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+Project Gutenberg's Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan, by Toru Dutt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan
+
+Author: Toru Dutt
+
+Contributor: Edmund Gosse
+
+Release Date: October 29, 2007 [EBook #23245]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT BALLADS AND LEGENDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+              _ANCIENT BALLADS
+                  AND LEGENDS
+                     OF HINDUSTAN_
+
+                        BY
+
+                     TORU DUTT
+
+ AUTHOR OF "A SHEAF GLEANED IN FRENCH FIELDS," AND
+      "LE JOURNAL DE MADEMOISELLE D'ARVERS."
+
+
+            WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR
+                  BY EDMUND GOSSE.
+
+                  [Illustration]
+
+
+                      LONDON
+             KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO.
+                    MDCCCLXXXV
+
+
+
+
+    "I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not
+    my heart moved, more than with a trumpet: and yet it is sung but by
+    some blinde crowder, with no rougher voice, than rude style."
+
+                                                    SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic
+    spellings have been retained. Punctuation has been normalised. The
+    oe ligature has been transcribed as [oe].
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                             Page
+
+    I. Savitri                                  1
+   II. Lakshman                                46
+  III. Jogadhya Uma                            54
+   IV. The Royal Ascetic and the Hind          65
+    V. Dhruva                                  71
+   VI. Buttoo                                  77
+  VII. Sindhu                                  89
+ VIII. Prehlad                                107
+   IX. Sîta                                   122
+
+
+ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
+
+ Near Hastings                                127
+ France--1870                                 129
+ The Tree of Life                             131
+ On the Fly Leaf of Erckmann-Chatrian's
+    novel entitled _Madame Thérèse_           133
+ Sonnet--Baugmaree                            135
+ Sonnet--The Lotus                            136
+ Our Casuarina Tree                           137
+
+
+
+
+TORU DUTT.
+
+INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR.
+
+
+If Toru Dutt were alive, she would still be younger than any recognized
+European writer, and yet her fame, which is already considerable, has
+been entirely posthumous. Within the brief space of four years which now
+divides us from the date of her decease, her genius has been revealed to
+the world under many phases, and has been recognized throughout France
+and England. Her name, at least, is no longer unfamiliar in the ear of
+any well-read man or woman. But at the hour of her death she had
+published but one book, and that book had found but two reviewers in
+Europe. One of these, M. André Theuriet, the well-known poet and
+novelist, gave the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" adequate praise in
+the "Revue des Deux Mondes;" but the other, the writer of the present
+notice, has a melancholy satisfaction in having been a little earlier
+still in sounding the only note of welcome which reached the dying
+poetess from England. It was while Professor W. Minto was editor of the
+"Examiner," that one day in August, 1876, in the very heart of the dead
+season for books, I happened to be in the office of that newspaper, and
+was upbraiding the whole body of publishers for issuing no books worth
+reviewing. At that moment the postman brought in a thin and sallow
+packet with a wonderful Indian postmark on it, and containing a most
+unattractive orange pamphlet of verse, printed at Bhowanipore, and
+entitled "A Sheaf gleaned in French Fields, by Toru Dutt." This shabby
+little book of some two hundred pages, without preface or introduction,
+seemed specially destined by its particular providence to find its way
+hastily into the waste-paper basket. I remember that Mr. Minto thrust it
+into my unwilling hands, and said "There! see whether you can't make
+something of that." A hopeless volume it seemed, with its queer type,
+published at Bhowanipore, printed at the Saptahiksambad Press! But when
+at last I took it out of my pocket, what was my surprise and almost
+rapture to open at such verse as this:--
+
+    Still barred thy doors! The far east glows,
+      The morning wind blows fresh and free
+    Should not the hour that wakes the rose
+              Awaken also thee?
+
+    All look for thee, Love, Light, and Song,
+      Light in the sky deep red above,
+    Song, in the lark of pinions strong,
+              And in my heart, true Love.
+
+    Apart we miss our nature's goal,
+      Why strive to cheat our destinies?
+    Was not my love made for thy soul?
+      Thy beauty for mine eyes?
+            No longer sleep,
+              Oh, listen now!
+            I wait and weep,
+              But where art thou?
+
+When poetry is as good as this it does not much matter whether Rouveyre
+prints it upon Whatman paper, or whether it steals to light in blurred
+type from some press in Bhowanipore.
+
+Toru Dutt was the youngest of the three children of a high-caste Hindu
+couple in Bengal. Her father, who survives them all, the Baboo Govin
+Chunder Dutt, is himself distinguished among his countrymen for the
+width of his views and the vigour of his intelligence. His only son,
+Abju, died in 1865, at the age of fourteen, and left his two younger
+sisters to console their parents. Aru, the elder daughter, born in 1854,
+was eighteen months senior to Toru, the subject of this memoir, who was
+born in Calcutta on the 4th of March, 1856. With the exception of one
+year's visit to Bombay, the childhood of these girls was spent in
+Calcutta, at their father's garden-house. In a poem now printed for the
+first time, Toru refers to the scene of her earliest memories, the
+circling wilderness of foliage, the shining tank with the round leaves
+of the lilies, the murmuring dusk under the vast branches of the central
+casuarina-tree. Here, in a mystical retirement more irksome to an
+European in fancy than to an Oriental in reality, the brain of this
+wonderful child was moulded. She was pure Hindu, full of the typical
+qualities of her race and blood, and, as the present volume shows us for
+the first time, preserving to the last her appreciation of the poetic
+side of her ancient religion, though faith itself in Vishnu and Siva had
+been cast aside with childish things and been replaced by a purer
+faith. Her mother fed her imagination with the old songs and legends of
+their people, stories which it was the last labour of her life to weave
+into English verse; but it would seem that the marvellous faculties of
+Toru's mind still slumbered, when, in her thirteenth year, her father
+decided to take his daughters to Europe to learn English and French. To
+the end of her days Toru was a better French than English scholar. She
+loved France best, she knew its literature best, she wrote its language
+with more perfect elegance. The Dutts arrived in Europe at the close of
+1869, and the girls went to school, for the first and last time, at a
+French pension. They did not remain there very many months; their father
+took them to Italy and England with him, and finally they attended for a
+short time, but with great zeal and application, the lectures for women
+at Cambridge. In November, 1873, they went back again to Bengal, and
+the four remaining years of Toru's life were spent in the old
+garden-house at Calcutta, in a feverish dream of intellectual effort and
+imaginative production. When we consider what she achieved in these
+forty-five months of seclusion, it is impossible to wonder that the
+frail and hectic body succumbed under so excessive a strain.
+
+She brought with her from Europe a store of knowledge that would have
+sufficed to make an English or French girl seem learned, but which in
+her case was simply miraculous. Immediately on her return she began to
+study Sanskrit with the same intense application which she gave to all
+her work, and mastering the language with extraordinary swiftness, she
+plunged into its mysterious literature. But she was born to write, and
+despairing of an audience in her own language, she began to adopt ours
+as a medium for her thought. Her first essay, published when she was
+eighteen, was a monograph, in the "Bengal Magazine," on Leconte de
+Lisle, a writer with whom she had a sympathy which is very easy to
+comprehend. The austere poet of "La Mort de Valmiki" was, obviously, a
+figure to whom the poet of "Sindhu" must needs be attracted on
+approaching European literature. This study, which was illustrated by
+translations into English verse, was followed by another on Joséphin
+Soulary, in whom she saw more than her maturer judgment might have
+justified. There is something very interesting and now, alas! still more
+pathetic in these sturdy and workmanlike essays in unaided criticism.
