Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3832/Little Brother
(The Indian Jackal.)
Panther, tiger, wolf and bear, They live where the hills are high. Where the eagle swings in the upper air And the gay dacoit is nigh; But we live down in the delta lands, A decenter place to be—The frogs and the bats and Little Brother, The pariah dogs and me.
He was a Rajah once on a time Who is Little Brother now; And I know it is all for monstrous crime Or shamefully broken vowThat he slinks in the dust and eats alone With a pious tongue and free; For a holy man is Little Brother, As beggars ought to be.
But whether he lurks in the morning light Where the tall plantations grow,Or wanders the village fields by nights Telling on ancient woe;Or whether he's making a sporting run For me and a dog or two, An uncanny beast is Little Brother For Christian eyes to view.
For there comes an hour at the full o' the moon When the Boh-tree blossoms fall, And a devil comes out of the afternoon And has him a night in thrall; And he hunts till dawn like a questing hound For souls that have lost their way;And it's well to be clear of Little Brother Till the good gods bring the day.
Wherefore I think I will end my song Wishing him fair good night, For Little Brother's got something wrong That'll never on earth come right; And this perhaps is the honest truth, And the wisest folk agree, The less I know about Little Brother The better by far for me.