And shadows of things that have long since fled
Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the dead;
And my Native Land, whose magical name
Thrills to my heart like electric flame;
The home of my childhood; the haunts of my prime;
All the passions and scenes of that rapturous time,
When the feelings were young, and the world was new,
Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to view ;-
All-all now forsaken, forgotten, foregone!
And I, a lone exile, remembered of none;
My high aims abandoned, my good acts undone,
Aweary of all that is under the sun,—
With that sadness of heart which no stranger may scan,
I fly to the Desert, afar from man!
Afar in the Desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side:
When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life,
With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and strife,—
The proud man's frown, and the base man's fear,
The scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear,-
And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and folly,
Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy;
When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high,
And my soul is sick with the bondman's sigh;
Oh! then there is freedom, and joy, and pride,
Afar in the Desert alone to ride!
There is rapture to vault on the champing steed,
And to bound away with the eagle's speed,
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand,-
The only law of the Desert Land.
Afar in the Desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side;
Away, away from the dwellings of men,
By the wild-deer's haunt, by the buffalo's glen;
By valleys remote, where the Oribi plays,
Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze, And the kùdù and eland unhunted recline
By the skirts of grey forests o'erhung with wild vine; Where the elephant browses at peace in his wood, And the river-horse gambols unscared in the flood, And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will
In the fen where the wild-ass is drinking his fill.
Afar in the Desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side;
O'er the brown Karroo, where the bleating cry
Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively;
And the timorous quagga's shrill whistling neigh
Is heard by the fountain at twilight grey;
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane,
With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain;
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste,
Hieing away to the home of her rest,
Where she and her mate have scoop'd their nest,
Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view
In the pathless depths of the parch'd Karroo.
Afar in the Desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side;
Away, away in the Wilderness vast
Where the White Man's foot hath never pass'd,
And the quiver'd Coránna or Bechuán
Hath rarely cross'd with his roving clan:
A region of emptiness, howling and drear,
Which Man hath abandon'd from famine and fear;
Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone,
With the twilight bat from the yawning stone;
Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root,
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot;
And the bitter melon, for food and drink,
Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt lake's brink:
A region of drought, where no river glides,
Nor rippling brook with osiered sides;
Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount,
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount,
Appears, to refresh the aching eye;
But the barren earth and the burning sky,
And the blank horizon, round and round,
Spread-void of living sight or sound.
And here, while the night winds round me sigh, And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky; As I sit apart by the desert stone,
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone;
"A still small voice" comes through the wild (Like a father consoling his fretful child), Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear, Saying "Man is distant, but GOD is near!"
'TWAS evening, though not sunset, and the tide, Level with these green meadows, seem'd yet higher:
THE WATER-NYMPH APPEARING TO THE SHEPHERD.
'Twas pleasant; and I loosen'd from my neck
The pipe you gave me, and began to play.
Oh that I ne'er had learnt the tuneful art!
It always brings us enemies or love.
Well, I was playing, when above the waves
Some swimmer's head methought I saw ascend;
I, sitting still, survey'd it, with my pipe.
Awkwardly held before my lips half-closed,—
Gebir! it was a Nymph! a Nymph divine!
I cannot wait describing how she came,
How I was sitting, how she first assum'd
The sailor; of what happen'd there remains
Enough to say, and too much to forget.
The sweet deceiver stept upon this bank
Before I was aware; for with surprise
Moments fly rapid as with love itself.
Stooping to tune afresh the hoarsen'd reed,
I heard a rustling, and where that arose
My glance first lighted on her nimble feet.
Her feet resembled those long shells explored
By him who to befriend his steed's dim sight
Would blow the pungent powder in the eye.
Was not of wonted woof nor vulgar art;
Her mantle show'd the yellow samphire-pod,
Her girdle the dove-colour'd wave serene.
"Shepherd," said she, "and will you wrestle now,
And with the sailor's hardier race engage?"
I was rejoiced to hear it, and contrived
How to keep up contention; could I fail,
By pressing not too strongly, yet to press?
"Whether a shepherd, as indeed you seem,
Or whether of the hardier race you boast,
I am not daunted; no, I will engage!"
"But first," said she, "what wager will you lay?"
"A sheep," I answered; "add whate'er you will."
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