Page:Livingstone in Africa.djvu/69

 How terrible is thirst!
Days without water! ne'er a watermelon
Even, to slake a moment hell's own drought! . . .
Hark! shouts of joy break in upon the drear
Faint slumbrous silence of our fiery way:
All startled raise dim half-closed aching eyes—
Behold the lake! our goal in sight! Hurrah!
Lofty palmyras, palm, acacia,
O'er hazy waters purple in the sun,
Who sets below in solitary glory—
And surely on a pale horizon line
Tall sable horsemen galloping furiously!
See the slow oxen gaze aroused, and lowing
Hasten—behold black bulks of elephant,
And slim giraffes, show water to be near!
Shall we pursue?

 . . . They dwindle, waver, and change;
All blows like slanting flame; drifting divides.
It was the Satan's simulated water!
And only mist roll'd over a salt plain.
Yet the same region hath its wither'd herb;