By the fringing beach, By the restless wave, Is the straggling town, And its limits reach From the highest place By the mountain’s crown To the mountain’s base— Where the waters lave. Hopeful Town By the Cape of Hope; By the sandy slope Where the Hills look down; By the wind-swept kloof— On the barrack, grim: On the whitened roof, On the garden trim: On the restless Bay Where the sea-fowl whirls And the spume-dust swirls To the Zephyr’s whim— At the close of day. Darkening Bay, Where ever lay Alert to slip From leashes taut A blood-flecked hound In the pale lean ship; And where the sound Of echoing boom From far away Is a full-mouthed bay, As the quarry’s found. Mournful bay In green and grey, I’ve thought on you This many a day. *THE SQUIRE* Sir John of the Isles, ’E stood on ’is lands, An’ looked round ’is large estates: The lands of waste, an’ the lands of corn; The rose-clad lands, an’ the lands of thorn; An’ ’is many gun guarded gates. Sir John of the Isles, ’E sez to T.A., ’E sez to T.A., sez ’e, ’Oh, you an’ your chum, the sailor-man, Must scour the country as far as you can For you are gamekeepers to me.’ Sir John of the Isles, ’E sez to the swells— The Downing Street frock-coated crew— ’You are stewards of mine, on Colonial land, An’ my tenants, with seventeen guns an’ a band, Shall pay their respects unto you!’ Sez John of the Isles To one of the swells, ’Near the lands where you’re goin’ to Be Is the dusty estate of a crotchety cuss, ’Oo from time to time causes a great deal of fuss, For ’e thinks ’e’s better nor me.’ Sez John of the Isles, ’The tenants ’e rules Are a very peculiar lot. ’Is bailifs are ’Ollanders, chock full of guile, An’ they run the estate in a Guy-foxy style. Which is Dynamite, Treason and Plot!’ Sez John of the Isles, ’Don’t mind ’is remarks, For the land which is ’is—it was mine; But ’e took it to Law in a court rather grim, An’ a kopje-’id jury decided for ’im! An’ awarded the land as a fine.’ Sir John of the Isles, ’E sez to the swell, ’You’re a gentleman, breedin’ an birth, An’ in case of a row, without losin’ your ’ead, You may take my gamekeepers, an’ mark ’is land red! On the survey-map of the Earth!’ *THE SEA-NATION* We rose, a people of the sea, Nursed by the wind, and rocked by wave. Our hard, rock-founded history, Was born from stories of our brave. And northern ice-blasts steeled our frames When war was but the best of games.