+Still more solitary her work became, in July, 1874, when her only
+sister, Aru, died, at the age of twenty. She seems to have been no less
+amiable than her sister, and if gifted with less originality and a less
+forcible ambition, to have been finely accomplished. Both sisters were
+well-trained musicians, with full contralto voices, and Aru had a
+faculty for design which promised well. The romance of "Mlle. D'Arvers"
+was originally projected for Aru to illustrate, but no page of this book
+did Aru ever see.
+
+In 1876, as we have said, appeared that obscure first volume at
+Bhowanipore. The "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" is certainly the most
+imperfect of Toru's writings, but it is not the least interesting. It is
+a wonderful mixture of strength and weakness, of genius overriding great
+obstacles and of talent succumbing to ignorance and inexperience. That
+it should have been performed at all is so extraordinary that we forget
+to be surprised at its inequality. The English verse is sometimes
+exquisite; at other times the rules of our prosody are absolutely
+ignored, and it is obvious that the Hindu poetess was chanting to
+herself a music that is discord in an English ear. The notes are no
+less curious, and to a stranger no less bewildering. Nothing could be
+more naïve than the writer's ignorance at some points, or more startling
+than her learning at others. On the whole, the attainment of the book
+was simply astounding. It consisted of a selection of translations from
+nearly one hundred French poets, chosen by the poetess herself on a
+principle of her own which gradually dawned upon the careful reader. She
+eschewed the Classicist writers as though they had never existed. For
+her André Chenier was the next name in chronological order after Du
+Bartas. Occasionally she showed a profundity of research that would have
+done no discredit to Mr. Saintsbury or "le doux Assellineau." She was
+ready to pronounce an opinion on Napol le Pyrénéan or to detect a
+plagiarism in Baudelaire. But she thought that Alexander Smith was still
+alive, and she was curiously vague about the career of Saint Beuve.
+This inequality of equipment was a thing inevitable to her isolation,
+and hardly worth recording, except to show how laborious her mind was,
+and how quick to make the best of small resources.
+
+We have already seen that the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" attracted
+the very minimum of attention in England. In France it was talked about
+a little more. M. Garcin de Tassy, the famous Orientalist, who scarcely
+survived Toru by twelve months, spoke of it to Mlle. Clarisse Bader,
+author of a somewhat remarkable book on the position of women in ancient
+Indian society. Almost simultaneously this volume fell into the hands of
+Toru, and she was moved to translate it into English, for the use of
+Hindus less instructed than herself. In January, 1877, she accordingly
+wrote to Mlle. Bader requesting her authorization, and received a prompt
+and kind reply. On the 18th of March Toru wrote again to this, her
+solitary correspondent in the world of European literature, and her
+letter, which has been preserved, shows that she had already descended
+into the valley of the shadow of death:--
+
+    Ma constitution n'est pas forte; j'ai contracté une toux opiniâtre,
+    il y a plus de deux ans, qui ne me quitte point. Cependant j'espère
+    mettre la main à l'[oe]uvre bientôt. Je ne peux dire, mademoiselle,
+    combien votre affection,--car vous les aimez, votre livre et votre
+    lettre en témoignent assez,--pour mes compatriotes et mon pays me
+    touche; et je suis fière de pouvoir le dire que les héroines de nos
+    grandes épopées sont dignes de tout honneur et de tout amour. Y
+    a-ti-il d'héroine plus touchante, plus aimable que Sîta? Je ne le
+    crois pas. _Quand j'entends ma mère chanter, le soir, les vieux
+    chants de notre pays, je pleure presque toujours._ La plainte de
+    Sîta, quand, bannie pour la séconde fois, elle erre dans la vaste
+    forêt, seule, le désespoir et l'effroi dans l'âme, est si pathétique
+    qu'il n'y a personne, je crois, qui puisse l'entendre sans verser
+    des larmes. Je vous envois sous ce pli deux petites traductions du
+    Sanscrit, cette belle langue antique. Malheureusement j'ai été
+    obligée de faire cesser mes traductions de Sanscrit, il y a six
+    mois. Ma santé ne me permet pas de les continuer.
+
+These simple and pathetic words, in which the dying poetess pours out
+her heart to the one friend she had, and that one gained too late, seem
+as touching and as beautiful as any strain of Marceline Valmore's
+immortal verse. In English poetry I do not remember anything that
+exactly parallels their resigned melancholy. Before the month of March
+was over, Toru had taken to her bed. Unable to write, she continued to
+read, strewing her sick-room with the latest European books, and
+entering with interest into the questions raised by the Société
+Asiatique of Paris in its printed Transactions. On the 30th of July she
+wrote her last letter to Mlle. Clarisse Bader, and a month later, on the
+30th of August, 1877, at the age of twenty-one years, six months, and
+twenty-six days, she breathed her last in her father's house in
+Maniktollah Street, Calcutta.
+
+In the first distraction of grief it seemed as though her unequalled
+promise had been entirely blighted, and as though she would be
+remembered only by her single book. But as her father examined her
+papers, one completed work after another revealed itself. First a
+selection from the sonnets of the Comte de Grammont, translated into
+English, turned up, and was printed in a Calcutta magazine; then some
+fragments of an English story, which were printed in another Calcutta
+magazine. Much more important, however, than any of these was a complete
+romance, written in French, being the identical story for which her
+sister Aru had proposed to make the illustrations. In the meantime Toru
+was no sooner dead than she began to be famous. In May, 1878, there
+appeared a second edition of the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields," with
+a touching sketch of her death, by her father; and in 1879 was
+published, under the editorial care of Mlle. Clarisse Bader, the romance
+of "Le Journal de Mlle. D'Arvers," forming a handsome volume of 259
+pages. This book, begun, as it appears, before the family returned from
+Europe, and finished nobody knows when, is an attempt to describe scenes
+from modern French society, but it is less interesting as an experiment
+of the fancy, than as a revelation of the mind of a young Hindu woman of
+genius. The story is simple, clearly told, and interesting; the studies
+of character have nothing French about them, but they are full of vigour
+and originality. The description of the hero is most characteristically
+Indian.--
+
+    Il est beau en effet. Sa taille est haute, mais quelques-uns la
+    trouveraient mince, sa chevelure noire est bouclée et tombe jusqu'à
+    la nuque; ses yeux noirs sont profonds et bien fendus, le front est
+    noble; la lèvre supérieure, couverte par une moustache naissante et
+    noire, est parfaitement modelée; son menton a quelque chose de
+    sévère; son teint est d'un blanc presque féminin, ce qui dénote sa
+    haute naissance.
