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Wide through the landscape of his dreams

The lordly Niger flowed; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode; And heard the tinkling caravans

Descend the mountain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen

Among her children stand;
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,

They held him by the hand !-
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids

And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode

Along the Niger's bank ;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,

And, with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel

Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew; From morn till night he followed their flight,

O’er plains where the tamarind grew, Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,

And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,

And the hyæna scream, And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds

Beside some hidden stream; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,

Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,

Shouted of liberty ;
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,

With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled

At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,

Nor the burning heat of day;
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,

And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul

Had broken and thrown away!

THE GOOD PART,

THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY.

She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side,

In valleys green and cool;
And all her hope and all her pride

Are in the village school.

Her soul, like the transparent air

That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there

All things with arms of love.

And thus she walks among her girls

With praise and mild rebukes ; Subduing e'en rude village churls

By her angelic looks.

She reads to them at eventide

Of One who came to save ; To cast the captive's chains aside,

And liberate the slave.

And oft the blessed time foretells

When all men shall be free; And musical, as silver bells,

Their falling chains shall be.

And following her beloved Lord,

In decent poverty, She makes her life one sweet record

And deed of charity.

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