University of Virginia Library

SONNETS.

I. THE HOTTENTOT.

Mild, melancholy, and sedate, he stands,
Tending another's flock upon the fields,
His fathers' once, where now the White Man builds
His home, and issues forth his proud commands.
His dark eye flashes not; his listless hands
Lean on the shepherd's staff; no more he wields
The Libyan bow—but to th' oppressor yields
Submissively his freedom and his lands.
Has he no courage? Once he had—but, lo!
Harsh Servitude hath worn him to the bone.
No enterprise? Alas! the brand, the blow,
Have humbled him to dust—even hope is gone!
“He's a base-hearted hound—not worth his food”—
His Master cries—“he has no gratitude!”

II. THE CAFFER.

Lo! where he crouches by the cleugh's dark side,
Eyeing the farmer's lowing herds afar;
Impatient watching till the Evening Star
Lead forth the Twilight dim, that he may glide
Like panther to the prey. With freeborn pride
He scorns the herdsman, nor regards the scar
Of recent wound—but burnishes for war
His assagai and targe of buffalo-hide.
He is a Robber?—True; it is a strife
Between the black-skinned bandit and the white.
A Savage?—Yes; though loth to aim at life,
Evil for evil fierce he doth requite.
A Heathen?—Teach him, then, thy better creed,
Christian! if thou deserv'st that name indeed.

III. THE BUSHMAN.

The Bushman sleeps within his black-browed den,
In the lone wilderness. Around him lie
His wife and little ones unfearingly—
For they are far away from ‘Christian Men.’
No herds, loud lowing, call him down the glen:
He fears no foe but famine; and may try
To wear away the hot noon slumberingly;
Then rise to search for roots—and dance again.
But he shall dance no more! His secret lair,
Surrounded, echoes to the thundering gun,
And the wild shriek of anguish and despair!
He dies—yet, ere life's ebbing sands are run,
Leaves to his sons a curse, should they be friends
With the proud ‘Christian-Men’—for they are fiends!

IV. SLAVERY.

Oh Slavery! thou art a bitter draught!
And twice accursèd is thy poisoned bowl,
Which taints with leprosy the White Man's soul,
Not less than his by whom its dregs are quaffed.
The Slave sinks down, o'ercome by cruel craft,
Like beast of burthen on the earth to roll.
The Master, though in luxury's lap he loll,
Feels the foul venom, like a rankling shaft,
Strike through his reins. As if a demon laughed,
He, laughing, treads his victim in the dust—
The victim of his avarice, rage, or lust,
But the poor Captive's moan the whirlwinds waft
To Heaven—not unavenged: the Oppressor quakes
With secret dread, and shares the hell he makes!

V. FRANSCHEHOEK.

To this far nook the Christian exiles fled,
Each fettering tie of earthly texture breaking;
Wealth, country, kindred, cheerfully forsaking,
For that good cause in which their fathers bled.
By Faith supported and by Freedom led,
A fruitful field amidst the desert making,
They dwelt secure when kings and priests were quaking,
And taught the waste to yield them wine and bread.
And is their worth forgot? their spirit gone?
Now, in the breach of wickedness forth-breaking,
At the lone watchman's warning call awaking,
To lift the faithful standard is there none?
Yes—still 'mong the dry bones there is a shaking,
And a faint glimmering still where former lustre shone.

VI. GENADENDAL.

In distant Europe oft I've longed to see
This quiet Vale of Grace; to list the sound
Of lulling brooks and moaning turtles round
The apostle Schmidt's old consecrated tree;
To hear the hymns of solemn melody
Rising from the sequestered burial ground;
To see the heathen taught, the lost sheep found,
The blind restored, the long-oppressed set free.
All this I've witnessed now—and pleasantly
Its memory shall in my heart remain;
But yet more close familiar ties there be
That bind me to this spot with grateful chain—
For it hath been a Sabbath Home to me,
Through lingering months of solitude and pain.

VII. ENON.

By Heaven directed, by the World reviled,
Amidst the Wilderness they sought a home,
Where beasts of prey and men of murder roam,
And untamed Nature holds her revels wild.
There, on their pious toils their Master smiled,
And prospered them, beyond the thoughts of men,
Till in the satyr's haunt and dragon's den
A garden bloomed, and savage hordes grew mild.
—So, in the guilty heart when Heavenly Grace
Enters, it ceaseth not till it uproot
All Evil Passions from each hidden cell;
Planting again an Eden in their place,
Which yields to men and angels pleasant fruit;
And God himself delighteth there to dwell.

