Page:Livingstone in Africa.djvu/61

Ah! whispering leaves of darkling forest trees!
Ye are ill whispers of infernal fiends!
But we will drown the bitterness of woe,
Frowning, foreboding, and bewildering fear!"

⁠⁸ Behold! one stalks emergent from a cave
In yon far-off enfoldings of the hills,
Where he has lain in some enchanted swoon,
From when the moon her slender silver bow
Lifted in blue night, till she rose an orb,
Fully resplendent argent, even now.
And he is haggard, worn, emaciate
With vigil and with fast; a tawny hide
Of some wild beast about his grimy frame,
Charms of link'd leopard's teeth upon his breast,
And leopard's liver for an amulet.
With stained, hideous face, and jingling bells,
And for a head-gear feathers of a bird,
He sits among the mourners by the fire.
Then all gesticulating chaunt a prayer;
Till he, the prophet, fearfully convulsed,
Falls like a corpse; but all the people cry: