The fitful whirlwind, eddying past,
Startles a herd of wild springbok,
Who spread their tails and sniff the blast,
Then bounding o'er the desert vast,
Speed like the whirlwind, hurrying fast,
As from an earthquake's shock.
Then all is stillness! sky and sand
Stretch waste and lonely, bleak and nude;
The wide rotundity around
Yields scarce a breath, and not a sound—
A spell has fallen on the land,
The charm of solitude.
The golden glory of the Sun,
As far athwart the arid plain
His beams are fading one by one,
Sinks low behind the desert dun,
And leaves this waste, that Man would shun,
A desolate domain.
Those fleecy clouds that shone so white
Ere he descended to his rest,
Now glow with splendours wondrous bright—
Green, gold, and sapphire's richest light,
That change their hues and fade as night
Throws shadows in the west.
So sinks the warrior, faint and gory,
And trails a lustre to his rest;
So sank old Egypt, worn and hoary,
And left behind, in name and story,
A trail, a splendour, and a glory
That lingers in the West.
