The Point of View

Far away in Arnhmen Land
And old, grey buck harangues his band,
   A seer who's been on "walk-about"
   To puzzle white men's wisdom out.
Now he is seeking to describe
Strange happenings to his wondering tribe
   Tales of a clear contagion spread
   That makes men "sick alonga head."
 
"The white man speak-um this," says he:
"That paper-talk, him tell-um me,
   Bad spirit, called Depreshum, walk
   About all place, an' make-um talk --
Bad-feller talk, 'long everywhere,
Till all man catch-um sick out there.
   S'pose they come here an' make us sick?
   Ah! ... T'ink-it better spear um, quick."
 
"Depreshum, white man say, he come.
Bime-by, all happy feller glum.
   White-man, him catch-um plenty meat,
   Catch plenty, tucker, no can eat.
All talk-um peace, but make-um war --
No feller man he know what for.
   S'pose, maybe, teach black man that trick?
   Ah! ... T'ink-it better spear-um quick."
 
Far, far away in Arnhem's Land
An old, grey buck harangues his band.
   Stone-age men, savages, say we,
   Full of our queer sagacity;
Yet, has our wisom much to give
In teaching black-men how to live?
   "White," growls the buck, "him too much sick.
   Better, mine tink-it, spear-um quick."