Versamelde gedigte

[p. 436]

A blue jay in the Bushveld

Not Horace, his young Telephus to inspire

To leave the antique and tiresome rolls that tell

Of long-forgotten fights and say farewell

To dreary, old-world stories, could desire
A sight more splendid than this streak of fire

That mounts above the placid Mabolel

As if with sapphire blue it aimed to quell

The pale pure beryl of the sky's attire.
No heliodore from some split granite grave

Near Usakos, whose facets flash with green

And living light, can vie with this live gem,

Nor even the powdered malachite they gave,

These pious painters of some scripture-scene,

To their Madonna's rainbowed diadem.