+
+In this description we seem to recognize some Surya or Soma of Hindu
+mythology, and the final touch, meaningless as applied to an European,
+reminds us that in India whiteness of skin has always been a sign of
+aristocratic birth, from the days when it originally distinguished the
+conquering Aryas from the indigenous race of the Dasyous.
+
+As a literary composition "Mlle. D'Arvers" deserves high commendation.
+It deals with the ungovernable passion of two brothers for one placid
+and beautiful girl, a passion which leads to fratricide and madness.
+That it is a very melancholy and tragical story is obvious from this
+brief sketch of its contents, but it is remarkable for coherence and
+self-restraint no less than for vigour of treatment. Toru Dutt never
+sinks to melodrama in the course of her extraordinary tale, and the
+wonder is that she is not more often fantastic and unreal.
+
+But we believe that the original English poems, which we present to the
+public for the first time to-day, will be ultimately found to
+constitute Toru's chief legacy to posterity. These ballads form the last
+and most matured of her writings, and were left so far fragmentary at
+her death that the fourth and fifth in her projected series of nine were
+not to be discovered in any form among her papers. It is probable that
+she had not even commenced them. Her father, therefore, to give a
+certain continuity to the series, has filled up these blanks with two
+stories from the "Vishnupurana," which originally appeared respectively
+in the "Calcutta Review" and in the "Bengal Magazine." These are
+interesting, but a little rude in form, and they have not the same
+peculiar value as the rhymed octo-syllabic ballads. In these last we see
+Toru no longer attempting vainly, though heroically, to compete with
+European literature on its own ground, but turning to the legends of her
+own race and country for inspiration. No modern Oriental has given us
+so strange an insight into the conscience of the Asiatic as is presented
+in the stories of "Prehlad" and of "Savitri," or so quaint a piece of
+religious fancy as the ballad of "Jogadhya Uma." The poetess seems in
+these verses to be chanting to herself those songs of her mother's race
+to which she always turned with tears of pleasure. They breathe a Vedic
+solemnity and simplicity of temper, and are singularly devoid of that
+littleness and frivolity which seem, if we may judge by a slight
+experience, to be the bane of modern India.
+
+As to the merely technical character of these poems, it may be suggested
+that in spite of much in them that is rough and inchoate, they show that
+Toru was advancing in her mastery of English verse. Such a stanza as
+this, selected out of many no less skilful, could hardly be recognized
+as the work of one by whom the language was a late acquirement:--
+
+    What glorious trees! The sombre saul,
+      On which the eye delights to rest,--
+    The betel-nut, a pillar tall,
+      With feathery branches for a crest,--
+    The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide,--
+      The pale faint-scented bitter neem,
+    The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,
+      With flowers that have the ruby's gleam.
+
+In other passages, of course, the text reads like a translation from
+some stirring ballad, and we feel that it gives but a faint and
+discordant echo of the music welling in Toru's brain. For it must
+frankly be confessed that in the brief May-day of her existence she had
+not time to master our language as Blanco White did, or as Chamisso
+mastered German. To the end of her days, fluent and graceful as she was,
+she was not entirely conversant with English, especially with the
+colloquial turns of modern speech. Often a very fine thought is spoiled
+for hypercritical ears by the queer turn of expression which she has
+innocently given to it. These faults are found to a much smaller degree
+in her miscellaneous poems. Her sonnets, here printed for the first
+time, seem to me to be of great beauty, and her longer piece entitled
+"Our Casuarina Tree," needs no apology for its rich and mellifluous
+numbers.
+
+It is difficult to exaggerate when we try to estimate what we have lost
+in the premature death of Toru Dutt. Literature has no honours which
+need have been beyond the grasp of a girl who at the age of twenty-one,
+and in languages separated from her own by so deep a chasm, had produced
+so much of lasting worth. And her courage and fortitude were worthy of
+her intelligence. Among "last words" of celebrated people, that which
+her father has recorded, "It is only the physical pain that makes me
+cry," is not the least remarkable, or the least significant of strong
+character. It was to a native of our island, and to one ten years senior
+to Toru, to whom it was said, in words more appropriate, surely, to her
+than to Oldham,
+
+    Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime,
+    Still showed a quickness, and maturing time
+    But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of Rime.
+
+That mellow sweetness was all that Toru lacked to perfect her as an
+English poet, and of no other Oriental who has ever lived can the same
+be said. When the history of the literature of our country comes to be
+written, there is sure to be a page in it dedicated to this fragile
+exotic blossom of song.
+
+                                                      EDMUND W. GOSSE.
+ 1881.
+
+
+
+
+ANCIENT BALLADS OF HINDUSTAN.
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+SAVITRI.
+
+
+PART I.
+
+    Savitri was the only child
+      Of Madra's wise and mighty king;
+    Stern warriors, when they saw her, smiled,
+      As mountains smile to see the spring.
+    Fair as a lotus when the moon
+      Kisses its opening petals red,
+    After sweet showers in sultry June!
+      With happier heart, and lighter tread,
+    Chance strangers, having met her, past,
+      And often would they turn the head
+    A lingering second look to cast,
+      And bless the vision ere it fled.
+
+    What was her own peculiar charm?
+      The soft black eyes, the raven hair,
+    The curving neck, the rounded arm,
+      All these are common everywhere.
+    Her charm was this--upon her face
+      Childlike and innocent and fair,
+    No man with thought impure or base
+      Could ever look;--the glory there,
+    The sweet simplicity and grace,
+      Abashed the boldest; but the good
+    God's purity there loved to trace,
+      Mirrored in dawning womanhood.
+
+    In those far-off primeval days
+      Fair India's daughters were not pent
+    In closed zenanas. On her ways
+      Savitri at her pleasure went
+    Whither she chose,--and hour by hour
+      With young companions of her age,
+    She roamed the woods for fruit or flower,
+      Or loitered in some hermitage,
+    For to the Munis gray and old
+      Her presence was as sunshine glad,
+    They taught her wonders manifold
+      And gave her of the best they had.
+
+    Her father let her have her way
+      In all things, whether high or low;
+    He feared no harm; he knew no ill
+      Could touch a nature pure as snow.
+    Long childless, as a priceless boon
+      He had obtained this child at last
+    By prayers, made morning, night, and noon
+      With many a vigil, many a fast;
+    Would Shiva his own gift recall,
+      Or mar its perfect beauty ever?--
+    No, he had faith,--he gave her all
+      She wished, and feared and doubted never.
+
+    And so she wandered where she pleased
+      In boyish freedom. Happy time!
+    No small vexations ever teased,
+      Nor crushing sorrows dimmed her prime.
+    One care alone, her father felt--
+      Where should he find a fitting mate
+    For one so pure?--His thoughts long dwelt
+      On this as with his queen he sate.
+    "Ah, whom, dear wife, should we select?"
+      "Leave it to God," she answering cried,
+    "Savitri, may herself elect
+      Some day, her future lord and guide."
