The Coranna

Fast by his wild resounding River The listless Coran lingers ever; Still drives his heifers forth to feed, Soothed by the gorrah's humming reed; A rover still unchecked will range, As humour calls, or seasons change; His tent of mats and leathern gear All packed upon the patient steer. 'Mid all his wanderings hating toil, He never tills the stubborn soil; But on the milky dam relies, And what spontaneous earth supplies. Or, should long-parching droughts prevail, And milk, and bulbs, and locusts fail, He lays him down to sleep away In languid trance the weary day; Oft as he feels gaunt hunger's stound, Still tightening famine's girdle round; Lulled by the sound of the Gareep, Beneath the willows murmuring deep: Till thunder-clouds, surcharged with rain, Pour verdure o'er the panting plain; And call the famished Dreamer from his trance, To feast on milk and game, and wake the moon-light dance.