Page:Livingstone in Africa.djvu/132

110 Help'd even more the Mistress of his soul, His dark and awful Mistress, Africa. But that inveterate foe, the dire disease,$22$ Watching lynx-eyed for opportimity, Found it, alas! when, with a dwindling life, The old, but still young-hearted traveller Would flounder, as in manhood's vigorous prime, Through foul morasses, many hours a day. The foe sprang on him; and he felt full well Its gripe this time was mortal: then the flesh Quail'd and rebell'd—let him but struggle home! Homeward they hasten—life ebbing apace. And first he rides; but soon they carry him. So when they have arrived at Muilala, He bows the head—"A hut where I may die!"

Now all the mists of death pass over him: Terrible pain, ill dreams; with longings vain For one glimpse of a loving face afar. It is the hour of mortal agony. Watchman! will the terrible night soon pass? Then through the darkness mounts a bitter cry;