  The Pyramid which forms the subject of the following lines is the most prominent historical monument of Port Elizabeth. It stands on the brow of the hill overlooking Algoa Bay, in an open space known as the “Donkin Reserve.” It is built of rough stone and is about 35 feet in height, each side of the base being about 25 feet. On its western side a slate tablet is inserted exhibiting the following inscription:— “Elizabeth Frances, Lady Donkin, eldest daughter of Dr. George Markham, Dean of York, died at Merat, in Upper Hindostan, of a fever, after seven days’ illness, on the 21st August 1818, aged not quite 28 years. She left an infant in his seventh month, too young to know the unequalled loss he had sustained, and a husband whose heart is still wrung by undiminished grief, he erected this Pyramid, August 1820.” On its eastern side a similar tablet appears exhibiting the following:— “To the memory of one of the most perfect of human beings, who has given her name to the town below.” “Sermons in stones, and good in everything.”—Shakespeare. I seek not with a weak and untuned lyre To sound the praise of Cheop’s mighty pile, Where toiling myriads, higher and still higher, In the dim past, beside the swirling Nile, Upon whose hoary sides old Time’s grim teeth Have spent their force in vain. From task so high My muse with trembling shrinks. If e’er a wreath Should decorate her brow, ’twill twine ’mong themes Of lowly sort. Be hers the touch that thrills Heart’s deepest chords. Be hers the light that beams From Nature’s restful face,—the love that fills The Home with flowers of Eden’s chastened bloom. And surely this love-reared memorial pile To sacred dust enshrined in Indian Tomb A theme congenial yields. The worldling’s smile, Incredulous, mayhap reveals the thought That from rough stone no poet flowers can rise In gladd’ning bloom, no wisdom’s lore be taught. Erected here perchance to tranquillise That “undiminished grief” whose darksome tide For two long years had whelmed Sir Rufane’s heart, This Pyramid on Donkin’s Hill beside The tow’ring light-house stands; and with rude art Its sculptured tablets tell that she whose loss The stricken husband mourned, a babe had left Too young to feel the orphan’s bitter cross; And earth in her recall had been bereft Of one pure gem whose ray reflected Heaven; In touching tones the simple record speaks The fondness of a heart by anguish riven. Methinks hot tears bestream his haggard cheeks As memory mirrors her loved form to view, And all her tender ministrations pour In recollections soft as evening dew. The well-known voice, now hushed for evermore, Has left its echoes sighing through his heart; And as her faith and tranquil virtues rose A brief epitome, that should disclose All that she was to him, when on her scroll This record he inscribed, that all might know That she was one “most perfect human soul” Whose name in fragrance marks the “town below.” When gloomy night her sable mantle spreads, And storm-winds fill the seaman’s heart with fear, The light-house pours its placid ray and sheds A soft effulgence on this tribute dear. The keeper’s cottage, nestling low between The light-house and the sombre monument, Shares the mild radiance that o’erspreads a scene Whose light appears with mystic shadows blent. What sober thought may Faith’s clear eye perceive With Fancy’s pictures fair to interweave? Light from above reveals the rocks and shoals Whose earth-born flashes shipwreck storm-tost souls; Light from above illumes the smiling home; Light from above irradiates the tomb; Light from above with sympathetic glow O’ergilds the memories of our deepest woe. William Selwyn. Port Elizabeth, 30th November 1885. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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