Where the light laughs in through the tree-tops And sports with the tangled glade, In the depths of an Afric forest My earliest scenes were laid.
In a bower that was merry with smilax From the grimace of no-where, I woke I was born on the first day of April And they called me a jungle joke.
And the voices of birds were about me — And the beat and the flutter of wing; While morning returned at the trumpet Of Tusky, our elephant king.
My nurse was a crooning old beldame Who gazed in the palms of my hands And vowed I was destined to travel In many and marvellous lands.
But little I heeded her croaking, For I gamboled the whole day long, And swung by my tail from the tree-top, Or joined in the jungle song.
THE SONG OF THE JUNGLE
The Elephant: Oh, I am the lord of the forest and plain! The Lion, Tigers, etc.: And we are the beasts that acknowledge your reign! The Birds: And we are the minstrels that come at your call! The Monkeys: And we are the jesters that laugh at you all! Chorus, All — Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! The tribes of the jungle are we — Our home is the darksome wilderness That never a man shall see. The Elephant: Oh, the jungle was meant and was made for my will! The Lions, Tigers, etc.: For the sport of the chase and the zest of the kill! The Birds: For the beating of wings and the echo of song! The Monkeys: For gambol and grimace the whole season long! Chorus, All: