  Hail! “Gem of the Desert,” in slumber reposing, The dark hills thy cradle, soft verdure thy bed; The breeze from the kloof richest perfumes disclosing, Lightly sweeps o’er thy bosom, raising dust very red. The last gleams of the sun in gay splendour descending Seem fondly to linger around the tall spire, While the clouds, rainbow-tinted, their gorgeous hues lending, Make the Dutchmen’s black chimneys seem as if all afire. Deep bosomed in shade the dark river meanders, Save where, like a mirror, it gleams from the glade; Or soapy and slimy through mud-holes it wanders, Where stockings are washed by a Hottentot maid. Sweet abode of content; dearly loved Graaff Reinet! Long, long mayst thou bask in thy slumber profound; Tame spring-bucks be baited for a sixpenny bet, And thy butter be sold at four shillings per pound. W. Selwyn. Graaff Reinet, 1860. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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