538 
MISCELLANEA. 
Attachments by fate or by falsehood reft,— 
Companions of early days lost or left. 
And my native land ! whose magical name 
Thrills to my 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 flowers of Paradise opening to view!— 
All—all now forsaken, forgotten or gone. 
And I, a lone exile, remembered of none— 
My high aims abandon^, and good acts undone— 
Aweary 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. 
And the scomer’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 bondsman’s sigh— 
Oh then there is freedom, and joy, and pride. 
Afar in the desert alone to ride ! 
There’s rapture to vault on the champing steed. 
And to bound away with the eagle’s speed. 
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand 
(The only law of the desert land); 
But ’tis not the innocent to destroy. 
For I hate the savage huntsman’s joy. 
Afar in the desert I love to ride. 
With the silent bush-boy alone by my side : 
O’er the brown Karroo, where the bleating cry 
Of the springbok’s fawn sounds plantively; 
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane. 
In fields seldom freshened by moisture or rain; 
And the stately hoodoo exultingly bounds 
Undisturbed by the bay of the huntsman’s hounds; 
And the timorous quagha’s wild whistling neigh 
Is heard by the brok-fountain far away; 
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste 
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste ; 
And the vulture in circles wheels high over-head. 
Greedy to scent and to gorge on the dead ; 
And the gristly wolf, and the shrieking jackal. 
Howl for their prey at the evening fall; 
And the fiend-like laugh of hyaenas grim 
Fearfully startles the twilight dim. 
Afar in the desert I love to ride. 
With the silent bush-boy alone by my side: 
Avvay—away in the wilderness vast. 
Where the white man’s foot hath never past. 
And the quiver’d Koranna or Bechuan 
Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan : 
