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LIVINGSTONE IN AFRICA.
63

Under a tamarind; and I lean my head
Upon my hand to offer up a prayer.
Silence is all around me in the noon—
Yet only for a little—then I hear
Footsteps approaching; timidly one peers,
And sees me by the tent-pole; first the one,
Then more, have push'd the canvas fold aside;
Falling npon me like repentant children,
Sobbing, with tears they pray to be forgiven:
"We never meant it! We will never leave thee!
"Our own kind Father! be of better cheer!
"Where'er thou leadest, we will follow thee!"

And that poor African, who when I sail'd
For England supplicated to be taken!
It was with bleeding heart I said him nay.
I told him he would perish of the cold
In my bleak country, but he sobb'd with tears:
"O let me come, and perish at your feet!"
Sebweku had a stronger claim than he.
Alas! Sebweku!
The sea was rolling mountains high, when all