INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 683
THE SONG OF THE LITTLE HUNTER
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 boul-
ders 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!