Let the proud White Man boast his flocks, <br />And fields of foodful grain; <br />My home is 'mid the mountain rocks, <br />The Desert my domain. <br />I plant no herbs nor pleasant fruits, <br />I toil not for my cheer; <br />The Desert yields me juicy roots, <br />And herds of bounding deer. <br /> <br />The countless springboks are my flock, <br />Spread o'er the unbounded plain; <br />The buffalo bendeth to my yoke, <br />The wild-horse to my rein; <br />My yoke is the quivering assagai, <br />My rein the tough bow-string; <br />My bridle curb is a slender barb -- <br />Yet it quells the forest-king. <br /> <br />The crested adder honoureth me, <br />And yields at my command <br />His poison-bag, like the honey-bee, <br />When I seize him on the sand. <br />Yea, even the wasting locusts' swarm, <br />Which mighty nations dread, <br />To me nor terror brings nor harm -- <br />For I make of them my bread. <br /> <br />Thus I am lord of the Desert Land, <br />And I will not leave my bounds, <br />To crouch beneath the Christian's hand, <br />And kennel with his hounds: <br />To be a hound, and watch the flocks, <br />For the cruel White Man's gain -- <br />No! the brown Serpent of the Rocks <br />His den doth yet retain; <br />And none who there his sting provokes, <br />Shall find its poison vain!<br /><br />Thomas Pringle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-of-the-wild-bushman/
