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The Sling

(a poem from South Africa)

Roy Campbell

Guarding the cattle on my native hill

This was my talisman. Its charm was known

High in the blue and aquiline ozone,

And by my tireless armourer, the rill,

Smoothing his pellets to my hand or eye:

And how its meteors sang into the sky

The eagles of the Berg remember still.

I wore this herdsman’s bracelet all day long:

To me it meant “To-morrow” and “Perhaps’,

The insults of Goliath, his collapse…

THE ZEBRAS

Roy Campbell

From the dark woods that breathe of fallen showers,

Hardnessed with level rays in golden reins,

The zebras draw the dawn across the plains

Wading knee-keep among the scarlet flowers.

The sunlight, zithering their flanks with fire,

Flashes between the shadows as they pass

Barred with electric tremors through the grass

Like wind along the gold strings of lyre.

Into the flushed air snorting rosy plumes


The smoulder round their feet in drifting fumes,

With dove-like voices call the distant fillies,

While round the herds the stallion wheels his flight,

Engine of beauty volted with delight,

To roll his mare among the trampled lilies.

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