Soon, in the far and wooded West
Shall log-house walls therewith be graced;
Soon, many a tired, tawny guest
Shall sweet refreshment from them taste.
From them shall drink the Cherokee,
Faint with the hot and dusty chase;
No more from German vintage, ye
Shall bear them home, in leaf-crowned grace.
Oh say, why seek ye other lands?
The Neckar's vale hath wine and corn;
Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands;
In Spessart rings the Alp-herd's horn.
Ah, in strange forests you will yearn
For the green mountains of your home;
To Deutschland's yellow wheat-fields turn;
In spirit o'er her vine-hills roam.
How will the form of days grown pale
In golden dreams float softly by,
Like some old legendary tale,
Before fond memory's moistened eye!
The boatman calls—go hence in peace!
God bless you, wife and child, and sire!
Bless all your fields with rich increase,
And crown each faithful heart's desire!
* * * * *
THE LION'S RIDE [41] (1834)
King of deserts reigns the lion; will he through his realm go riding,
Down to the lagoon he paces, in the tall sedge there lies hiding.
Where gazelles and camelopards drink, he crouches by the shore;
Ominous, above the monster, moans the quivering sycamore.
When, at dusk, the ruddy hearth-fires in the Hottentot kraals are
glowing,
And the motley, changeful signals on the Table Mountain growing
Dim and distant—when the Caffre sweeps along the lone karroo—
When in the bush the antelope slumbers, and beside the stream the gnu—
Lo! majestically stalking, yonder comes the tall giraffe,
Hot with thirst, the gloomy waters of the dull lagoon to quaff;
O'er the naked waste behold her, with parched tongue, all panting
hasten—
Now she sucks the cool draught, kneeling, from the stagnant, slimy basin.