MAKANNA'S GATHERING.
Wake! Amakosa,[1] wake!
And arm yourselves for war,
As coming—winds the forest shake,
I hear a sound from far:
It is not thunder in the sky,
Nor lion's roar upon the hill,
But the voice of Him who sits on high,
And bids me speak His will!
He bids me call you forth,
Bold sons of Kahabee,
To sweep the white men from the earth,
And drive them to the sea:
The sea which heaved them up at first,
For Amakosa's curse and bane,
Howls for the progeny she nurst,
To swallow them again.
Hark! 'tis Uhlanga's voice
From Debe's mountain caves!
He calls you now to make your choice—
To conquer or be slaves:
To meet proud Amanglezi's guns,
And fight like warriors nobly born:
Or, like Umlao's feeble sons,[2]
Become the freeman's scorn.
