relentless robber clan Right through those waters wild and wan "All shivering from the foaming flood, And there, like cattle from the fold, "My mother's scream so long and shrill, My little sister's wailing cry, (In dreams I often hear them still!) Rose wildly to the sky. A tiger's heart came to me then, <6 Away-away on bounding steeds The white man-stealers fleetly go, Through long low valleys fringed with reeds, O'er mountains capp'd with snow,Each with his captive, far and fast; Until yon rock-bound ridge was pass'd, And distant stripes of cultured soil Bespoke the land of tears and toil. "And tears and toil have been my lot Harsh blows and burning shame. When round his heart, like scorpions, cling Black thoughts, that madden while they sting! "Yet this hard fate I might have borne, And taught in time my soul to bend, Had my sad yearning breast forlorn But found a single friend: My race extinct or far removed, The boor's rough brood I could have lovedBut each to whom my bosom turn'd Even like a hound the black boy spurn'd! "While, friendless thus, my master's flocks It chanced this fawn leapt from the rocks, I rescued it, though wounded sore, 66 Gently I nursed it; for I thought Since in this world of wrong and ill "Thus lived I, a lone orphan lad, 66 High swell'd my heart!-But when the star My bounding favourite forth, and far And there, from human kind exiled, "But yester morn a Bushman brought Because they say, O English chief, Such was Marossi's touching tale. Our breasts they were not made of stone- And one, with woman's gentle art, Her CHILD THE VILLAGE FUNERAL. Ir was a lonely hamlet, where the trees Waved, in green beauty, o'er the whitewash'd cot; Deepening the shade, as the light summer breeze Cluster'd the boughs, so beams of sun came not; Beneath smiled cottage flowers-'midst all a brook Ran hurrying off to a sequester'd nook; Then bursting forth beside a rose-wreath'd grot, Mirror'd its beauties-for to it were given, To mix the flowers of earth, and clouds of heaven. All seem'd enchantment in the flowery dell, By mimic schoolboy gaily made his own. Lo! on the ear peal'd forth another sound, And slow, and time-paced, came the funeral tread, And one, the bier with fresh-blown roses crown'd, As though pale silk waved o'er the youthful dead; Yet ill did the dark pall accord with flowers, And the bright sun of June's unclouded hours; Whilst heavy sighs proclaim'd all joy was fled From him, the childless father,—who gazed on Scenes, which brought memories of the loved, and gone. There the green oak in civil triumph bore The torn remains of the once favourite kite; And the rose-tree display'd a beauteous store Of rosy flowers, which, budding, joy'd the sight; And sideways spread a mound of unmown grass, O'er which such bounding feet were used to pass; All these seem'd shrouded in eternal night, Since from their view the father could but borrow Thoughts of past joy, to deepen present sorrow. The bell ceased tolling-and the solemn tread Sadness, and silence, mark'd the weary day; |