IN A MAIZE FIELD.
Kaffir woman, her babe bound to her back, sings as she hoes:—
The sun's flail threshes the maize fields,
The heat-chaff[1] flickers and stings;
Song-less and still in the branches
The birds droop listless wings.
The sun lashes the maize fields;
O for a cooling breeze!
The birds are still in the branches,
The cattle are under the trees.
Up in the kraal on the hillside
Thy father drowsily lies,
Quaffing the honeyed qilika,[2]
Cursing the troublesome flies.
Thy father sleeps, while thy mother,
Beneath the sun's white blaze,
Toils from day-dawn to darkness,
Hoeing the shimmering maize.
Umfundisi[3] tells us that somewhere
There lies a region of Rest:
Shall we go seek for it, Nyana,[4]
This country of the Blest?
