“Thus into the Demon’s River
Blood instead of milk I fling:
Hear, Uhlanga—great Life-Giver!
Hear, Togúh—Avenging King!
Thus the Mother’s feelings tender
In my breast I stifle now:
Thus I summon you to render
Vengeance for the Widow’s vow!
“Who shall be the Chiefs avenger?
Who the Champion of the Land?
Boy! the pale Son of the Stranger
Is devoted to thy hand.
He who wields the bolt of thunder
Witnesses thy Mother’s vow!
He who rends the rocks asunder
To the task shall train thee now!
“When thy arm grows strong for battle,
Thou shalt sound Makanna’s cry,
Till ten thousand shields shall rattle
To war-club and assegai:
Then, when like hail-storm in harvest
On the foe sweeps thy career,
Shall Uhlanga whom thou servest,
Make them stubble to thy spear!”
Thomas Pringle.
THE CAFFER COMMANDO.
Hark! heard ye the signals of triumph afar?
’Tis our Caffer Commando returning from war:
The voice of their laughter comes loud on the wind,
Nor heed they the curses that follow behind.
For who cares for him, the poor Kósa, that wails
Where the smoke rises dim from yon desolate vales—
That wails for his little ones killed in the fray,
And his herds by the colonist carried away?
Or who cares for him that once pastured this spot,
Where his tribe is extinct and their story forgot?
As many another, ere twenty years pass,
Will only be known by their bones in the grass!
And the sons of the Keisi, the Kei, the Gareep,
With the Gunja and Ghona in silence shall sleep:
For England hath spoke in her tyrannous mood,
And the edict is written in African blood!
Dark Katta[14] is howling; the eager jackal,
As the lengthening shadows more drearily fall,
Shrieks forth his hymn to the hornèd moon;
And the lord of the desert will follow him soon:
And the tiger-wolf laughs in his bone-strewed brake,
As he calls on his mate and her cubs to awake;
And the panther and leopard come leaping along;
All hymning to Hecate a festival song:
For the tumult is over, the slaughter hath ceased—
And the vulture hath bidden them all to the feast.
Thomas Pringle.