III
Where the shoaling waters froth,
Churned thick like devils’ broth,—
Where the rocky shark-jaw waits,
Never a bark that grates.
And the tearless captives’ skill
Contents them. Onward still!
And the low-voiced captives tell
The tidings that cheer them well:
How a clear stream leads them down
Well-nigh to Medoctec town,
Ere to the great Falls’ thunder
The long wall yawns asunder.