SIMON VAN DER STEL.
Southward ever the Dutchman steered,
Southward with right good will;
No more the sea-worn sailor feared
The Cape of Table Hill.
No longer frowned the savage land
With famine fierce and fell,
For bounteous were the heart and hand
Of Simon van der Stel.
Not as the rest, for greed of spoil,
He ruled by Table Bay;
In new-built barn and seeded soil,
His little kingdom lay.
Cornfield and garden, oak and vine,
He loved and tended well.
"Who plants a tree is friend of mine,"
Quoth Simon van der Stel.
All in a pleasant vale was laid
The dorp that bears his name,
With bough of fruit and leaf of shade,
To bless the founder's aim.
Here oft he sat in simple state,
A kindly tale to tell;
And children kept the birthday fête
Of Simon van der Stel.
