South African Courtship
The girl I love was bred and born
Close to the “winding” neck of Horn,20
’Neath Cashan’s purple splendour.
She is so fair, she is so good,
That, in her simple womanhood,
You cannot mar or mend her.
You cannot mar her or improve—
Her voice is like the wild wood dove
Cooing by river branches,
Her neck (unlike the neck of Horn)
Is white as Alpine snow down-borne
By summer avalanches.
She is as graceful as the beech—
Her lips are ripe as blooming peach,
Or like small twin tomatoes;
Her hair is black, her earrings jet,
Nature and art together met—
For she to each a part owes.
Her teeth are white as sea-cow’s tusk,
And gleam upon you in the dusk—
Her eyes blue as seringa;
Her foot is shapely, and her hand,
And on her finger shines a band
Of gold—her little finger!
I saw her standing on a chair
In a dark orange grove—aware,
I fancy, of my presence;
For though she neither looked nor turned,
Her cheek with more than sunset burned,
As if she felt Love’s essence.
She raised herself upon her toes—
Regardless of her boots and hose
(The day was one of March’s),
She picked the fruit above her head,
And softly as a Zephyr said,
“Mij oompie, bier is nartjes.”21
I took the fruit, I took her hand—
I squeezed them both—you understand?
I said, “Oh! let us wander
Beyond this darksome orange grove,
And talk of cattle—or of Love—
My gentle Afrikander.”22
I spoke to her in broken Dutch,
Or damaged English with a touch
Of “Afrikander” in it.
I said to her—what did I say?
I said “ah! ja,” I said “ah! nay,”
And said so every minute.
I said “ah! ja, ik dank u veel,”23
I’d thrown away the “nartje” peel
And sucked the juices there-in;
I said “I love you,” fruitful theme,
In such a case (I do not dream)
A man becomes Man-darin.
She stood just then as once stood Ruth,
“Amid the alien corn”—in truth
’Twas at no latticed casement—
’Twas in her father’s “mealie” ground
I spoke—she started at the sound
In mealies and amazement.
Oh! wonder not such things are done
So quickly ’neath a tropic sun—
“There is no time to tarry”—
Love ripens faster than the pine,
The Lover says “Will you be mine?”
Next week they go and marry.
I told her of my cows and calves,
And how with Thomson I was “halves,”
And totted up the figures—
How waggons of my own, one, two,
Were earning much at Se-coo-coo-
Ni’s, fighting ’gainst the niggers.
I told her that I was an Earl
Disguised—she swallowed it, dear girl—
I said I would repay her,
If she would give her heart to me,
A man used to society,
A gentleman “Karreweijer.”24
She said she’d cows and calves as well,
And oxen too, which she could sell—
A “rustbank”25 chair and poodle,
And breathing then a pensive sigh
She said, “some land too, by and by,
A fourth of father’s boedel.”26
We sought her Pa—he smoking sat,
Beside him dogs upon a mat;
He relished it, like butter—
He dropped his pipe and heaved a sigh,
Then took a “tot”—then winked his eye
And said, “Neef jij kan vat haar.”27
So when I wed her, I shall “trek,”
And go and live near Horn’s long neck—
’Neath Cashan’s regal splendour;
Around her neck I’ll place my arm,
I’ll get a quarter of the farm—
And throughout life defend her!
A. Brodrick.
Pretoria, 1882.