We sought her Pa—he smoking sat,
Beside him dogs upon a mat;
He relished it, like butter—
He dropped his pipe and heaved a sigh,
Then took a “tot”—then winked his eye
And said, “Neef jij kan vat haar.”[27]
So when I wed her, I shall “trek,”
And go and live near Horn’s long neck—
’Neath Cashan’s regal splendour;
Around her neck I’ll place my arm,
I’ll get a quarter of the farm—
And throughout life defend her!
A. Brodrick.
Pretoria, 1882.
THE BETTER LAND.
AFTER SHEMANS.
I hear thee speak of a better land,
Where farms are picked up, and the veld is grand;
Where game is plenty, and Natives weak,
And will work without giving us (gratis) cheek.
Father, oh! where is that home for the Boer?
Shall we not seek it and slave no more?
We will, we will, my child!
Is it far away where the placid breast
Of N’Gami shines in “the purple west?”
Is it where Hermanus two years ago,
Found elephant, sea-cow, and buffalo?
Is it wooded or plain, inclined for flats?
Is it far, far north by old Selekats?
Not there, not there, my child!
Is it past the Blueberg, and through the fly,
Where the men of Zoutpansberg used to die?
Is it north of Mapog or Sekookoon,
Where Mauch beheld Mrs. Sheba’s “Roon?”
Near Origstadt or St. Lucia’s Bay,
Where heaps of the bones of our fathers lay?
Not there, not there, my child!
Is it on Zambesi, that mooi stream,
Where the veld’s so thick that the cows’ milk’s cream,
Where the sun’s so hot that all day we sleep—
Where Law and Government will be cheap?
Is it through the sand?—on the desert’s hem?
Oom Piet—oh! is it Gee-roo-salem?
Not there, not there, my child!