And the aloe roars her crimson crest,
Like stately queen for gala drest;
And the bright-blossomed Bean-tree shakes
Its coral tufts above the brakes,
Brilliant as the glancing plumes,
Of sugar birds among its blooms,
With the deep green verdure bending
In the stream of light descending.
And now along the grassy meads,
Where the skipping reebok feeds,
Let me through the mazes rove
Of the light acacia grove;
Now while yet the honey-bee
Hums around the blossomed tree;
And the turtles softly chide,
Wooingly, on every side;
And the clucking pheasant calls
To his mate at intervals;
And the duiker at my tread
Suddenly lifts his startled head,
Then dives affrighted in the brake,
Like wild duck in the reedy lake.
My wonted seat receives me now—
This cliff with myrtle-tufted brow,
Towering high o'er grove and stream,
As if to greet the parting gleam.
With shattered rocks besprinkled o'er,
Behind ascends the mountain hoar,
Whose crest o'erhangs the Bushman's cave
(His fortress once and now his grave),
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THOMAS PRINGLE.
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