Copy portions of English Poetry on to a temporary, non commercial electronic database for temporary use or storage during research. Include portions of English Poetry, and concordances of single words and phrases: in any article in a printed journal, or in a single essay or contribution which forms part of a printed collection, or in any printed monograph or critical edition.
Rude Rymes, the which a rustic Muse did weave In salvadge soyl, far from Parnasso Mount, And roughly wrought in an vnlearned loome. Avia Pieridum peragro, loca nullius ante Trita solo: juvat integros accedere fontes, Atque haurire; juvatque novos decerpere flores. January , I sat at noontide in my tent, And looked across the Desert dun, Beneath the cloudless firmament Far gleaming in the sun, When from the bosom of the waste A swarthy Stripling came in haste, With foot unshod and naked limb; And a tame springbok followed him.
Oft, in despair, for drink and food We vainly cried: they heeded not, But with sharp lash the captive smote. Behind us, on the desert brown, We saw the vultures swooping down: And heard, as the grim night was falling, The wolf to his gorged comrade calling. Rose wildly to the sky. A tiger's heart came to me then, And fiercely on those ruthless men I sprang.
Oh, Englishman! And here, from human kind exiled, Three moons on roots and berries wild I've fared; and braved the beasts of prey, To 'scape from spoilers worse than they. Afar in the Desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, And, sick of the Present, I cling to the Past; When the eye is suffused with regretful tears, From the fond recollections of former years; And shadows of things that have long since fled Flit over the brain, like the ghosts of the dead: Bright visions of glory—that vanished too soon; Day-dreams—that departed ere manhood's noon; Attachments—by fate or by falsehood reft; Companions of early days—lost or left; And my Native Land—whose magical name Thrills to the heart like electric flame; The home of my childhood; the haunts of my prime; All the passions and scenes of that rapturous time When the feelings were young and the world was new, Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to view; All—all now forsaken—forgotten—foregone!
And I—a lone exile remembered of none— My high aims abandoned,—my good acts undone,— A weary of all that is under the sun,— With that sadness of heart which no stranger may scan, I fly to the Desert afar from man! Afar in the Desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life, With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and strife— The proud man's frown, and the base man's fear,— The scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear,— And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and folly, Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy; When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high, And my soul is sick with the bondman's sigh— Oh!
