 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle |  |
III. THE BUSHMAN.
The Bushman sleeps within his black-browed den,In the lone wilderness. Around him lie
His wife and little ones unfearingly—
For they are far away from ‘Christian Men.’
No herds, loud lowing, call him down the glen:
He fears no foe but famine; and may try
To wear away the hot noon slumberingly;
Then rise to search for roots—and dance again.
But he shall dance no more! His secret lair,
Surrounded, echoes to the thundering gun,
And the wild shriek of anguish and despair!
He dies—yet, ere life's ebbing sands are run,
Leaves to his sons a curse, should they be friends
With the proud ‘Christian-Men’—for they are fiends!
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle | |