Song of the Wild Bushman
Thomas Pringle 1789 (Blakelaw) – 1834
Let the proud White Man boast his flocks,
And fields of foodful grain;
My home is 'mid the mountain rocks,
The Desert my domain.
I plant no herbs nor pleasant fruits,
I toil not for my cheer;
The Desert yields me juicy roots,
And herds of bounding deer.
The countless springboks are my flock,
Spread o'er the unbounded plain;
The buffalo bendeth to my yoke,
The wild-horse to my rein;
My yoke is the quivering assagai,
My rein the tough bow-string;
My bridle curb is a slender barb --
Yet it quells the forest-king.
The crested adder honoureth me,
And yields at my command
His poison-bag, like the honey-bee,
When I seize him on the sand.
Yea, even the wasting locusts' swarm,
Which mighty nations dread,
To me nor terror brings nor harm --
For I make of them my bread.
Thus I am lord of the Desert Land,
And I will not leave my bounds,
To crouch beneath the Christian's hand,
And kennel with his hounds:
To be a hound, and watch the flocks,
For the cruel White Man's gain --
No! the brown Serpent of the Rocks
His den doth yet retain;
And none who there his sting provokes,
Shall find its poison vain!
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 27, 2023
- 1:03 min read
- 95 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABCDCD EBXBEFXF GHGHXIXI HJHJABABXB |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,104 |
Words | 208 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 10 |
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"Song of the Wild Bushman" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 24 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/37111/song-of-the-wild-bushman>.
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