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THE BECHUANA BOY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I sat at noontide in my tent
Last Line: Her child in every thing but name


I SAT at noontide in my tent,
And look'd across the desert dun,
That 'neath the cloudless firmament
Lay gleaming in the sun,
When from the bosom of the waste
A swarthy stripling came in haste,
With foot unshod and naked limb,
And a tame springbok following him.

He came with open aspect bland,
And modestly before me stood,
Caressing with a kindly hand
That fawn of gentle brood;
Then, meekly gazing in my face,
Said in the language of his race,
With smiling look, yet pensive tone,
"Stranger, I'm in the world alone!"

"Poor boy," I said, "thy kindred's home,
Beyond far Stormberg's ridges blue,
Why hast thou left so young, to roam
This desolate Karroo?"
The smile forsook him while I spoke;
And when again he silence broke,
It was with many a stifled sigh
He told this strange, sad history.

"I have no kindred!" said the boy:
"The Bergenaars, by night they came,
And raised their murder-shout of joy,
While o'er our huts the flame
Rush'd like a torrent; and their yell
Peal'd louder as our warriors fell
In helpless heaps beneath their shot,
One living man they left us not!

"The slaughter o'er, they gave the slain
To feast the foul-beak'd birds of prey;
And with our herds across the plain
They hurried us away --
The widow'd mothers and their brood:
Oft, in despair, for drink and food
We vainly cried, they heeded not,
But with sharp lash the captives smote.

"Three days we track'd that dreary wild,
Where thirst and anguish press'd us sore
And many a mother and her child
Lay down to rise no more:
Behind us, on the desert brown,
We saw the vultures swooping down;
And heard, as the grim light was falling,
The gorged wolf to his comrade calling.

"At length was heard a river sounding
Midst that dry and dismal land,
And, like a troop of wild deer bounding,
We hurried to its strand;
Among the madden'd cattle rushing,
The crowd behind still forward pushing,
Till in the flood our limbs were drench'd
And the fierce rage of thirst was quench'd.

"Hoarse-roaring, dark, the broad Gareep
In turbid streams was sweeping fast,
Huge sea-cows in its eddies deep
Loud snorting as we pass'd;
But that relentless robber clan
Right through those waters wild and wan
Drove on like sheep our captive host,
Nor staid to rescue wretches lost.

"All shivering from the foaming flood,
We stood upon the stranger's ground,
When, with proud looks and gestures rude,
The white men gather'd round:
And there, like cattle from the fold,
By Christians we were bought and sold, --
Midst laughter loud and looks of scorn, --
And roughly from each other torn.

"My mother's scream so long and shrill,
My little sister's wailing cry,
(In dreams I often hear them still!)
Rose wildly to the sky.
A tiger's heart came to me then,
And madly 'mong those ruthless men
I sprang! -- Alas! dash'd on the sand,
Bleeding, they bound me foot and hand.

"Away -- away on bounding steeds
The white man-stealers fleetly go,
Through long, low valleys, fringed with reeds,
O'er mountains capp'd with snow, --
Each with his captive, far and fast;
Until yon rock-bound ridge was pass'd,
And distant stripes of cultured soil
Bespoke the land of tears and toil.

"And tears and toil have been my lot
Since I the white man's thrall became,
And sorer griefs I wish forgot --
Harsh blows and scorn and shame.
Oh, English chief! thou ne'er canst know
The injured bondman's bitter wo,
When round his heart, like scorpions, cling
Black thoughts, that madden while they sting!

"Yet this hard fate I might have borne,
And taught in time my soul to bend,
Had my sad yearning breast forlorn
But found a single friend:
My race extinct or far removed,
The boor's rough brood I could have loved --
But each to whom my bosom turn'd
Even like a hound the black boy spurn'd!

"While, friendless thus, my master's flocks
I tended on the upland waste,
It chanced this fawn leapt from the rocks,
By wolfish wild-dogs chased:
I rescued it, though wounded sore,
All dabbled with its mother's gore,
And nursed it in a cavern wild
Until it loved me like a child.

"Gently I nursed it; for I thought
(Its hapless fate so like to mine)
By good Utiko it was brought,
To bid me not repine --
Since in this world of wrong and ill
One creature lived to love me still,
Although its dark and dazzling eye
Beam'd not with human sympathy.

"Thus lived I, a lone orphan lad,
My task the proud Boor's flocks to tend;
And this poor fawn was all I had
To love, or call my friend;
When suddenly, with haughty look
And taunting words, that tyrant took
My playmate for his pamper'd boy,
Who envied me my only joy.

"High swell'd my heart! -- But when the star
Of midnight gleam'd, I softly led
My bounding favourite forth, and far
Into the desert fled.
And here, from human kind exiled,
Three moons on roots and berries wild
I've fared; and braved the beasts of prey,
To escape from spoilers worse than they.

"But yester morn a Bushman brought
The tidings that thy tents were near;
And now with hasty foot I've sought
Thy presence, void of fear;
Because they say, O English chief,
Thou scornest not the captive's grief:
Then let me serve thee, as thine own --
For I am in the world alone!"

Such was Marossi's touching tale.
Our breasts they were not made of stone:
His words, his winning looks prevail --
We took him for "our own."
And one, with woman's gentle art,
Unlock'd the fountains of his heart;
And love gush'd forth -- till he becam
Her child in every thing but name






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