Sung in honor 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, oh 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 has delivered us, who
Tell me his nest and his name.
Rikki, the valiant, the true
Tikki, with eyeballs of flame
Rikk-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.
