Around whose base the waters still
Shimmer in golden foam,
Oh! wanderer of the voiceless wild,
Of this far southern land the child,
How changed thy quiet home!
'For, close as bees in countless hive,
Like emmet-hosts that tireless strive,
Swarmed, toiled, a vast strange crowd;
Haggard each face's features seem,
Bright, fever-bright, each eye's wild gleam;