雙語(yǔ)·叢林故事 小獵人之歌

The Song of the Little Hunter

Ere 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 boulders 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!