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Lang, Andrew, 1844-1912

"Old Friends, Epistolary Parody"

The hills stood out dark against
the illimitable splendour, and on every koppie you saw the huge
lions, like kittens at play, roaring till you could scarcely hear
the thunder. The rain was rushing like a river, all glittering
like diamonds, and then, in the twinkling of an eye, all was black
as a wolf's mouth till the next flash. The lightning, coming from
all quarters, appeared to meet above me, and now was red, now
golden, now silver again, while the great cat-like beasts, as they
leaped or lay, looked like gold, red, and silver lions, reminding
me of the signs of public-houses in old England, far away.
Meantime the donga beneath roared with the flooded torrent that the
rain was bringing down from the heights of Umbopobekatanktshiu.
I stood watching the grand spectacle for some time, rather pitying
the Stranger who was out in it, by no fault of mine. Then I
knocked the ashes out of my pipe, ate a mealy or two, and crept
into my kartel, {22} and slept the sleep of the just.
About dawn I woke. The thunder had rolled away like a bad dream.
The long level silver shafts of the dawn were flooding the heights,
raindrops glittered like diamonds on every kopje and karroo bush,
leaving the deep donga bathed in the solemn pall of mysterious
night.
My thoughts went rapidly over the millions of leagues of land and
sea, where life, that perpetual problem, was now awaking to another
day of struggle and temptation.


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