She dropped the bar, she shot the bolt, she fed the fire anew, For she heard a whimper under the sill and a great grey paw came through.

The fresh flame comforted the hut and shone on the roof-beam, And the Only Son lay down again and dreamed that he dreamed a dream.

The last ash fell from the withered log with the click of a falling spark, And the Only Son woke up again, and called across the dark:-- 'Now was I born of womankind and laid in a mother's breast?

For I have dreamed of a s.h.a.ggy hide whereon I went to rest?

And was I born of womankind and laid on a father's arm?

For I have dreamed of clashing teeth that guarded me from harm.

And was I born an Only Son and did I play alone?

For I have dreamed of comrades twain that bit me to the bone.

And did I break the barley-cake and steep it in the tyre?

For I have dreamed of a youngling kid new-riven from the byre.

For I have dreamed of a midnight sky and a midnight call to blood, And red-mouthed shadows racing by, that thrust me from my food.

'Tis an hour yet and an hour yet to the rising of the moon, But I can see the black roof-tree as plain as it were noon.

'Tis a league and a league to the Lena Falls where the trooping blackbuck go; But I can hear the little fawn that bleats behind the doe.

'Tis a league and a league to the Lena Falls where the crop and the upland meet, But I can smell the wet dawn-wind that wakes the sprouting wheat.

Unbar the door, I may not bide, but I must out and see If those are wolves that wait outside or my own kin to me!'

She loosed the bar, she slid the bolt, she opened the door anon, And a grey b.i.t.c.h-wolf came out of the dark and fawned on the Only Son!

MOWGLI'S SONG AGAINST PEOPLE

I will let loose against you the fleet-footed vines-- I will call in the Jungle to stamp out your lines!

The roofs shall fade before it, The house-beams shall fall, And the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall cover it all!

In the gates of these your councils my people shall sing, In the doors of these your garners the Bat-folk shall cling; And the snake shall be your watchman, By a hearthstone unswept; For the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall fruit where ye slept!

Ye shall not see my strikers; ye shall hear them and guess; By night, before the moon-rise, I will send for my cess, And the wolf shall be your herdsman By a landmark removed, For the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall seed where ye loved!

I will reap your fields before you at the hands of a host; Ye shall glean behind my reapers for the bread that is lost; And the deer shall be your oxen On a headland untilled, For the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall leaf where ye build!

I have untied against you the club-footed vines-- I have sent in the Jungle to swamp out your lines!

The trees--the trees are on you!

The house-beams shall fall, And the _Karela_, the bitter _Karela_, Shall cover you all!

ROMULUS AND REMUS

Oh, little did the Wolf-Child care, When first he planned his home, What City should arise and bear The weight and state of Rome!

A shiftless, westward-wandering tramp, Checked by the Tiber flood, He reared a wall around his camp Of uninspired mud.

But when his brother leaped the Wall And mocked its height and make, He guessed the future of it all And slew him for its sake.

Swift was the blow--swift as the thought Which showed him in that hour How unbelief may bring to naught The early steps of Power.

Foreseeing Time's imperilled hopes Of Glory, Grace, and Love-- All singers, Caesars, artists, Popes-- Would fail if Remus throve,

He sent his brother to the G.o.ds, And, when the fit was o'er, Went on collecting turves and clods To build the Wall once more!

CHAPTER HEADINGS

THE JUNGLE BOOKS

Now Chil the Kite brings home the night That Mang the Bat sets free-- The herds are shut in byre and hut For loosed till dawn are we.

This is the hour of pride and power, Talon and tush and claw.

Oh hear the call!--Good hunting all That keep the Jungle Law!

_Mowgli's Brothers._

His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buffalo's pride.

Be clean, for the strength of the hunter is known by the gloss of his hide.

If ye find that the bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed Sambhur can gore; Ye need not stop work to inform us. We knew it ten seasons before.

Oppress not the cubs of the stranger, but hail them as Sister and Brother, For though they are little and fubsy, it may be the Bear is their mother.

'There is none like to me!' says the Cub in the pride of his earliest kill; But the Jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think and be still.

_Kaa's Hunting._

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, Foregoing thought of quest or kill.

Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see, The lean Pack-wolf as cowed as he, And the tall buck, unflinching, note The fangs that tore his father's throat.

_The pools are shrunk--the streams are dry, And we be playmates, thou and I, Till yonder cloud--Good Hunting!--loose The rain that breaks our Water Truce._

_How Fear Came._

What of the hunting, hunter bold?

_Brother, the watch was long and cold._ What of the quarry ye went to kill?

_Brother, he crops in the jungle still._ Where is the power that made your pride?

_Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side._ Where is the haste that ye hurry by?

_Brother, I go to my lair to die!_