A REMINISCENCE OF 1820.

In the lone wilderness behold them stand, Gazing with new strange feelings on the scenes Now spread around them in a foreign clime, Far from the sea-girt home that gave them birth. They had been landed on a cheerless shore, Dreary and solitary; and the hope That erst had brightened all their visions, when, O’er the blue waters looming from afar, They had seen Afric’s mountains rise to view, Had nigh been quenched again. But they had left The barren strand, and over hill and dale Had slowly toiled to reach a place of rest, And give their children once again a home. Men roughly kind, of speech and manners strange, Had guided them; and bidding them farewell, Had left them houseless in the wilderness, Pitying, and wondering what their fate might be. Fathers and mothers, with their children round them, Stand on the green sward, while the sunny skies, Flecked with bright clouds, bend o’er them from above, And thoughts are far away o’er the wide waters. The parting scene comes back to memory’s view,— The last embrace of loved ones left behind, The fears, and hopes, and prayers of that sad hour. And now the little ones in thoughtless glee Chase the bright butterflies of this strange land,— Their new and untried home. Ah! ’twas for them The fathers braved the storm-tossed waters, and The mothers hushed their own alarms to peace, When the loud tempest howled around the bark That bore them onward o’er the surging waves. These gave the springs to their great enterprise, And broke the bonds that else had held them still In the old home circle of the Fatherland. Dark days had been in England. Darker still Seemed coming fast, and o’er the crowded throngs Of Britain’s cities, stern adversity Was frowning. Then the cry arose, “What of our children? What awaits them here? Must we look on, and see their budding life, Before it blossoms, wither in our sight? Are there not other lands where pining want Shall cease to mock at honest industry, That asks but leave to labour? Will no star Of hope arise to point to happier climes Where skies are not all dark? Be it to rend The ties of kindred, we must venture forth Over the unknown seas, and seek a home On foreign shores, where there is room to live, And light to see a future for our children, Happy and bright when we have sunk to rest.” And this is now their home. ’Tis lone and wild; But there is beauty in its wildness. See! Yonder are mountains; in their deep ravines Dark woods are waving, whence in noisy flight Wild parrots issue forth, while loonies hide Amidst their deep recesses. Water springs Send limpid streamlets down the mountain side, Fringed with bright evergreens, and brighter flowers. Issuing from yonder dark and craggy gorge, Where lurks the stealthy leopard, and where shouts With loudly echoing voice the bold baboon, Kareiga winds its devious course along Between its willowed banks; while here and there The dark-leaved yellow wood lifts its proud head In stately dignity. Along the vale The wildwood’s sheltering covert stretches, where The bushbok barks; the duiker, sudden, springs; The timid bluebok through the moonlight glides; And monkey mimics chatter saucily. And there are feathered songsters in the groves; Not with the thrush’s or the blackbird’s notes, That flood Old England’s woods with melody; But short, and sharp, and ringing in their tones, Responsive to each other from afar, While telling of a life of light and joy. In the green pastures on the sunny slopes, Where the mimosa’s golden blossoms shed Gales of perfume around; and fertile soils Promise the husbandman a rich return To cheer him in his toil. “This is our home! A spot on earth we now can call our own; A starting-point for a new life’s career. Wake all our energies afresh! A brighter day Has dawned at last upon us. Let us raise A song of gratitude to Heaven, And gird us for our duties.”