 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle |  |
36
THE INCANTATION.
Half-way up Indóda climbing,
Hangs the wizard-forest old,
From whose shade is heard the chiming
Of a streamlet clear and cold:
With a mournful sound it gushes
From its cavern in the steep;
Then at once its wailing hushes
In a lakelet dark and deep.
Hangs the wizard-forest old,
From whose shade is heard the chiming
Of a streamlet clear and cold:
With a mournful sound it gushes
From its cavern in the steep;
Then at once its wailing hushes
In a lakelet dark and deep.
Standing by the dark blue water,
Robed in panther's speckled hide,
Who is she? Jalúhsa's daughter,
Bold Makanna's widowed bride.
Stern she stands, her left hand clasping
By the arm her wondering child:
He, her shaggy mantle grasping,
Gazes up with aspect wild.
Robed in panther's speckled hide,
Who is she? Jalúhsa's daughter,
Bold Makanna's widowed bride.
Stern she stands, her left hand clasping
By the arm her wondering child:
He, her shaggy mantle grasping,
Gazes up with aspect wild.
Thrice in the soft fount of nursing
With sharp steel she pierced a vein,—
Thrice the White Oppressor cursing,
While the blood gushed forth amain,—
Wide upon the dark-blue water,
Sprinkling thrice the crimson tide,—
Spoke Jalúhsa's high-souled daughter,
Bold Makanna's widowed bride.
With sharp steel she pierced a vein,—
Thrice the White Oppressor cursing,
While the blood gushed forth amain,—
Wide upon the dark-blue water,
Sprinkling thrice the crimson tide,—
Spoke Jalúhsa's high-souled daughter,
Bold Makanna's widowed bride.
37
“Thus into the Demon's River
Blood instead of milk I fling:
Hear, Uhlanga—great Life-Giver!
Hear, Togúgh—Avenging King!
Thus the Mother's feelings tender
In my breast I stifle now:
Thus I summon you to render
Vengeance for the Widow's vow!
Blood instead of milk I fling:
Hear, Uhlanga—great Life-Giver!
Hear, Togúgh—Avenging King!
Thus the Mother's feelings tender
In my breast I stifle now:
Thus I summon you to render
Vengeance for the Widow's vow!
“Who shall be the Chief's Avenger?
Who the Champion of the Land?
Boy! the pale Son of the Stranger
Is devoted to thy hand.
He who wields the bolt of thunder
Witnesses thy Mother's vow!
He who rends the rocks asunder
To the task shall train thee now!
Who the Champion of the Land?
Boy! the pale Son of the Stranger
Is devoted to thy hand.
He who wields the bolt of thunder
Witnesses thy Mother's vow!
He who rends the rocks asunder
To the task shall train thee now!
“When thy arm grows strong for battle,
Thou shalt sound Makanna's cry,
Till ten thousand shields shall rattle
To war-club and assagai:
Then, when like hail-storm in harvest
On the foe sweeps thy career,
Shall Uhlanga whom thou servest,
Make them stubble to thy spear!”
Thou shalt sound Makanna's cry,
Till ten thousand shields shall rattle
To war-club and assagai:
Then, when like hail-storm in harvest
On the foe sweeps thy career,
Shall Uhlanga whom thou servest,
Make them stubble to thy spear!”
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle | |