Thomas Pringle

Here you will find the Poem The Coranna of poet Thomas Pringle

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.