+
+    Months passed, and lo, one summer morn
+      As to the hermitage she went
+    Through smiling fields of waving corn,
+      She saw some youths on sport intent,
+    Sons of the hermits, and their peers,
+      And one among them tall and lithe
+    Royal in port,--on whom the years
+      Consenting, shed a grace so blithe,
+    So frank and noble, that the eye
+      Was loth to quit that sun-browned face;
+    She looked and looked,--then gave a sigh,
+      And slackened suddenly her pace.
+
+    What was the meaning--was it love?
+      Love at first sight, as poets sing,
+    Is then no fiction? Heaven above
+      Is witness, that the heart its king
+    Finds often like a lightning flash;
+      We play,--we jest,--we have no care,--
+    When hark a step,--there comes no crash,--
+      But life, or silent slow despair.
+    Their eyes just met,--Savitri past
+      Into the friendly Muni's hut,
+    Her heart-rose opened had at last--
+      Opened no flower can ever shut.
+
+    In converse with the gray-haired sage
+      She learnt the story of the youth,
+    His name and place and parentage--
+      Of royal race he was in truth.
+    Satyavan was he hight,--his sire
+      Dyoumatsen had been Salva's king,
+    But old and blind, opponents dire
+      Had gathered round him in a ring
+    And snatched the sceptre from his hand;
+      Now,--with his queen and only son
+    He lived a hermit in the land,
+      And gentler hermit was there none.
+
+    With many tears was said and heard
+      The story,--and with praise sincere
+    Of Prince Satyavan; every word
+      Sent up a flush on cheek and ear,
+    Unnoticed. Hark! The bells remind
+      'Tis time to go,--she went away,
+    Leaving her virgin heart behind,
+      And richer for the loss. A ray,
+    Shot down from heaven, appeared to tinge
+      All objects with supernal light,
+    The thatches had a rainbow fringe,
+      The cornfields looked more green and bright.
+
+    Savitri's first care was to tell
+      Her mother all her feelings new;
+    The queen her own fears to dispel
+      To the king's private chamber flew.
+    "Now what is it, my gentle queen,
+      That makes thee hurry in this wise?"
+    She told him, smiles and tears between,
+      All she had heard; the king with sighs
+    Sadly replied:--"I fear me much!
+      Whence is his race and what his creed?
+    Not knowing aught, can we in such
+      A matter delicate, proceed?"
+
+    As if the king's doubts to allay,
+      Came Narad Muni to the place
+    A few days after. Old and gray,
+      All loved to see the gossip's face,
+    Great Brahma's son,--adored of men,
+      Long absent, doubly welcome he
+    Unto the monarch, hoping then
+      By his assistance, clear to see.
+    No god in heaven, nor king on earth,
+      But Narad knew his history,--
+    The sun's, the moon's, the planets' birth
+      Was not to him a mystery.
+
+    "Now welcome, welcome, dear old friend,
+      All hail, and welcome once again!"
+    The greeting had not reached its end,
+      When glided like a music-strain
+    Savitri's presence through the room.--
+      "And who is this bright creature, say,
+    Whose radiance lights the chamber's gloom--
+      Is she an Apsara or fay?"
+    "No son thy servant hath, alas!
+      This is my one,--my only child;"--
+    "And married?"--"No."--"The seasons pass,
+      Make haste, O king,"--he said, and smiled.
+
+    "That is the very theme, O sage,
+      In which thy wisdom ripe I need;
+    Seen hath she at the hermitage
+      A youth to whom in very deed
+    Her heart inclines."--"And who is he?"
+      "My daughter, tell his name and race,
+    Speak as to men who best love thee."
+      She turned to them her modest face,
+    And answered quietly and clear.--
+      "Ah, no! ah, no!--It cannot be--
+    Choose out another husband, dear,"--
+      The Muni cried,--"or woe is me!"
+
+    "And why should I? When I have given
+      My heart away, though but in thought,
+    Can I take back? Forbid it, Heaven!
+      It were a deadly sin, I wot.
+    And why should I? I know no crime
+      In him or his."--"Believe me, child,
+    My reasons shall be clear in time,
+      I speak not like a madman wild;
+    Trust me in this."--"I cannot break
+      A plighted faith,--I cannot bear
+    A wounded conscience."--"Oh, forsake
+      This fancy, hence may spring despair."--
+
+    "It may not be."--The father heard
+      By turns the speakers, and in doubt
+    Thus interposed a gentle word,--
+      "Friend should to friend his mind speak out,
+    Is he not worthy? tell us."--"Nay,
+      All worthiness is in Satyavan,
+    And no one can my praise gainsay:
+      Of solar race--more god than man!
+    Great Soorasen, his ancestor,
+      And Dyoumatsen his father blind
+    Are known to fame: I can aver
+      No kings have been so good and kind."
+
+    "Then where, O Muni, is the bar?
+      If wealth be gone, and kingdom lost,
+    His merit still remains a star,
+      Nor melts his lineage like the frost.
+    For riches, worldly power, or rank
+      I care not,--I would have my son
+    Pure, wise, and brave,--the Fates I thank
+      I see no hindrance, no, not one."
+    "Since thou insistest, King, to hear
+      The fatal truth,--I tell you,--I,
+    Upon this day as rounds the year
+      The young Prince Satyavan shall die."
+
+    This was enough. The monarch knew
+      The future was no sealèd book
+    To Brahma's son. A clammy dew
+      Spread on his brow,--he gently took
+    Savitri's palm in his, and said:
+      "No child can give away her hand,
+    A pledge is nought unsanctionèd;
+      And here, if right I understand,
+    There was no pledge at all,--a thought,
+      A shadow,--barely crossed the mind--
+    Unblamed, it may be clean forgot,
+      Before the gods it cannot bind.
+
+    "And think upon the dreadful curse
+      Of widowhood; the vigils, fasts,
+    And penances; no life is worse
+      Than hopeless life,--the while it lasts.
+    Day follows day in one long round,
+      Monotonous and blank and drear;
+    Less painful were it to be bound
+      On some bleak rock, for aye to hear--
+    Without one chance of getting free--
+      The ocean's melancholy voice!
+    Mine be the sin,--if sin there be,
+      But thou must make a different choice."
+
+    In the meek grace of virginhood
+      Unblanched her cheek, undimmed her eye,
+    Savitri, like a statue, stood,
+      Somewhat austere was her reply.
+    "Once, and once only, all submit
+      To Destiny,--'tis God's command;
+    Once, and once only, so 'tis writ,
+      Shall woman pledge her faith and hand;
+    Once, and once only, can a sire
+      Unto his well-loved daughter say,
+    In presence of the witness fire,
+      I give thee to this man away.
+
+    "Once, and once only, have I given
+      My heart and faith--'tis past recall;
+    With conscience none have ever striven,
+      And none may strive, without a fall.
+    Not the less solemn was my vow
+      Because unheard, and oh! the sin
+    Will not be less, if I should now
+      Deny the feeling felt within.
+    Unwedded to my dying day
+      I must, my father dear, remain;
+    'Tis well, if so thou will'st, but say
+      Can man balk Fate, or break its chain?
+
+    "If Fate so rules, that I should feel
+      The miseries of a widow's life,
+    Can man's device the doom repeal?
