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GEORGE E. BULGER.
193
KEISKAMMA.[1]
Where the gorgeous aloes grow,
There the hidden sources flow,
Cold and pure as molten snow,
Of the sweet Keiskamma.
Where the halcyon builds her nest
Neath the fern-tree's nodding crest,
Kissed by breezes from the west,
Flows the sweet Keiskamma.
Where the Amatolas[2] stand,
Guardians grim of Kaffirland,
Gurgling o'er its silver sand,
Flows the bright Keiskamma.
Winding 'mid mimosa glens,
Rocky banks and reedy fens,
By the tigers' hidden dens,
Glides the pure Keiskamma.
Where the furious torrents dash
O'er the rocks with deafening crash,
Ever onward, wild and rash,
Rolls the bright Keiskamma.
