Songs from Books. Rudyard Kipling

said All Earth,

      'Whatever he's worth,

      I'll put to the proof.'

      Who'll choose him for Knight?

      'I,' said his Mother,

      'Before any other,

      My very own Knight.'

      And after this fashion, adventure to seek,

      Was Sir Galahad made – as it might be last week!

      OUTSONG IN THE JUNGLE

BALOO

      FOR the sake of him who showed

      One wise Frog the Jungle-Road,

      Keep the Law the Man-Pack make

      For thy blind old Baloo's sake!

      Clean or tainted, hot or stale,

      Hold it as it were the Trail,

      Through the day and through the night,

      Questing neither left nor right.

      For the sake of him who loves

      Thee beyond all else that moves,

      When thy Pack would make thee pain,

      Say: 'Tabaqui sings again.'

      When thy Pack would work thee ill,

      Say: 'Shere Khan is yet to kill.'

      When the knife is drawn to slay,

      Keep the Law and go thy way.

      (Root and honey, palm and spathe,

      Guard a cub from harm and scathe!)

      Wood and Water, Wind and Tree,

      Jungle-Favour go with thee!

KAA

      Anger is the egg of Fear —

      Only lidless eyes are clear.

      Cobra-poison none may leech,

      Even so with Cobra-speech.

      Open talk shall call to thee

      Strength, whose mate is Courtesy.

      Send no lunge beyond thy length;

      Lend no rotten bough thy strength.

      Gauge thy gape with buck or goat,

      Lest thine eye should choke thy throat

      After gorging, wouldst thou sleep?

      Look thy den be hid and deep,

      Lest a wrong, by thee forgot,

      Draw thy killer to the spot.

      East and West and North and South,

      Wash thy hide and close thy mouth.

      (Pit and rift and blue pool-brim,

      Middle-Jungle follow him!)

      Wood and Water, Wind and Tree,

      Jungle-Favour go with thee!

BAGHEERA

      In the cage my life began;

      Well I know the worth of Man.

      By the Broken Lock that freed —

      Man-cub, 'ware the Man-cub's breed!

      Scenting-dew or starlight pale,

      Choose no tangled tree-cat trail.

      Pack or council, hunt or den,

      Cry no truce with Jackal-Men.

      Feed them silence when they say:

      'Come with us an easy way.'

      Feed them silence when they seek

      Help of thine to hurt the weak.

      Make no bandar's boast of skill;

      Hold thy peace above the kill.

      Let nor call nor song nor sign

      Turn thee from thy hunting-line.

      (Morning mist or twilight clear,

      Serve him, Wardens of the Deer!)

      Wood and Water, Wind and Tree,

      Jungle-Favour go with thee!

THE THREE

      On the trail that thou must tread

      To the thresholds of our dread,

      Where the Flower blossoms red;

      Through the nights when thou shalt lie

      Prisoned from our Mother-sky,

      Hearing us, thy loves, go by;

      In the dawns when thou shalt wake

      To the toil thou canst not break,

      Heartsick for the Jungle's sake:

      Wood and Water, Wind and Tree,

      Wisdom, Strength, and Courtesy,

      Jungle-Favour go with thee!

      HARP SONG OF THE DANE WOMEN

      What is a woman that you forsake her,

      And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,

      To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

      She has no house to lay a guest in —

      But one chill bed for all to rest in,

      That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

      She has no strong white arms to fold you,

      But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you —

      Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

      Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,

      And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,

      Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken —

      Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.

      You steal away to the lapping waters,

      And look at your ship in her winter quarters.

      You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,

      The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables —

      To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

      Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,

      And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow.

      Is all we have left through the months to follow.

      Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,

      And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,

      To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

      THE THOUSANDTH MAN

      One man in a thousand, Solomon says,

      Will stick more close than a brother.

      And it's worth while seeking him half your days

      If you find him before the other.

      Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend

      On what the world sees in you,

      But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend

      With the whole round world agin you.

      'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show

      Will settle the finding for 'ee.

      Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go

      By your looks or your acts or your glory.

      But if he finds you and you find him,

      The rest of the world don't matter;

      For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim

      With