Название: The Poetry of South Africa
Автор: Various
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066232900
isbn:
THE BETTER LAND. AFTER SHEMANS.
GOING HOME. FROM THE TRANSVAAL TO ENGLAND.
THE LAST MISSION OF THE SAILS.
THE DIAMOND DIGGER. ON FINDING HIS FIRST LARGE DIAMOND. (From the drama “I. D. B.”)
THE LAST OF THE BOWKERS. A DIRGE.
THE DRUNKARD’S CHILD. FOUNDED ON ONE OF J. B. GOUGH’S THRILLING ANECDOTES.
THE “CHURL” OF THE PERIOD; AND ANOTHER. A LEGEND OF THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE.
PADDY’S LOVE SYMPTOMS. FOR MUSIC.
PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY OF HUMBUG.
“ IN MEMORIAM. ” THE REV. R. TEMPLETON, WHO DIED IN THE ZUURBERG FOREST, JANUARY 1886.
“ LORD! WHAT IS MAN THAT THOU ART MINDFUL OF HIM! ”
THE RHYME OF THE OX-WAGON. (A MODEST PENDANT TO PRINGLE’S “AFAR IN THE DESERT.”)
THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. A PATRIOTIC SONG.
THE ERYTHRINA TREE. A CAROL OF THE WOODS.
PREFACE.
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.
“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! СКАЧАТЬ