The crescent moon, then seen imperfectly, Came onwards, with the vesper star, to see A summer day's decline.
The sun went down in beauty;-but the eyes Of ancient seamen trembled when they saw
A small black and ominous spot far in the distance :— It spread, and spread-larger and dark—and came O'ershadowing the skies; the ocean rose;
The gathering waves grew large, and broke in hoarse And hollow sounds;-the mighty winds awoke, And scream'd and whistled through the cordage ;-
That seem'd to have no home, flock'd there in terror, And sat with quivering plumage on the mast. Flashes were seen, and distant sounds were heardPresages of a storm.
The sun went down in beauty,-but the skies Were wildly changed.-It was a dreadful night- No moon was seen, in all the heavens, to aid Or cheer the lone and sea-beat mariner- Planet nor guiding star broke through the gloom ;-- But the blue lightnings glared along the waters, As if the Fiend had fired his torch to light Some wretches to their graves;-the tempest winds Raving came next, and in deep hollow sounds, Like those the spirits of the dead do use When they would speak their evil prophecies, Mutter'd of death to come;-then came the thunder Deepening and crashing as 'twould rend the world; Or, as the Deity pass'd aloft in anger
And spoke to man-Despair!-The ship was toss'd, And now stood poised upon the curling billows, And now midst deep and watery chasms, that yawn'd As 'twere in hunger, sank ;—behind there came
Mountains of moving water,-with a rush
And sound of gathering power, that did appal The heart to look on;-terrible cries were heard; Sounds of despair some,—some like a mother's an- guish-
Some of intemperate, dark, and dissolute joy- Music and horrid mirth-but unallied
To joy ;-madness might be heard amidst The pauses of the storm-and when the glare Was strong, rude savage men were seen to dance In frantic exultation on the deck,
Though all was hopeless.-Hark! the ship has struck, And the fork'd lightning seeks the arsenal-
'Tis fired-and mirth and madness are no more! 'Midst column'd smoke, deep red, the fragments fly In fierce confusion-splinters and scorch'd limbs, And burning masts, and showers of gold,-torn from The heart that hugg'd it e'en till death. Thus doth Sicilian Etna in her angry moods,
Or Hecla 'mid her wilderness of snows, Shoot up their burning entrails, with a sound Louder than that the Titans utter'd from
Their subterranean caves, when Jove enchain'd Them, daring and rebellious. The black skies, Shock'd at excess of light, return'd the sound In frightful echoes,-as if an alarm
Had spread through all the elements-then came A horrid silence-deep-unnatural-like The quiet of the grave!
IMITATION OF AN OLD POET.
My father is dead, and my mother is dead- They sleep beneath the churchyard tree: And my brothers so brave, are all in the grave, The greedy grave that yawns for me. I am an orphan, without a friend- Courage, my heart, for life will end.
I was the delight of a gallant knight, And he vow'd he only lived for me; But the turtle, I trow, is doom'd to woe, While her faithless mate away doth flee. Courage, my heart, and bear the wrong- Life is short, though sorrow is strong.
I had a sweet child, on me he smiled, And bade me live his fame to see;
But the death-storm blew, and the cold night dew Blasted the rose so dear to me.
I wrapp'd him in his winding sheet,
And strew'd him with flowers as frail and sweet.
My kindred are dead, my love is fled; Courage, my heart, thou canst love no more; Pale is my cheek, my body is weak ;— Courage, my heart, 'twill soon be o'er. Dim are my eyes, with tears of sorrow; They ache for a night, without a morrow.
The chief incidents of this little tale were related to the author by an African boy, whom he first met with near the borders of the Great Karroo or Arid Desert. The expression of the orphan stranger, when asked about his kindred, was literally (as translated by him into broken Dutch)-"Ik ben alleenig in de waereld!” i. c. “I am all alone in the world." A few slight circumstances, characteristic of the country, are almost all that has been added to poor Marossi's affecting narrative.
The system of outrage and oppression of which this story exhibits a specimen, has been ably developed by the Rev. Dr. Philip, in his" Researches in South Africa."
The following terms perhaps require explanation for general readers:
Bergenaars-Mountaineers, a marauding horde of Griqua or Molatto lineage, inhabiting the skirts of the Stormberg mountains, beyond the north eastern frontier of the Cape Colony.
Bushman-A wild Hottentot.
Gareep-Native name of the great Orange River.
Springbok-Antilope Pygarga or Euchore.
Wild-dog-Wilde-hond of the Colonists-Hyæna Venatica. Sea-cow, or Zeekoe-The Colonial term for the Hippopotamus. Utika, i. e. Beautiful-The Supreme Spirit.
I SAT at noontide in my tent,
And look'd across the Desert dun, That 'neath the cloudless firmament Lay gleaming in the sun,
When from the bosom of the waste A swarthy stripling came in haste, With foot unshod and naked limb, And a tame springbok following him.
He came with open aspect bland, And modestly before me stood, Caressing with a kindly hand That fawn of gentle brood;
Then, meekly gazing in my face, Said in the language of his race, With smiling look, yet pensive tone, Stranger, I'm in the world alone!"
"Poor boy," I said, "thy kindred's home, Beyond far Stormberg's ridges blue, Why hast thou left so young, to roam This desolate Karroo?"
The smile forsook him while I spoke; And when again he silence broke, It was with many a stifled sigh He told this strange sad history.
"I have no kindred!" said the boy: "The Bergenaars, by night they came, And raised their murder-shout of joy, While o'er our huts the flame Rush'd like a torrent; and their yell Peal'd louder as our warriors fell In helpless heaps beneath their shot, One living man they left us not!
"The slaughter o'er, they gave the slain To feast the foul-beak'd birds of prey; And with our herds across the plain They hurried us away---
The widow'd mothers and their brood: Oft, in despair, for drink and food We vainly cried, they heeded not,
But with sharp lash the captives smote.
"Three days we track'd that dreary wild, Where thirst and anguish press'd us sore;
And many a mother and her child Lay down to rise no more:
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