There was a tracker in the force <br />Of wondrous sight (the story ran):— <br />He never failed to track a horse, <br />He never failed to find his man. <br /> <br />They brought him from a distant town <br />Once more to gain reward and praise, <br />Nor dreamed the man he hunted down <br />Had saved his life in bygone days. <br /> <br />Away across the farthest run, <br />And far across the stony plain, <br />The outlaw’s horse’s tracks, each one, <br />Unto the black man’s eyes were plain. <br /> <br />Those tracks across the ranges wide <br />Right well he knew that he could trace, <br />And oft he turned aside to hide <br />The tears upon his dusky face. <br /> <br />Now was his time, for he could claim <br />Reward and praise if he prevailed! <br />Now was the time to win him fame, <br />When all the other blacks had failed. <br /> <br />He struggled well to play his part, <br />For in the art he took a pride. <br />But, ah! there beat a white man’s heart <br />Beneath his old, black wrinkled hide. <br /> <br />Against that heart he struggled well, <br />But gratitude was in the black— <br />He failed—and only he could tell <br />The reason why he lost the track.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-black-tracker-or-why-he-lost-the-track/
