'The Traveller in Africa' by Louisa Stuart Costello

A Dramatic SketchA Forest. Night.Alone, amidst the interminable forest!—Where shall I seek for aid! my weary limbs,Torn by the briars, and wasted with fatigue,Refuse to bear me further.Horrid night!Black, rayless, midnight reigns; and the thick dewDistils its baleful drops upon my head.And, hark! the topmost branches of the trees,With dismal moan, now louder and more near,Shake in the rushing wind! It comes, it comes!—The dread tornado!—is there no escape!—What howl is that, which echoes from afar?The frightful yell comes nearer——Mighty Heaven!No friendly torch, no watchfire near, to keepThe savage foe at bay!—my cries alone,My frantic cries of agony, have powerTo scare the fell hyena from his prey!The torrent sweeps along—a swelling riverRolls, dashes at my feet! I dare not climbYon palm for safety, lest the huge black antsFix on and sting me into madness. Ha!That crash has fell'd the loftiest of the wood,The stately cotton-tree, that could withstandA thousand storms;—whose high, projecting stems,Twisting in many folds impenetrable,Twin'd with convoluvi and parasites,Spread their broad barrier, and forbade approach.'Tis fallen now—its purple blossoms crush'd—And that stupendous form, which once could yieldA fainting army shelter, is laid low.I dare not linger—yet I fear to fly.—I hear the human-monster's piercing howl,The fierce Ingrena, sporting with the storm,Like its presiding demon. He approaches—And, as he comes, he tears the branches down,And arms himself for slaughter. I am lost!His wild eyes see me by the lightning's flash—One moment, and I perish!—Oh, no! no!That desp'rate leap has saved me, and the coilOf the huge Boa holds my shrieking foe!A thousand deaths surround me—and I yield.—No more at eve, beneath the ganian's shade,My brave companions, shall we meet, to tellOf toils and dangers past: no more recallThe lovely verdure of our native vales,When, listening to the crown-bird's cheerful note,So like our own wild wand'ring bird of spring,That fancy gives us back our homes again.My lov'd, lost home!—and must I perish here!—Oh! were I now amidst the burning sands,So the bright sun once more might shine on me,Although in all his scorching fierceness, yetThere might be hope I should escape his beams;Or, were I on the brink of some broad river,Where the gaunt crocodile pursued my steps,So I had light to view mine enemy,There might be some hope: but here no light can come!The blastBears shouts upon its wings—new terrors stillCome thronging to o'erwhelm me! Gracious Heaven!Those well-known sounds, those voices! and my nameEchoing through all the forest!—I am saved!—Here, here, my friends! rush onward, ye are comeIn time to see me die!