LIVINGSTONE IN AFRICA.
109
The future, lying on a fur-strewn floor,
By oil-light, burning in a shard for lamp;
Sipping black coffee, breathing fragrant fame . . .
With other heart and other hopes to-night
Livingstone hearkens to the solemn sound
Of Tanganika's melancholy wave;
And his friend hearkens; for he may not sleep,
Whose heart is buoyant with a wondering joy.
CANTO VII.
" Build me a hut to die in!—nevermore
May I behold my land, or my beloved."
So spake the Master; for the end was near;
Whom his dark silent followers obey.
For Livingstone, resuming his life-load
With a light heart, for all his years, and frame
Outworn with mighty labour and long pain,
