Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/191

 A naked, homeless exile he— But not debased by slavery.

Now, wizard-like, slow Twilight sails With soundless wing adown the vales, Waving with his shadowy rod The owl and bat to come abroad, With things that hate the garish sun, To frolic now the day is done. Now along the meadows damp The enamoured firefly lights his lamp. Link-boy he of woodland green To light fair Avon's Elfin Queen; Here, I ween, more wont to shine To light the thievish porcupine, Plundering my melon-bed,— Or villain lynx, whose stealthy tread Rouses not the wakeful hound As he creeps the folds around.

But lo! the night-bird's boding scream Breaks abrupt my twilight dream; And warns me it is time to haste My homeward walk across the waste, Lest my rash step provoke the wrath Of adder coiled upon the path, Or tempt the lion from the wood, That soon will prowl athirst for blood,— Thus, murmuring my thoughtful strain, I seek our wattled cot again. Thomas Pringle.