Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/123

Rh THE CATTLE THIEF.

from my bed When the moon is dead, And hidden is every star; When the white man sleeps, And the tired hound No vigil keeps, But, in slumber sound, Follows the chase afar.

I swiftly glide Down the dark hillside, And creep to the farmer's kraal, Where the sleek-limbed kine, With breath so sweet, That will soon be mine, In my bush retreat, Wake at my soft, low call.

We quickly pass O'er the dew-wet grass, For my whistle they tamely follow; Over hill and dale We hurry apace, For the morning pale Will bring the chase On our track down the bushy hollow.