Poem by Thomas Pringle

The Caffer

Lo! where he crouches by the Kloof's dark side,
Eyeing the farmer's lowing herds afar;
Impatient watching till the evening star
Leads forth the twilight dim, that he may glide
Like panther to the prey. With freeborn pride
He scorns the herdsman, nor regards the scar
Of recent wound, but burnishes for war
His assegai and targe of buffalo hide.
He is a robber? True; it is a strife
Between the black-skinned bandit and the white.
A savage? Yes; though loth to aim at life,
Evil for evil fierce he doth requite.
A heathen? Teach him, then, thy better creed,
Christian! if thou deserv'st that name indeed. 

1. Franschhoek
2. On a View of Spoleto
3. To Sir Walter Scott
4. The Emigrant's Farewell
5. To the River Earn

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