+      Unequal seems to be a strife,
+    Between Humanity and Fate;
+      None have on earth what they desire;
+    Death comes to all or soon or late;
+      And peace is but a wandering fire;
+    Expediency leads wild astray;
+      The Right must be our guiding star;
+    Duty our watchword, come what may;
+      Judge for me, friends,--as wiser far."
+
+    She said, and meekly looked to both.
+      The father, though he patient heard,
+    To give the sanction still seemed loth,
+      But Narad Muni took the word.
+    "Bless thee, my child! 'Tis not for us
+      To question the Almighty will,
+    Though cloud on cloud loom ominous,
+      In gentle rain they may distil."
+    At this, the monarch--"Be it so!
+      I sanction what my friend approves;
+    All praise to Him, whom praise we owe;
+      My child shall wed the youth she loves."
+
+
+PART II.
+
+    Great joy in Madra. Blow the shell
+      The marriage over to declare!
+    And now to forest-shades where dwell
+      The hermits, wend the wedded pair.
+    The doors of every house are hung
+      With gay festoons of leaves and flowers;
+    And blazing banners broad are flung,
+      And trumpets blown from castle towers!
+    Slow the procession makes its ground
+      Along the crowded city street:
+    And blessings in a storm of sound
+      At every step the couple greet.
+
+    Past all the houses, past the wall,
+      Past gardens gay, and hedgerows trim,
+    Past fields, where sinuous brooklets small
+      With molten silver to the brim
+    Glance in the sun's expiring light,
+      Past frowning hills, past pastures wild,
+    At last arises on the sight,
+      Foliage on foliage densely piled,
+    The woods primeval, where reside
+      The holy hermits;--henceforth here
+    Must live the fair and gentle bride:
+      But this thought brought with it no fear.
+
+    Fear! With her husband by her still?
+      Or weariness! Where all was new?
+    Hark! What a welcome from the hill!
+      There gathered are a hermits few.
+    Screaming the peacocks upward soar;
+      Wondering the timid wild deer gaze;
+    And from Briarean fig-trees hoar
+      Look down the monkeys in amaze
+    As the procession moves along;
+      And now behold, the bridegroom's sire
+    With joy comes forth amid the throng;--
+      What reverence his looks inspire!
+
+    Blind! With his partner by his side!
+      For them it was a hallowed time!
+    Warmly they greet the modest bride
+      With her dark eyes and front sublime!
+    One only grief they feel.--Shall she
+      Who dwelt in palace halls before,
+    Dwell in their huts beneath the tree?
+      Would not their hard life press her sore;--
+    The manual labour, and the want
+      Of comforts that her rank became,
+    Valkala robes, meals poor and scant,
+      All undermine the fragile frame?
+
+    To see the bride, the hermits' wives
+      And daughters gathered to the huts,
+    Women of pure and saintly lives!
+      And there beneath the betel-nuts
+    Tall trees like pillars, they admire
+      Her beauty, and congratulate
+    The parents, that their hearts' desire
+      Had thus accorded been by Fate,
+    And Satyavan their son had found
+      In exile lone, a fitting mate:
+    And gossips add,--good signs abound;
+      Prosperity shall on her wait.
+
+    Good signs in features, limbs, and eyes,
+      That old experience can discern,
+    Good signs on earth and in the skies,
+      That it could read at every turn.
+    And now with rice and gold, all bless
+      The bride and bridegroom,--and they go
+    Happy in others' happiness,
+      Each to her home, beneath the glow
+    Of the late risen moon that lines
+      With silver, all the ghost-like trees,
+    Sals, tamarisks, and South-Sea pines,
+      And palms whose plumes wave in the breeze.
+
+    False was the fear, the parents felt,
+      Savitri liked her new life much;
+    Though in a lowly home she dwelt
+      Her conduct as a wife was such
+    As to illumine all the place;
+      She sickened not, nor sighed, nor pined;
+    But with simplicity and grace
+      Discharged each household duty kind.
+    Strong in all manual work,--and strong
+      To comfort, cherish, help, and pray,
+    The hours past peacefully along
+      And rippling bright, day followed day.
+
+    At morn Satyavan to the wood
+      Early repaired and gathered flowers
+    And fruits, in its wild solitude,
+      And fuel,--till advancing hours
+    Apprised him that his frugal meal
+      Awaited him. Ah, happy time!
+    Savitri, who with fervid zeal
+      Had said her orisons sublime,
+    And fed the Bramins and the birds,
+      Now ministered. Arcadian love,
+    With tender smiles and honeyed words,
+      All bliss of earth thou art above!
+
+    And yet there was a spectre grim,
+      A skeleton in Savitri's heart,
+    Looming in shadow, somewhat dim,
+      But which would never thence depart.
+    It was that fatal, fatal speech
+      Of Narad Muni. As the days
+    Slipt smoothly past, each after each,
+      In private she more fervent prays.
+    But there is none to share her fears,
+      For how could she communicate
+    The sad cause of her bidden tears?
+      The doom approached, the fatal date.
+
+    No help from man. Well, be it so!
+      No sympathy,--it matters not!
+    God can avert the heavy blow!
+      He answers worship. Thus she thought.
+    And so, her prayers, by day and night,
+      Like incense rose unto the throne;
+    Nor did she vow neglect or rite
+      The Veds enjoin or helpful own.
+    Upon the fourteenth of the moon,
+      As nearer came the time of dread,
+    In Joystee, that is May or June,
+      She vowed her vows and Bramins fed.
+
+    And now she counted e'en the hours,
+      As to Eternity they past;
+    O'er head the dark cloud darker lowers,
+      The year is rounding full at last.
+    To-day,--to-day,--with doleful sound
+      The word seem'd in her ear to ring!
+    O breaking heart,--thy pain profound
+      Thy husband knows not, nor the king,
+    Exiled and blind, nor yet the queen;
+      But One knows in His place above.
+    To-day,--to-day,--it will be seen
+      Which shall be victor, Death or Love!
+
+    Incessant in her prayers from morn,
+      The noon is safely tided,--then
+    A gleam of faint, faint hope is born,
+      But the heart fluttered like a wren
+    That sees the shadow of the hawk
+      Sail on,--and trembles in affright,
+    Lest a down-rushing swoop should mock
+      Its fortune, and o'erwhelm it quite.
+    The afternoon has come and gone
+      And brought no change;--should she rejoice?
+    The gentle evening's shades come on,
+      When hark!--She hears her husband's voice!
+
+    "The twilight is most beautiful!
+      Mother, to gather fruit I go,
+    And fuel,--for the air is cool
+      Expect me in an hour or so."
+    "The night, my child, draws on apace,"
+      The mother's voice was heard to say,
+    "The forest paths are hard to trace
+      In darkness,--till the morrow stay."
+    "Not hard for me, who can discern
+      The forest-paths in any hour,
+    Blindfold I could with ease return,
+      And day has not yet lost its power."
