Oh, white nest, but thy birds are far;
East and northward the strong sons go;
One where the lone Nyanzas are,
One where the shoals of the Orange flow.
One is treading the world's wide path
In crowded cities beyond the seas;
And one found rest, in the hour of wrath,
On a warrior's couch of ease.
Bid them come back again—those that can,
Lead them hither o'er berg and veldt.
Comely woman and proper man,
Let them kneel where of old they knelt.
Would they not in a moment take
Step and voice from the years long fled?
Just as soon might the dead one wake
From his wild Shangani bed!
Yet he waiteth, the grey old sire,
On the pillared stoep, by the creeping vines.
The low sun wraps him with rosy fire,
And the thin gum-shadows are drawn like lines.
The Kaffir, driving the great-horned herds,
Passes, crooning a quiet tune;
And the mountains mutter, too low for words,
"We shall comfort him very soon."
Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/172
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LANCE FALLAW.
Lance Fallaw.
