The Song Of The Little Hunter

Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,
Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh,
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade,
And the whisper spreads and widens far and near.
And the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now,
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!

Ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light,
When the downward-dipping trails are dank and drear,
Comes a breathing hard behind thee,snuffle-snuffle through the night,
It is Fear, O Little Hunter it is Fear,
On thy knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go;
In the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear!
But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy cheek,
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!

When the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered pine-trees fall,
When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer,
Through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all,
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap,
Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf,rib clear,
But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side
Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter,this is Fear!

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

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How Fear Came

The stream is shrunk, the pool is dry,
And we be comrades, thou and I;
With fevered jowl and dusty flank
Each jostling each along the bank;
And, by one drouthy fear made still,
Forgoing thought of quest or kill.
Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see,
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And the tall buck, unflinching, note
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Song Of The Mens Side

Once we feared The Beast, when he followed us we ran,
Ran very fast though we knew
It was not right that The Beast should master Man;
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The Beast only grinned at our spears round his ears,
Grinned at the hammers that we made;
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And this is the Buyer of the Blade!

Room for his shadow on the grass, let it pass
To left and right, stand clear!
This is the Buyer of the Blade, be afraid!
This is the great god Tyr!

Tyr thought hard till he hammered out a plan,
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Once we feared The Beast when he followed us we ran,
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Room for his shadow on the grass let it pass!
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This is the Buyer of the Blade be afraid!
This is the great god Tyr!

Tyr thought hard till he hammered our a plan,
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Morning Song In The Jungle

One moment past our bodies cast
No shadow on the plain;
Now clear and black they stride our track,
And we run home again.
In morning-hush, each rock and bush
Stands hard, and high, and raw:
Then give the Call: "Good rest to all
That keep the Jungle Law!"

Now horn and pelt our peoples melt
In covert to abide;
Now, crouched and still, to cave and hill
Our Jungle Barons glide.
Now, stark and plain, Man's oxen strain,
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Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red
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Ho! Get to lair! The sun's aflare
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Mowgli's Song

The Song of Mowgli, I, Mowgli, am singing. Let the jungle listen to the things I have done.
Shere Khan said he would kill, would kill! At the gates in the twilight he would kill Mowgli, the Frog!
He ate and he drank. Drink deep, Shere Khan, for when wilt thou drink again? Sleep and dream of the kill.
I am alone on the grazing-grounds. Gray Brother, come to me! Come to me, Lone Wolf, for there is big game afoot.
Bring up the great bull-buffaloes, the blue-skinned herd-bulls with the angry eyes. Drive them to and fro as I order.
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Here come I, and the bulls are behind.
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One moment past our bodies cast
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Now clear and black they stride our track,
And we run home again.
In morning-hush, each rock and bush
Stands hard, and high, and raw:
Then give the Call: "Good rest to all
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Now horn and pelt our peoples melt
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Our Jungle Barons glide.
Now, stark and plain, Man's oxen strain,
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Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red
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Ho! Get to lair! The sun's aflare
Behind the breathing grass:
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The warning whispers pass.
By day made strange, the woods we range
With blinking eyes we scan;
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