Room for his shadow on the grass—­let it pass! 
      To left and right—­stand clear! 
    This is the Buyer of the Blade—­be afraid! 
      This is the great god Tyr!

Tyr thought hard till he hammered out a plan,
  For he knew it was not right
(And it is not right) that The Beast should master Man;
  So he went to the Children of the Night. 
He begged a Magic Knife of their make for our sake. 
  When he begged for the Knife they said: 
‘The price of the Knife you would buy is an eye!’
  And that was the price he paid.

    Tell it to the Barrows of the Dead—­run ahead! 
      Shout it so the Women’s Side can hear! 
    This is the Buyer of the Blade—­be afraid! 
      This is the great god Tyr!

Our women and our little ones may walk on the Chalk,
  As far as we can see them and beyond. 
We shall not be anxious for our sheep when we keep
  Tally at the shearing-pond. 
We can eat with both our elbows on our knees, if we please,
  We can sleep after meals in the sun;
For Shepherd of the Twilight is dismayed at the Blade,
  Feet-in-the-Night have run! 
Dog-without-a-Master goes away (Hai, Tyr, aie!),
  Devil-in-the-Dusk has run!

Then: 
    Room for his shadow on the grass—­let it pass! 
      To left and right—­stand clear! 
    This is the Buyer of the Blade—­be afraid! 
      This is the great god Tyr!

DARZEE’S CHAUNT

(Sung in honour of Rikki-tikki-tavi)

        Singer and tailor am I—­
          Doubled the joys that I know—­
        Proud of my lilt to the sky,
          Proud of the house that I sew—­
Over and under, so weave I my music—­so weave I the house that I sew.

        Sing to your fledglings again,
          Mother, O lift up your head! 
        Evil that plagued us is slain,
          Death in the garden lies dead. 
Terror that hid in the roses is impotent—­flung on the dung-hill and dead!

        Who hath delivered us, who? 
          Tell me his nest and his name. 
        Rikki, the valiant, the true,
          Tikki, with eyeballs of flame,
Rik-tikki-tikki, the ivory-fanged, the hunter with eyeballs of flame.

        Give him the Thanks of the Birds,
          Bowing with tail-feathers spread! 
        Praise him with nightingale-words—­
          Nay, I will praise him instead. 
Hear!  I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki, with eyeballs of red!

(Here Rikki-tikki interrupted, and the rest of the song is lost.)

THE FOUR ANGELS