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98
W. C. SCULLY.
No rest we know,
For we hurrying go
To our forest sanctuary,
Through thickets dense
Where the bush-buck lies,
Beneath krantzes whence
The leopard's eyes
Look down for his morning quarry.
My home is far,
And the morning star
Rose twice on our hither track;
Where the wide Bashee
From Baziya's side
Rolls toward the sea,
My kinsmen bide,
And they watch for my coming back.
For I wooed a maid,
But her father said,
Ere his daughter I might marry,
Five heifers fair,
And oxen five,
I must homeward bear;
So for love I strive,
For I could no longer tarry.
Of all the maids
That hoe in our glades,
Noniese is the trimmest one;
