The hunting leopard feared his bristling horn,
The foul hyæna voted him a hoodoo;
Browsing on tender grass and camel-thorn
He roamed the plains, as all right-minded gnu do;
But now he eats the bun of discontent
That once was lord of half a continent.
And thou, my child, to whom harsh fate has dealt
A captive's birthright—thou wilt never scamper
With wingéd feet across the windy veldt,
Where are no crowds to stare nor bars to hamper;