The Poetry of South Africa

This collection of verse has been made from various sources in the Cape Colony, Natal, and the Transvaal, and it is a matter of regret that many pieces of interest have been omitted owing to the difficulty of obtaining copies. Also as most colonists in South Africa understand the Dutch language “as spoken there,” it could be wished that certain well-known productions in the “Boerentaal” could have been preserved in these pages. Some of the inimitable “versions” of Reitz,—for instance, his rendering of “Tam o’ Shanter” and “The Maid of Athens,” and some others which have appeared from time to time, we believe, in one of the Cape journals, ought not to be forgotten.

We have received from Natal, since this volume was “in the press,” some lines by the late T. Fannin, who used in the olden days to sing his own rhymes in right good style. We do not apologise to our readers for giving these in their entirety.

By : Alexander Wilmot (1836 - 1924)

000 - Preface 001 - The Emigrants 002 - The Bechuana Boy 003 - Afar in the Desert 004 - Evening Rambles 005 - The Lion Hunt 006 - The Lion and the Giraffe 007 - The Desolate Valley 008 - The Coranna 009 - Song of the Wild Bushman 010 - The Captive of Camal 011 - The Brown Hunter's Song 012 - The Bushman 013 - The Cape of Storms 014 - The Hottentot 015 - The Caffer 016 - The Ghona Widow's Lullaby 017 - The Kosa 018 - Makanna's Gathering 019 - The Incantation 020 - The Caffer Commando 021 - The Rock of Reconcilement 022 - The Forester of the Neutral Ground 023 - The Emigrant's Cabin at the Cape 024 - The Volunteers of England 025 - The Dear Old Land 026 - The Funeral in the Abbey 027 - A Farewell to English Friends 028 - A Missionary's Last Farewell to England 029 - A Reminiscence of 1820 030 - Past and Present 031 - A South African Wilderness 032 - A Sunrise Thought at 033 - An Ocean Sunset 034 - A Sight from the Shore 035 - The Thunderstorm at Bathurst 036 - A Morning Wish for a Friend 037 - A Night Thought 038 - The Little Shell at Cove Rock 039 - A Tribute of Sympathy to the Defenders of Glen Lynden 040 - The Colours of the First 24th 041 - Our Boys 042 - In the Drought Lands of South Africa 043 - The Landing of the British Settlers of 1820 044 - In The Country of Mankoraan 045 - Drink 046 - South Africa Rediviva 047 - The Beautful Island of Dreams 048 - Cape of Good Hope 049 - Good Hope 050 - Ode 051 - After a Storm 052 - Ammap and Griet 053 - Sonnets of the Cape 054 - The Faded Photograph 055 - Eveleen 056 - Farewell to Madeira 057 - Farewell to Fifty-five 058 - Lead, Kindly Light 059 - Should It Be According to Thy Mind 060 - To Graaff Reinet 061 - Hymn 062 - The Lament 063 - My ''Salted'' Steed 064 - A Romance from the Fields 065 - The Flight of the Amakosa 066 - An Idyl of a Prince 067 - A Christmas Apparition 068 - Freedom's Home 069 - The Gallant ''Teuton'' 070 - The Sunny Hills of Africa 071 - The Southern Cross 072 - Hon. William Porter, C.M.G 073 - Ode on the British Settlers' Year of Jubilee 074 - Dives Redivivus 075 - The Burghers' Gathering 076 - Storm in Tugela Valley, Natal 077 - The Natal Gold Diggings 078 - Nature 079 - Contentment 080 - Not Here 081 - Revelation XXII 082 - Ezekiel XLVII. 1-12 083 - Change 084 - Heavenly Friendship 085 - Lines Written in an Album 086 - The Defence of Rorke's Drift 087 - Rorke's Drift 088 - Before Ulundi 089 - The Baron's Adventure 090 - South African Courtship 091 - The Better Land 092 - Dolly 093 - Going Home 094 - The Oxford Bible 095 - The Last Mission of the Sails 096 - The Worn-out Sails 097 - In Memoriam 098 - Epitaph on a Diamond Digger 099 - Afric's Greeting 100 - Robert Godlinton 101 - The Diamond Digger 102 - The Last of the Bowkers 103 - The Drunkard's Child 104 - The Angel's Message 105 - The ''Churl'' of the Period; and Another 106 - Welcome 107 - Precepts for Young and Old 108 - Be Kind to One Another 109 - Paddy's Love Symptoms 110 - Proverbial Philosophy of Humbug 111 - Platteklip Cascade 112 - The Port Elizabeth Pyramid 113 - In Memoriam 114 - Lord! What Is Man That Thou Art Mindful of Him! 115 - The Rhyme of the Ox-wagon 116 - The Cape of Good Hope 117 - The Erythrina Tree

