W. C. Scully

“ A land of fleckless sky, and sheer-shed beams
Of sun and stars through day's and dark’s slow hours,
A land where sand has choked once fluent streams—
Where grassless plains lie girt by granite towers
That fright the swift and heaven-nurtured teams
Of winds that bear afar the sea-gleaned showers.
The wild Atlantic, fretted by the breath
Of fiery gales o’er leagues of desert sped,
Rolls back, and wreaks in surf its thunderous wrath
On rocks that down the wan, wide shore are spread;
The waves for ever roar a song of death,
The shore they roar to is for ever dead. ”

“ Here the snowstorms of foam, fierce as fire,
⁠Shine bright 'neath the stars that they hide,
When the resonant surges retire
⁠From the rock that their rage hath defied.
Yet the heart that is weary of beating
⁠Finds here from its fever surcease,
And grief of compassion finds greeting
⁠Where the war-song of waters is peace;
Where the roar of the strife-smitten world
⁠Is drowned in the chant of the sea,
Lo! the banner of peace is unfurled,
⁠And the soul in its thraldom is free. ”

“ You sat on the ground in the crescent, and laid
⁠Your shield down flat when Dingaan spake loud—
His vitals pierced by the murderer's blade—
⁠To his warriors fierce, in dread anguish bowed.
And now to this: to cringe for a shilling,
⁠To skulk round the mission-house, hungry and lone;
To carry food to the women tilling
⁠The fields of maize! For ever have flown
The days of the spear that the rust has eaten,
⁠The days of the ploughshare suit you not;
Time hath no gift that your life can sweeten,
⁠A living death is your piteous lot. ”