A Treasury of South African Poetry and Verse/A. C. Fairlie
A HOME BY THE SHORE.
O for a home on the sandy shore,
Where the green waves sing—for evermore;
For the breezes free,
On the rolling sea,
Are like Æolian harps to me.
O for to list while the wild winds rave,
As they sweep along o'er the curling wave,
Where the sea-mews roam
O'er the snowy foam,
And swiftly skim to their briny home.
O for a sail with the sloping mast,
And to merrily fly before the blast,
When skimming along
The billows among,
That curling foam to the wild waves' song.
SWEET FALLS THE EVE.
Sweet falls the eve in Chumie's Vale,
And blithe awakes the morn,
The flow'rets scent the early gale,
That rustles through the corn.
The moonbeam glances on the hills,
And silvers o'er the lawn;
While tuneful dance the gushing rills
To hail the golden dawn.
There Nature with her fairest dress
The lofty hills adorn;
The morning breeze the flowers caress,
And Plenty fills her horn.
No fairer maids in Afric's land
Than where the streamlets glide
Among the Chumie Mountains grand
To lone Kieskamma's tide.
CHUMIE FAIR.
Oh! Chumie fair, my childhood's home,
While far from thee I now do roam,
Yet oft in fancy, oft in dreams
I wander by thy crystal streams.
Thy woodlands green, thy mountains grand
Rise as by touch of magic wand,—
Methinks I see thy waterfalls,
And hear thy wild dove's am'rous calls.
With fond remembrance do I cling
To where the sweet mimosas fling
Their rich perfume o'er hill and dale,
And scent the winds of summer gale.
Though other lands are fair to view,
And other skies are quite as blue,
Yet back to thee my soul doth roam,
O Chumie fair, my childhood's home.
BUFFALO BANKS.
Buffalo banks are fair to view
In summer-time of year,
When flowers are wet with pearly dew
And birds sing loud and clear.
Buffalo banks, your mazy groves
Are filled with wild birds' song,
And oh! how pleasant 'tis to rove
Your waving woods among.
Meandering walks your depths adorn,
Through forest and through glade,
Where Cupid reigns and rules supreme,
And lovers' vows are paid.
Secluded in your winding groves—
Those groves by Nature made,
How sweet the golden hours would pass,
With Tylden's bonnie maid.
In leafy shade or flowery dell,
By Buffalo's flowing tide,
With thee for aye I fain would dwell,
Sweet lass of Tylden side.