The Caffer

Lo! where he crouches by the cleugh's dark side,
    Eyeing the farmer's lowing herds afar;
    Impatient watching till the Evening Star
    Lead 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 assagai 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.