  Under the Didima Where fresh from the forest the blue waters swell; And fast by that brook stands a yellow-wood tree Which shelters the spot which is dearest to me. Down by the streamlet my heifers are grazing; In the pool of the guanas the herd-boy is gazing; Under the shade my amana is singing— The shade of the tree where her cradle is swinging. When I come from the upland as daylight is fading, Though spent with the chase, and the game for my lading, My nerves are new-strung and my fond heart is swelling As I gaze from the cliff on our wood-circled dwelling. Down the steep mountain and through the brown forest, I haste like a hart when his thirst is the sorest; I bound o’er the swift brook that skirts the savannah, And clasp my first-born in the arms of Amana. Thomas Pringle. |
|
