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 Gods, 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._ * * * * *