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!