And now the little ones in thoughtless glee
Chase the bright butterflies of this strange land,—
Their new and untried home. Ah! ’twas for them
The fathers braved the storm-tossed waters, and
The mothers hushed their own alarms to peace,
When the loud tempest howled around the bark
That bore them onward o’er the surging waves.
These gave the springs to their great enterprise,
And broke the bonds that else had held them still
In the old home circle of the Fatherland.
Dark days had been in England. Darker still
Seemed coming fast, and o’er the crowded throngs
Of Britain’s cities, stern adversity
Was frowning. Then the cry arose,
“What of our children? What awaits them here?
Must we look on, and see their budding life,
Before it blossoms, wither in our sight?
Are there not other lands where pining want
Shall cease to mock at honest industry,
That asks but leave to labour? Will no star
Of hope arise to point to happier climes
Where skies are not all dark? Be it to rend
The ties of kindred, we must venture forth
Over the unknown seas, and seek a home
On foreign shores, where there is room to live,
And light to see a future for our children,
Happy and bright when we have sunk to rest.”
And this is now their home.
’Tis lone and wild;
But there is beauty in its wildness. See!
Yonder are mountains; in their deep ravines
Dark woods are waving, whence in noisy flight
Wild parrots issue forth, while loonies hide
Amidst their deep recesses. Water springs
Send limpid streamlets down the mountain side,
Fringed with bright evergreens, and brighter flowers.
Issuing from yonder dark and craggy gorge,
Where lurks the stealthy leopard, and where shouts
With loudly echoing voice the bold baboon,
Kareiga winds its devious course along
Between its willowed banks; while here and there
The dark-leaved yellow wood lifts its proud head
In stately dignity. Along the vale
The wildwood’s sheltering covert stretches, where
The bushbok barks; the duiker, sudden, springs;
The timid bluebok through the moonlight glides;
And monkey mimics chatter saucily.
And there are feathered songsters in the groves;
Not with the thrush’s or the blackbird’s notes,
That flood Old England’s woods with melody;
But short, and sharp, and ringing in their tones,
Responsive to each other from afar,
While telling of a life of light and joy.
In the green pastures on the sunny slopes,
Where the mimosa’s golden blossoms shed
Gales of perfume around; and fertile soils
Promise the husbandman a rich return
To cheer him in his toil.
“This is our home!
A spot on earth we now can call our own;
A starting-point for a new life’s career.
Wake all our energies afresh! A brighter day
Has dawned at last upon us. Let us raise
A song of gratitude to Heaven,
And gird us for our duties.”
PAST AND PRESENT.
Over the waters wide and deep
Where the storm-waves roll, and the storm-winds sweep,—
Over the waters see them come!
Breasting the billows’ curling foam,
Fathers for children seeking a home
In Afric’s Southern Wilds.
Wilderness lands of brake and glen,
The wolf’s and the panther’s gloomy den;—
Wilderness plains where the springbok bounds,
And the lion’s voice from the hill resounds,—
And the vulture circles in airy rounds,
Are Afric’s Southern Wilds.