The vast, the ebbless, the engulphing tide
Of the white population still rolls on!
And quailed has their romantic heart of pride,—
The kingly spirit of the woods is gone.
Farther and farther do they wend to hide
Their wasting strength; to mourn their glory flown;
And sigh to think how soon shall crowds pursue
Down the lone stream where glides the still canoe.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE ENGLISH IN SOUTH AFRICA.
Having now quitted North America, let us sail southward. There we may direct our course east or west, we may pass Cape Horn, or the Cape of Good Hope, and enter the Pacific or the Indian Ocean, secure that on whatever shore we may touch, whether on continent or island, we shall find the Europeans oppressing the natives on their own soil, or having exterminated them, occupying their place. We shall find our own countrymen more than all others widely diffused and actively employed in the work of expulsion, moral corruption, and destruction of the aboriginal tribes. We talk of the atrocities of the Spaniards, of the deeds of Cortez and Pizarro, as though they were things of an ancient date, things gone by, things of the dark old days; and seem never for a moment to suspect that these dark old days were not a whit more
