* THE ALIEN *

In Afric's fabled fountains I have panned the golden sand —

Caught crocodile with baviaan for bait —

I've fished, with blasting gelatine for hook an’ gaff an’ wand,

An’ lured the bearded barbel to his fate:

But take your Southern rivers that meander to the sea,

And set me where the Leochel joins the Don,

With eighteen feet of greenheart an’ the tackle running free —

I want to have a clean fish on.

The eland an’ the tsessebe I've tracked from early dawn,

I've heard the roar of lions shake the night,

I've fed the lonely bush-veld camp on dik-kop an’ korhaan,

An’ watched the soaring vulture in his flight;

For horn an’ head I've hunted, yet the spoil of gun and spear,

My trophies, I would freely give them all,

To creep through mist an’ heather on the great red deer —

I want to hear the black cock call.

In hot December weather when the grass is caddie high

I've driven clean an’ lost the ball an’ game,

When winter veld is burned an’ bare I've cursed the cuppy lie —

The language is the one thing still the same;

For dongas, rocks, an’ scuffled greens give me the links up North,

The whins, the broom, the thunder of the surf,

The three old fellows waiting where I used to make a fourth —

I want to play a round on turf.

I've faced the fremt, its strain an’ toil, in market an’ in mine,

Seen Fortune ebb an’ flow between the “Chains,”

Sat late o'er starlit banquets where the danger spiced the wine,

But bitter are the lees the alien drains;

For all the time the heather blooms on distant Benachie,

An’ wrapt in peace the sheltered valley lies,

I want to wade through bracken in a glen across the sea —

I want to see the peat reek rise.