Behind us, on the desert brown,
We saw the vultures swooping down;
And heard, as the grim light was falling,
The gorged wolf to his comrade calling.
"At length was heard a river sounding
'Midst that dry and dismal land,
And, like a troop of wild deer bounding,
We hurried to its strand;
Among the maddened cattle rushing,
The crowd behind still forward pushing,
Till in the flood our limbs were drenched,
And the fierce rage of thirst was quenched.
"Hoarse-roaring, dark, the broad Gareep
In turbid streams was sweeping fast,
Huge sea-cows in its eddies deep
Loud snorting as we passed;
But that relentless robber clan
Right through those waters wild and wan
Drove on like sheep our captive host,
Nor staid to rescue wretches lost.
"All shivering from the foaming flood,
We stood upon the stranger's ground,
When, with proud looks and gesture rude,
The white men gathered round:
And there, like cattle from the fold,
By Christians we were bought and sold,-
'Midst laughter loud and looks of scorn,-
And roughly from each other torn.
"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,
And madly 'mong those ruthless men
I sprang!-Alas! dashed on the sand,
Bleeding, they bound me foot and hand.
"Away-away on bounding steeds
The white man-stealers fleetly go,
Through long low valleys fringed with reeds,
O'er mountains capped with snow,-
Each with his captive, far and fast;
Until yon rock-bound ridge was passed,
And distant stripes of cultured soil,
Bespoke the land of tears and toil.
"And tears and toil have been my lot Since I the white man's thrall became, And sorer griefs I wish forgot
Harsh blows and burning shame.
Oh, English chief! thou ne'er canst know
The injured bondsman's bitter woe,
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 loved-
But each to whom my bosom turned
Even like a hound the black boy spurned!
"While, friendless thus, my master's flocks
I tended on the upland waste,
It chanced this fawn leapt from the rocks,
By wolfish wild-dogs chased:
I rescued it, though wounded sore,
All dabbled with its mother's gore,
And nursed it in a cavern wild
Until it loved me like a child.
"Gently I nursed it; for I thought
(Its hapless fate so like to mine)
By good Utika it was brought,
To bid me not repine-
Since in this world of wrong and ill
One creature lived to love me still,
Although its dark and dazzling eye
Beamed not with human sympathy.
"Thus lived I, a lone orphan lad,
My task the proud boor's flocks to tend;
And this pet fawn was all I had
To love, or call my friend;
When, suddenly, with haughty look
And taunting words, that tyrant took
My playmate for his pampered boy,
Who envied me my only joy.
"High swelled my heart!-But when the star
Of midnight gleamed, I softly led
My bounding favourite forth, and far
Into the desert fled.
And there, from human kind exiled,
Four moons on roots and berries wild
I've fared-and braved the beasts of prey
To 'scape from spoilers worse than they.
"But yester morn a Bushman brought
The tidings that thy tents were here,
And now rejoicingly I've sought
Thy presence, void of fear;
Because they say, O English chief,
Thou scornest not the captive's grief:
Then let me serve thee as thine own,
For I am in the world alone!"
Such was Marossi's touching tale.
Our breasts they were not made of stone-
His words, his winning looks prevail-
We took him for "our own:"
And one, with woman's gentle heart,
Unlocked the fountains of his heart,
And love gushed forth, till he became
Her CHILD-in every thing but name.
It was a lonely hamlet, where the trees
Waved, in green beauty, o'er the whitewashed cot; Deepening the shade, as the light summer breeze Clustered the boughs, so beams of sun came not; Beneath, smiled cottage flowers-'midst all a brook Ran hurrying off to a sequestered nook ;
Then bursting forth beside a rose-wreathed grot,
Mirrored its beauties-for to it were given,
To mix the flowers of earth, and clouds of heaven.
All seemed enchantment in the flowery dell,
Yet all was solemn silence-no glad thrill
Of children's voices, breathing forth the spell
Of hope and early life-all, all was still;-
And yet, 'twas summer's bright unclouded noon,
When May's pale flowers gave place to those of June;
'Midst which the roving bee ranged forth at will;
At intervals was heard the cuckoo's tone,
By mimic schoolboy gaily made his own.
THE VILLAGE FUNERAL.
Lo! on the ear pealed forth another sound,
And slow, and time-paced, came the funeral tread, And one, the bier with fresh-blown roses crowned, 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 proclaimed 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 displayed a beauteous store
Of rosy flowers, which, budding, joyed the sight; And sideways spread a mound of unmown grass, O'er which such bounding feet were used to pass; All these seemed 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
Of slow receding footsteps died away,
Till all was gloom,-for, thinking on the dead,
The village children had forgot their play;
They missed their loved companion-he who'd chase
Their fleetest footsteps oft, and win the race;
Sadness and silence marked the weary day;
E'en mothers fearfully looked on the bloom
Of their loved boys-and thought upon the tomb.
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