+
+    "He goes then," thought Savitri, "thus
+      With unseen bands Fate draws us on
+    Unto the place appointed us;
+      We feel no outward force,--anon
+    We go to marriage or to death
+      At a determined time and place;
+    We are her playthings; with her breath
+      She blows us where she lists in space.
+    What is my duty? It is clear,
+      My husband I must follow; so,
+    While he collects his forest gear
+      Let me permission get to go."
+
+    His sire she seeks,--the blind old king,
+      And asks from him permission straight.
+    "My daughter, night with ebon wing
+      Hovers above; the hour is late.
+    My son is active, brave, and strong,
+      Conversant with the woods, he knows
+    Each path; methinks it would be wrong
+      For thee to venture where he goes,
+    Weak and defenceless as thou art,
+      At such a time. If thou wert near
+    Thou might'st embarrass him, dear heart,
+      Alone, he would not have a fear."
+
+    So spake the hermit-monarch blind,
+      His wife too, entering in, exprest
+    The self-same thoughts in words as kind,
+      And begged Savitri hard, to rest.
+    "Thy recent fasts and vigils, child,
+      Make thee unfit to undertake
+    This journey to the forest wild."
+      But nothing could her purpose shake.
+    She urged the nature of her vows,
+      Required her now the rites were done
+    To follow where her loving spouse
+      Might e'en a chance of danger run.
+
+    "Go then, my child,--we give thee leave,
+      But with thy husband quick return,
+    Before the flickering shades of eve
+      Deepen to night, and planets burn,
+    And forest-paths become obscure,
+      Lit only by their doubtful rays.
+    The gods, who guard all women pure,
+      Bless thee and kept thee in thy ways,
+    And safely bring thee and thy lord!"
+      On this she left, and swiftly ran
+    Where with his saw in lieu of sword,
+      And basket, plodded Satyavan.
+
+    Oh, lovely are the woods at dawn,
+      And lovely in the sultry noon,
+    But loveliest, when the sun withdrawn
+      The twilight and a crescent moon
+    Change all asperities of shape,
+      And tone all colours softly down,
+    With a blue veil of silvered crape!
+      Lo! By that hill which palm-trees crown,
+    Down the deep glade with perfume rife
+      From buds that to the dews expand,
+    The husband and the faithful wife
+      Pass to dense jungle,--hand in hand.
+
+    Satyavan bears beside his saw
+      A forkèd stick to pluck the fruit,
+    His wife, the basket lined with straw;
+      He talks, but she is almost mute,
+    And very pale. The minutes pass;
+      The basket has no further space,
+    Now on the fruits they flowers amass
+      That with their red flush all the place
+    While twilight lingers; then for wood
+      He saws the branches of the trees,
+    The noise, heard in the solitude,
+      Grates on its soft, low harmonies.
+
+    And all the while one dreadful thought
+      Haunted Savitri's anxious mind,
+    Which would have fain its stress forgot;
+      It came as chainless as the wind,
+    Oft and again: thus on the spot
+      Marked with his heart-blood oft comes back
+    The murdered man, to see the clot!
+      Death's final blow,--the fatal wrack
+    Of every hope, whence will it fall?
+      For fall, by Narad's words, it must;
+    Persistent rising to appall
+      This thought its horrid presence thrust.
+
+    Sudden the noise is hushed,--a pause!
+      Satyavan lets the weapon drop--
+    Too well Savitri knows the cause,
+      He feels not well, the work must stop.
+    A pain is in his head,--a pain
+      As if he felt the cobra's fangs,
+    He tries to look around,--in vain,
+      A mist before his vision hangs;
+    The trees whirl dizzily around
+      In a fantastic fashion wild;
+    His throat and chest seem iron-bound,
+      He staggers, like a sleepy child.
+
+    "My head, my head!--Savitri, dear,
+      This pain is frightful. Let me lie
+    Here on the turf." Her voice was clear
+      And very calm was her reply,
+    As if her heart had banished fear:
+      "Lean, love, thy head upon my breast,"
+    And as she helped him, added--"here,
+      So shall thou better breathe and rest."
+    "Ah me, this pain,--'tis getting dark,
+      I see no more,--can this be death?
+    What means this, gods?--Savitri, mark,
+      My hands wax cold, and fails my breath."
+
+    "It may be but a swoon." "Ah! no--
+      Arrows are piercing through my heart,--
+    Farewell my love! for I must go,
+      This, this is death." He gave one start
+    And then lay quiet on her lap,
+      Insensible to sight and sound,
+    Breathing his last.... The branches flap
+      And fireflies glimmer all around;
+    His head upon her breast; his frame
+      Part on her lap, part on the ground,
+    Thus lies he. Hours pass. Still the same,
+      The pair look statues, magic-bound.
+
+
+PART III.
+
+    Death in his palace holds his court,
+      His messengers move to and fro,
+    Each of his mission makes report,
+      And takes the royal orders,--Lo,
+    Some slow before his throne appear
+      And humbly in the Presence kneel:
+    "Why hath the Prince not been brought here?
+      The hour is past; nor is appeal
+    Allowed against foregone decree;
+      There is the mandate with the seal!
+    How comes it ye return to me
+      Without him? Shame upon your zeal!"
+
+    "O King, whom all men fear,--he lies
+      Deep in the dark Medhya wood,
+    We fled from thence in wild surprise,
+      And left him in that solitude.
+    We dared not touch him, for there sits,
+      Beside him, lighting all the place,
+    A woman fair, whose brow permits
+      In its austerity of grace
+    And purity,--no creatures foul
+      As we seemed, by her loveliness,
+    Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul,
+      To venture close, and far, far less
+
+    "To stretch a hand, and bear the dead;
+      We left her leaning on her hand,
+    Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed,
+      But looked the goddess of the land,
+    With her meek air of mild command."--
+      "Then on this errand I must go
+    Myself, and bear my dreaded brand,
+      This duty unto Fate I owe;
+    I know the merits of the prince,
+      But merit saves not from the doom
+    Common to man; his death long since
+      Was destined in his beauty's bloom."
+
+
+PART IV.
+
+    As still Savitri sat beside
+      Her husband dying,--dying fast,
+    She saw a stranger slowly glide
+      Beneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.
+    Upon his head he wore a crown
+      That shimmered in the doubtful light;
+    His vestment scarlet reached low down,
+      His waist, a golden girdle dight.
+    His skin was dark as bronze; his face
+      Irradiate, and yet severe;
+    His eyes had much of love and grace,
+      But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.
+
+    A string was in the stranger's hand
+      Noosed at its end. Her terrors now
+    Savitri scarcely could command.
+      Upon the sod beneath a bough,
+    She gently laid her husband's head,
+      And in obeisance bent her brow.
+    "No mortal form is thine,"--she said,
+      "Beseech thee say what god art thou?
+    And what can be thine errand here?"
+      "Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith,
+    Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe,
+      I answer,--list,--my name is Death.
+
+    "And I am come myself to take
+      Thy husband from this earth away,
+    And he shall cross the doleful lake
+      In my own charge, and let me say
+    To few such honours I accord,
+      But his pure life and thine require
+    No less from me." The dreadful sword
+      Like lightning glanced one moment dire;
+    And then the inner man was tied,
+      The soul no bigger than the thumb,
+    To be borne onwards by his side:--
+      Savitri all the while stood dumb.
