Come hither, my children, now harken and hear.
The song and the tale of the Tiger I tell,
The tale of the life and the death and the fear
That the Tiger inspired in those under his spell.

He comes! Now see as he leaps, as he comes!
His eyes are aflame and his teeth flash and gleam,
With a roar and a rush and a beating of drums,
He scatters the embers to splinters and crumbs.

He glitters with armor, he gleams in the night
And his muscled arms ripple like waves on the shore,
His fur rolls and bristles and glows in the light
Of the fire that reflects him and heightens him more.

Like steel upon steel, like the clashing of arms,
Like sparks from the flint and like rain in the flood,
Like the way that a fire in the forest alarms,
Is the rage of the Tiger when hunting for blood.

Like wind when it howls through the forest at night,
Like the cry of the wolf as it sniffs and scents prey,
Like the call of the eagle that pauses in flight,
Is the roar of the Tiger that battles at bay.

Like the touch of the sun on the sparkling snow,
Like the whisper of waves as they kiss the white sand,
Like the chatter of streams as they ripple and flow,
Is the love of the Tiger when he once takes her hand.

Like the laughing of children, the greetings of friends,
The foam at the bow or the lover's first kiss,
The sweetness of honey, the scent a rose sends,
Is the joy of the Tiger when he walks life in bliss.

For he towers above you, a perilous foe
But a friend who is true to the ones he once knew,
He'll never be far from them, never let go,
Unless they depart like the morning's first dew.

Ah, the wars and the perils and fights he's been through
Are enough to bring death to most mortals who live,
But the strength he possesses, he'll lend it to you
If you will befriend him, the Tiger will give.

If you will attack him, the Tiger will stay,
Till the curtain of years falls away from the land.
And be sure that he sooner or later will slay
Every enemy, bringing their death in his hand.

Like stone that is chiseled and carved, yet remains,
Like trees that are bent and are burned, yet still grow,
Like fire that springs up and consumes, and yet gains,
Is the life of the Tiger... in weal or in woe.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Phaestian, in the year 332 AF.