VIII. THE GOOD MISSIONARY.

He left his Christian friends and native strand,
By pity for benighted men constrained:
His heart was fraught with charity unfeigned;
His life was strict, his manners meek and bland.
Long dwelt he lonely in a heathen land,
In want and weariness—yet ne'er complained;
But laboured that the lost sheep might be gained,
Nor seeking recompense from human hand.
The credit of the arduous works he wrought
Was reaped by other men who came behind:
The world gave him no honour—none he sought,
But cherished Christ's example in his mind.
To one great aim his heart and hopes were given—
To serve his God and gather souls to Heaven.

IX. TO THE REV. DR. PHILIP.

Thy heavenly Master's voice with reverent awe
Thou heard'st, as thus to thy stirred heart it spoke:
‘Go forth and gather yon poor scattered Flock
Within the free pale of the Gospel Law.
The trembling lamb pluck from the tiger's paw,
Nor fear his cruel fangs; for by the stroke
Of thy frail staff his cheek-bone shall be broke,
And many saved from the Devourer's jaw.’
Such the high task: and manfully and well
Thou for that peeled and scattered Flock hast striven;
And henceforth they in quietude shall dwell,
(Their ruthless spoilers fettered, or forth-driven,)
With nought to scare them, save the baffled yell
Of hungry wolves from whom the prey was riven.

X. A COMMON CHARACTER.

Not altogether wicked—but so weak,
That greater villains made of him their tool;
Not void of talent—yet so much a fool
As honour by dishonest means to seek:
Proud to the humble, to the haughty meek;
In flattery servile, insolent in rule:
Keen for his own—for others' interest cool;
Hate in his heart, and smiles upon his cheek.
This man, with abject meanness joined to pride,
Was yet a pleasant fellow in his day;
For all unseemly traits he well could hide,
Whene'er he mingled with the great and gay.
—But he is buried now—and, when he died,
No one seemed sorry that he was away!

XI. THE NAMELESS STREAM.

I found a Nameless Stream among the hills,
And traced its course through many a changeful scene;
Now gliding free through grassy uplands green,
And stately forests, fed by limpid rills;
Now dashing through dark grottos, where distils
The poison dew; then issuing all serene
'Mong flowery meads, where snow-white lilies screen
The wild-swan's whiter breast. At length it fills
Its deepening channels; flowing calmly on
To join the Ocean on his billowy beach.
—But that bright bourne its current ne'er shall reach:
It meets the thirsty Desert—and is gone
To waste oblivion! Let its story teach
The fate of one—who sinks, like it, unknown.

XII. MY COUNTRY.

My Country! when I think of all I've lost,
In leaving thee to seek a foreign home,
I find more cause the farther that I roam
To mourn the hour I left thy favoured coast;
For each high privilege which is the boast
And birth-right of thy sons, by patriots gained,
Dishonoured dies where Right and Truth are chained,
And caitiffs rule—by sordid lusts engrossed.
I may, perhaps, (each generous purpose crossed,)
Forget the higher aims for which I've strained,
Calmly resign the hopes I prized the most,
And learn cold cautions I have long disdained;
But my heart must be calmer—colder yet—
Ere thee, my Native Land! I can forget.

XIII. THE CAPE OF STORMS.

O Cape of Storms! although thy front be dark,
And bleak thy naked cliffs and cheerless vales,
And perilous thy fierce and faithless gales
To stanchest mariner and stoutest bark;
And though along thy coasts with grief I mark
The servile and the slave, and him who wails
An exile's lot—and blush to hear thy tales
Of sin and sorrow and oppression stark:—
Yet, spite of physical and moral ill,
And after all I've seen and suffered here,
There are strong links that bind me to thee still,
And render even thy rocks and deserts dear;
Here dwell kind hearts which time nor place can chill—
Loved Kindred and congenial Friends sincere.

XIV. TO OPPRESSION.

Oppression! I have seen thee, face to face,
And met thy cruel eye and cloudy brow:
But thy soul-withering glance I fear not now;
For dread to prouder feelings doth give place
Of deep abhorrence. Scorning the disgrace
Of slavish knees that near thy footstool bow,
I also kneel—but with far other Vow
Do hail thee and thy herd of hirelings base.
I swear, while life-blood warms my throbbing veins,
Still to oppose and thwart with heart and hand
Thy brutalising sway—till Afric's chains
Are burst, and Freedom rules the rescued land,—
Trampling Oppression and his iron rod.
—Such is the Vow I take—So help me God!