“THE SMOUSE.”

“I’m a Smouse, I’m a Smouse in the wilderness wide—

The veld is my home, and the wagon’s my pride;

The crack of my “voerslag,” shall sound o’er the lea.

I’m a Smouse, I’m a Smouse, and the trader is free!

I heed not the Governor, I fear not his law,

I care not for ‘civilisation’ (?) one straw—

And ne’er to ‘Ompanda’—‘Umgazis’ I’ll throw,

While my arm carries fist, or my foot bears a toe!

‘Trek,’ ‘trek,’ ply the whip,—touch the fore oxen’s skin,

I’ll warrant we’ll ‘go it’ through thick and through thin—

‘Loop! loop ye oud skellums! ot Vigmaan trek jy.’

I’m a Smouse, I’m a Smouse, and the trader is free!

They may talk of quick going by mail or by rail—

What matters? our wagon creeps on like a snail;

What to ‘her’ is the steam-engine’s whistle and din?

We have time all before, and the ‘prog’ all within—

The snows of Kathlamba our progress can’t stay;

We mount to its summit, and travel away,

Or go we by Biggarsberg—wagon upset,

The tent lies in atoms, the stuff is all wet—

Never mind, that won’t hurt us—we’ll soon get it dry.

But ho! there go Elands—saddle up, boys! mount! fly!

Load your rifles, give chase as they bound o’er the lea—

I’m a Smouse, I’m a Smouse, and the trader is free!

I’m alone—I’m alone, and ’tis night on the plain—

And I think, as I lie, of old England again;

The jackal cries round me, the wolf quits his lair,

And the roar of the lion resounds through the air—

‘Alamagtig!’ cries Jansi—‘Ma-wo!’ cries Kewitt;

The cattle stand trembling—the Smouse on his feet.

My ‘Lancaster’ rings, while the brute gives a bound,

And the king of the desert lies dead on the ground!

Hurrah! then, what care I for king or for prince?

My horse and my gun are my pride and defence;

The town for the coward—the desert for me!

I’m a Smouse, I’m a Smouse, and the trader is free!”

All is changed since these lines were written, and since Pringle (the “father” of South African verse) “sang” amid the wild surroundings of his home. The whistle of the locomotive has taken the place of the shrill cry of the Kaffir. The lion has retired from business. The “big game” which used to cover the plains beyond the Drachensberg has gone, never to return; and the wandering trader has to pay taxes, and is no longer in need of a gun. The railway from Delagoa Bay to the Portuguese border is almost completed. Soon “excursions to Ophir” will be advertised, and the romance of the “Dark Continent” will be dead! There is little time for thought or rest in a country which can show a town risen up, as by Aladdin’s power, in a few short months, holding five thousand people, all gathered together for one object—gold. Still, and in spite of all this, we hope our modest volume may not be wholly neglected, but will find a welcome in many a home. There must be “intervals for refreshment,” however transient, both for body and mind, even in a world where the “go as you please” race for wealth engages everybody, and we trust that many colonists will find something in these pages to satisfy their tastes even if it be only a reminder of the days when their fathers were young, and ventured over the sea to make for themselves homes in untrodden wilds.