Here you will find the Poem The Bushman of poet Thomas Pringle
The Bushman sleeps within his black-browed den, In the lone wilderness. Around him lie His wife and little ones unfearingly -- For they are far away from 'Christian Men.' No herds, loud lowing, call him down the glen: He fears no foe but famine; and may try To wear away the hot noon slumberingly; Then rise to search for roots -- and dance again. But he shall dance no more! His secret lair, Surrounded, echoes to the thundering gun, And the wild shriek of anguish and despair! He dies -- yet, ere life's ebbing sands are run, Leaves to his sons a curse, should they be friends With the proud 'Christian-Men' -- for they are fiends!