+
+    But when the god moved slowly on
+      To gain his own dominions dim,
+    Leaving the body there--anon
+      Savitri meekly followed him,
+    Hoping against all hope; he turned
+      And looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"
+    Pale, pale the stars above them burned,
+      More weird the scene had grown and wild;
+    "It is not for the living--hear!
+      To follow where the dead must go,
+    Thy duty lies before thee clear,
+      What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show.
+
+    "The funeral rites that they ordain
+      And sacrifices must take up
+    Thy first sad moments; not in vain
+      Is held to thee this bitter cup;
+    Its lessons thou shall learn in time!
+      All that thou _canst_ do, thou hast done
+    For thy dear lord. Thy love sublime
+      My deepest sympathy hath won.
+    Return, for thou hast come as far
+      As living creature may. Adieu!
+    Let duty be thy guiding star,
+      As ever. To thyself be true!"
+
+    "Where'er my husband dear is led,
+      Or journeys of his own free will,
+    I too must go, though darkness spread
+      Across my path, portending ill,
+    'Tis thus my duty I have read!
+      If I am wrong, oh! with me bear;
+    But do not bid me backward tread
+      My way forlorn,--for I can dare
+    All things but that; ah! pity me,
+      A woman frail, too sorely tried!
+    And let me, let me follow thee,
+      O gracious god,--whate'er betide.
+
+    "By all things sacred, I entreat,
+      By Penitence that purifies,
+    By prompt Obedience, full, complete,
+      To spiritual masters, in the eyes
+    Of gods so precious, by the love
+      I bear my husband, by the faith
+    That looks from earth to heaven above,
+      And by thy own great name O Death,
+    And all thy kindness, bid me not
+      To leave thee, and to go my way,
+    But let me follow as I ought
+      Thy steps and his, as best I may.
+
+    "I know that in this transient world
+      All is delusion,--nothing true;
+    I know its shows are mists unfurled
+      To please and vanish. To renew
+    Its bubble joys, be magic bound
+      In _Maya's_ network frail and fair,
+    Is not my aim! The gladsome sound
+      Of husband, brother, friend, is air
+    To such as know that all must die,
+      And that at last the time must come,
+    When eye shall speak no more to eye
+      And Love cry,--Lo, this is my sum.
+
+    "I know in such a world as this
+      No one can gain his heart's desire,
+    Or pass the years in perfect bliss;
+      Like gold we must be tried by fire;
+    And each shall suffer as he acts
+      And thinks,--his own sad burden bear;
+    No friends can help,--his sins are facts
+      That nothing can annul or square,
+    And he must bear their consequence.
+      Can I my husband save by rites?
+    Ah, no,--that were a vain pretence,
+      Justice eternal strict requites.
+
+    "He for his deeds shall get his due
+      As I for mine: thus here each soul
+    Is its own friend if it pursue
+      The right, and run straight for the goal;
+    But its own worst and direst foe
+      If it choose evil, and in tracks
+    Forbidden, for its pleasure go.
+      Who knows not this, true wisdom lacks,
+    Virtue should be the turn and end
+      Of every life, all else is vain,
+    Duty should be its dearest friend
+      If higher life, it would attain."
+
+    "So sweet thy words ring on mine ear,
+      Gentle Savitri, that I fain
+    Would give some sign to make it clear
+      Thou hast not prayed to me in vain.
+    Satyavan's life I may not grant,
+      Nor take before its term thy life,
+    But I am not all adamant,
+      I feel for thee, thou faithful wife!
+    Ask thou aught else, and let it be
+      Some good thing for thyself or thine,
+    And I shall give it, child, to thee,
+      If any power on earth be mine."
+
+    "Well be it so. My husband's sire,
+      Hath lost his sight and fair domain,
+    Give to his eyes their former fire,
+      And place him on his throne again."
+    "It shall be done. Go back, my child,
+      The hour wears late, the wind feels cold,
+    The path becomes more weird and wild,
+      Thy feet are torn, there's blood, behold!
+    Thou feelest faint from weariness,
+      Oh try to follow me no more;
+    Go home, and with thy presence bless
+      Those who thine absence there deplore."
+
+    "No weariness, O Death, I feel,
+      And how should I, when by the side
+    Of Satyavan? In woe and weal
+      To be a helpmate swears the bride.
+    This is my place; by solemn oath
+      Wherever thou conductest him
+    I too must go, to keep my troth;
+      And if the eye at times should brim,
+    'Tis human weakness, give me strength
+      My work appointed to fulfil,
+    That I may gain the crown at length
+      The gods give those who do their will.
+
+    "The power of goodness is so great
+      We pray to feel its influence
+    For ever on us. It is late,
+      And the strange landscape awes my sense;
+    But I would fain with thee go on,
+      And hear thy voice so true and kind;
+    The false lights that on objects shone
+      Have vanished, and no longer blind,
+    Thanks to thy simple presence. Now
+      I feel a fresher air around,
+    And see the glory of that brow
+      With flashing rubies fitly crowned.
+
+    "Men call thee Yama--conqueror,
+      Because it is against their will
+    They follow thee,--and they abhor
+      The Truth which thou wouldst aye instil.
+    If they thy nature knew aright,
+      O god, all other gods above!
+    And that thou conquerest in the fight
+      By patience, kindness, mercy, love,
+    And not by devastating wrath,
+      They would not shrink in childlike fright
+    To see thy shadow on their path,
+      But hail thee as sick souls the light."
+
+    "Thy words, Savitri, greet mine ear
+      As sweet as founts that murmur low
+    To one who in the deserts drear
+      With parchèd tongue moves faint and slow,
+    Because thy talk is heart-sincere,
+      Without hypocrisy or guile;
+    Demand another boon, my dear,
+      But not of those forbad erewhile,
+    And I shall grant it, ere we part:
+      Lo, the stars pale,--the way is long,
+    Receive thy boon, and homewards start,
+      For ah, poor child, thou art not strong."
+
+    "Another boon! My sire the king
+      Beside myself hath children none,
+    Oh grant that from his stock may spring
+      A hundred boughs." "It shall be done.
+    He shall be blest with many a son
+      Who his old palace shall rejoice."
+    "Each heart-wish from thy goodness won,
+      If I am still allowed a choice,
+    I fain thy voice would ever hear,
+      Reluctant am I still to part,
+    The way seems short when thou art near
+      And Satyavan, my heart's dear heart.
+
+    "Of all the pleasures given on earth
+      The company of the good is best,
+    For weariness has never birth
+      In such a commerce sweet and blest;
+    The sun runs on its wonted course,
+      The earth its plenteous treasure yields,
+    All for their sake, and by the force
+      Their prayer united ever wields.
+    Oh let me, let me ever dwell
+      Amidst the good, where'er it be,
+    Whether in lowly hermit-cell
+      Or in some spot beyond the sea.
