Her boy made her triumph complete;
And contriving a marvellous wound,
He has stretch'd her foe dead at her feet.

From the tree by his struggles releas'd,
While he roll'd in his own blood afloat
Brave Demba ran up to the beast,
And darted ten shafts in his throat.

Their poisons collected afford
Lethargic relief to his pangs;
And Death! of all nature the lord!
Thy shadows now rest on his fangs.

Now love! thy own fancy employ!
For words are too feeble to trace
The father, the mother, the boy,
In triumph's extatic embrace.


* * * * *




THE SWAN.


BALLAD THE TENTH.