Metrical tales, and other poems; - Electric Scotland

THE " special's " BIDE. 217
Sat waiting and watching, prepared for the worst,
If a beast or Zuhi from the bushes should burst
Sat there on my chestnut as still as a stone,
With my wounded knee aching, limbs chilled to the bone.
Believing the moon had forgotten her hour.
Like a pilgrim whom travail and sleep overpower.
I dare say, as usual, the moon kept her time,
For her great yellow disc did at last show sublime
;
And my chestnut and I turned our backs on the swamp,
And mounted the slope to the next British camp.
Where my friend major Uptcher, gave welcome as true
As Briton gives Briton, where Britons are few
As friend gives to friend, who comes from afar
With news that their country has conquered in war.
With my friends at the camp I delayed a brief space.
Till a horse was got ready my horse to replace ;
For my spirited chestnut had done a brave heat.
But I left him at Entongeneni dead beat.
Got an escort two stages to pilot me right
Then rode by myself the long bitter night,
The only adventures the loss of the track.
And painful endeavours to work my way back.
From Entongeneni I freely confess
That the risk from wild beasts and wild Zulus was less.
But how I got forward I scarcely can tell,
As the morning advanced and the blinding fogs fell,
When the ruts of the Wagons had oft to be found
By crawling and feeling all over the ground ;
But another long spell of the journey dragged past.
And welcome. Fort Marshall was reached at the last.