Songs Of The Road | Page 6

arm,
And returned in sullen humour

To the shelter of his farm.
Now it happened that the Devons,
Moving up in that direction,
Sent their Colour-Sergeant Evans
Foraging with half a section.
By a friendly Dutchman guided,
A Van Eloff or De Vilier,
They were promptly trapped and hided,
In a manner too familiar.
When the sudden scrap was ended,
And they sorted out the bag,
Sergeant Evans lay extended
Mauseritis in his leg.
So the Kaffirs bore him, cursing,
From the scene of his disaster,
And they left him to the nursing
Of the daughters of their master.
Now the second daughter, Sadie --
But the subject why pursue?
Wounded youth and tender lady,
Ancient tale but ever new.
On the stoep they spent the gloaming,
Watched the shadows on the veldt,
Or she led her cripple roaming
To the eucalyptus belt.
He would lie and play with Jacko,

The baboon from Bushman's Kraal,
Smoked Magaliesberg tobacco
While she lisped to him in Taal.
Till he felt that he had rather
He had died amid the slaughter,
If the harshness of the father
Were not softened in the daughter.
So he asked an English question,
And she answered him in Dutch,
But her smile was a suggestion,
And he treated it as such.
Now among Rhenoster kopjes
Somewhat northward of the Vaal,
You may see four little chappies,
Three can walk and one can crawl.
And the blue of Transvaal heavens
Is reflected in their eyes,
Each a little William Evans,
Smaller model -- pocket size.
Each a little Burgher Piet
Of the hardy Boer race,
Two great peoples seem to meet
In the tiny sunburned face.
And they often greatly wonder
Why old granddad and Papa,
Should have been so far asunder,
Till united by mamma.

And when asked, "Are you a Boer.
Or a little Englishman?"
Each will answer, short and sure,
"I am a South African."
But the father answers, chaffing,
"Africans but British too."
And the children echo, laughing,
"Half of mother -- half of you."
It may seem a crude example,
In an isolated case,
But the story is a sample
Of the welding of the race.
So from bloodshed and from sorrow,
From the pains of yesterday,
Comes the nation of to-morrow
Broadly based and built to stay.
Loyal spirits strong in union,
Joined by kindred faith and blood;
Brothers in the wide communion
Of our sea-girt brotherhood.
THE WANDERER {1}
1 With acknowledgment to my friend Sir A. Quiller-Couch.
'Twas in the shadowy gloaming
Of a cold and wet March day,
That a wanderer came roaming
From countries far away.

Scant raiment had he round him,
Nor purse, nor worldly gear,
Hungry and faint we found him,
And bade him welcome here.
His weary frame bent double,
His eyes were old and dim,
His face was writhed with trouble
Which none might share with him.
His speech was strange and broken,
And none could understand,
Such words as might be spoken
In some far distant land.
We guessed not whence he hailed from,
Nor knew what far-off quay
His roving bark had sailed from
Before he came to me.
But there he was, so slender,
So helpless and so pale,
That my wife's heart grew tender
For one who seemed so frail.
She cried, "But you must bide here!
You shall no further roam.
Grow stronger by our side here,
Within our moorland home!"
She laid her best before him,
Homely and simple fare,
And to his couch she bore him

The raiment he should wear.
To mine he had been welcome,
My suit of russet brown,
But she had dressed our weary guest
In a loose and easy gown.
And long in peace he lay there,
Brooding and still and weak,
Smiling from day to day there
At thoughts he would not speak.
The months flowed on, but ever
Our guest would still remain,
Nor made the least endeavour
To leave our home again.
He heeded not for grammar,
Nor did we care to teach,
But soon he learned to stammer
Some words of English speech.
With these our guest would tell us
The things that he liked best,
And order and compel us
To follow his behest.
He ruled us without malice,
But as if he owned us all,
A sultan in his palace
With his servants at his call.
Those calls came fast and faster,

Our service still we gave,
Till I who had been master
Had grown to be his slave.
He claimed with grasping gestures
Each thing of price he saw,
Watches and rings and vestures,
His will the only law.
In vain had I commanded,
In vain I struggled still,
Servants and wife were banded
To do the stranger's will.
And then in deep dejection
It came to me one day,
That my own wife's affection
Had been beguiled away.
Our love had known no danger,
So certain had it been!
And now to think a stranger
Should dare to step between.
I saw him lie and harken
To the