Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/282

 THE CHIEF. in the low, dim lands, where forest trees
 * Hung shadow curtains out across the sky,

And only branches whispering in the breeze
 * Awoke the echo's sigh;

Down through the gardens, where dark shadows pass
 * Unchallenged and unhindered year by year,

Tottering, past the tufts of yellow grass,
 * He came—a Chief pour rire.

Lord of a land where famine lurked amid
 * The nibbled mealie-cobs that strewed the ground,

King of a realm where fell disease, half-hid,
 * Bred hideous shadows round.

Monarch, perhaps, of half a hundred huts,
 * One of the relics of a vanished day,

Hedged in with all the mockery that shuts
 * The king with feet of clay.

His garb?—A blanket dragging in the sand
 * For kingly robes, a band of bark for crown,

Necklet of beads for royal insignia, and
 * A rein to belt his gown.

His retinue?—A brother-relic strayed
 * Some steps behind, bearing a gourd with care,

Some remnant of humanity decayed,
 * With fat-anointed hair.