+
+    "The favours man accords to men
+      Are never fruitless, from them rise
+    A thousand acts beyond our ken
+      That float like incense to the skies;
+    For benefits can ne'er efface,
+      They multiply and widely spread,
+    And honour follows on their trace.
+      Sharp penances, and vigils dread,
+    Austerities, and wasting fasts,
+      Create an empire, and the blest
+    Long as this spiritual empire lasts
+      Become the saviours of the rest."
+
+    "O thou endowed with every grace
+      And every virtue,--thou whose soul
+    Appears upon thy lovely face,
+      May the great gods who all control
+    Send thee their peace. I too would give
+      One favour more before I go;
+    Ask something for thyself, and live
+      Happy, and dear to all below,
+    Till summoned to the bliss above.
+      Savitri ask, and ask unblamed."--
+    She took the clue, felt Death was Love,
+      For no exceptions now he named,
+
+    And boldly said,--"Thou knowest, Lord,
+      The inmost hearts and thoughts of all!
+    There is no need to utter word,
+      Upon thy mercy sole, I call.
+    If speech be needful to obtain
+      Thy grace,--oh hear a wife forlorn,
+    Let my Satyavan live again
+      And children unto us be born,
+    Wise, brave, and valiant." "From thy stock
+      A hundred families shall spring
+    As lasting as the solid rock,
+      Each son of thine shall be a king."
+
+    As thus he spoke, he loosed the knot
+      The soul of Satyavan that bound,
+    And promised further that their lot
+      In pleasant places should be found
+    Thenceforth, and that they both should live
+      Four centuries, to which the name
+    Of fair Savitri, men would give,--
+      And then he vanished in a flame.
+    "Adieu, great god!" She took the soul,
+      No bigger than the human thumb,
+    And running swift, soon reached her goal,
+      Where lay the body stark and dumb.
+
+    She lifted it with eager hands
+      And as before, when he expired,
+    She placed the head upon the bands
+      That bound her breast which hope new-fired,
+    And which alternate rose and fell;
+      Then placed his soul upon his heart
+    Whence like a bee it found its cell,
+      And lo, he woke with sudden start!
+    His breath came low at first, then deep,
+      With an unquiet look he gazed,
+    As one awaking from a sleep
+      Wholly bewildered and amazed.
+
+
+PART V.
+
+    As consciousness came slowly back
+      He recognised his loving wife--
+    "Who was it, Love, through regions black
+      Where hardly seemed a sign of life
+    Carried me bound? Methinks I view
+      The dark face yet--a noble face,
+    He had a robe of scarlet hue,
+      And ruby crown; far, far through space
+    He bore me, on and on, but now,"--
+      "Thou hast been sleeping, but the man
+    With glory on his kingly brow,
+      Is gone, thou seest, Satyavan!
+
+    "O my belovèd,--thou art free!
+      Sleep which had bound thee fast, hath left
+    Thine eyelids. Try thyself to be!
+      For late of every sense bereft
+    Thou seemedst in a rigid trance;
+      And if thou canst, my love, arise,
+    Regard the night, the dark expanse
+      Spread out before us, and the skies."
+    Supported by her, looked he long
+      Upon the landscape dim outspread,
+    And like some old remembered song
+      The past came back,--a tangled thread.
+
+    "I had a pain, as if an asp
+      Gnawed in my brain, and there I lay
+    Silent, for oh! I could but gasp,
+      Till someone came that bore away
+    My spirit into lands unknown:
+      Thou, dear, who watchedst beside me,--say
+    Was it a dream from elfland blown,
+      Or very truth,--my doubts to stay."
+    "O Love, look round,--how strange and dread
+      The shadows of the high trees fall,
+    Homeward our path now let us tread,
+      To-morrow I shall tell thee all.
+
+    "Arise! Be strong! Gird up thy loins!
+      Think of our parents, dearest friend!
+    The solemn darkness haste enjoins,
+      Not likely is it soon to end.
+    Hark! Jackals still at distance howl,
+      The day, long, long will not appear,
+    Lo, wild fierce eyes through bushes scowl,
+      Summon thy courage, lest I fear.
+    Was that the tiger's sullen growl?
+      What means this rush of many feet?
+    Can creatures wild so near us prowl?
+      Rise up, and hasten homewards, sweet!"
+
+    He rose, but could not find the track,
+      And then, too well, Savitri knew
+    His wonted force had not come back.
+      She made a fire, and from the dew
+    Essayed to shelter him. At last
+      He nearly was himself again,--
+    Then vividly rose all the past,
+      And with the past, new fear and pain.
+    "What anguish must my parents feel
+      Who wait for me the livelong hours!
+    Their sore wound let us haste to heal
+      Before it festers, past our powers:
+
+    "For broken-hearted, they may die!
+      Oh hasten dear,--now I am strong,
+    No more I suffer, let us fly,
+      Ah me! each minute seems so long.
+    They told me once, they could not live
+      Without me, in their feeble age,
+    Their food and water I must give
+      And help them in the last sad stage
+    Of earthly life, and that Beyond
+      In which a son can help by rites.
+    Oh what a love is theirs--how fond!
+      Whom now Despair, perhaps, benights.
+
+    "Infirm herself, my mother dear
+      Now guides, methinks, the tottering feet
+    Of my blind father, for they hear
+      And hasten eagerly to meet
+    Our fancied steps. O faithful wife
+      Let us on wings fly back again,
+    Upon their safety hangs my life!"
+      He tried his feelings to restrain,
+    But like some river swelling high
+      They swept their barriers weak and vain,
+    Sudden there burst a fearful cry,
+      Then followed tears,--like autumn rain.
+
+    Hush! Hark, a sweet voice rises clear!
+      A voice of earnestness intense,
+    "If I have worshipped Thee in fear
+      And duly paid with reverence
+    The solemn sacrifices,--hear!
+      Send consolation, and thy peace
+    Eternal, to our parents dear,
+      That their anxieties may cease.
+    Oh, ever hath I loved Thy truth,
+      Therefore on Thee I dare to call,
+    Help us, this night, and them, for sooth
+      Without thy help, we perish all."
+
+    She took in hers Satyavan's hand,
+      She gently wiped his falling tears,
+    "This weakness, Love, I understand!
+      Courage!" She smiled away his fears.
+    "Now we shall go, for thou art strong."
+      She helped him rise up by her side
+    And led him like a child along,
+      He, wistfully the basket eyed
+    Laden with fruit and flowers. "Not now,
+      To-morrow we shall fetch it hence."
+    And so, she hung it on a bough,
+      "I'll bear thy saw for our defence."
+
+    In one fair hand the saw she took,
+      The other with a charming grace
+    She twined around him, and her look
+      She turnèd upwards to his face.
+    Thus aiding him she felt anew
+      His bosom beat against her own--
+    More firm his step, more clear his view,
+      More self-possessed his words and tone
+    Became, as swift the minutes past,
+      And now the pathway he discerns,
+    And 'neath the trees, they hurry fast,
+      For Hope's fair light before them burns.
+
+    Under the faint beams of the stars
+      How beautiful appeared the flowers,
+    Light scarlet, flecked with golden bars
+      Of the palâsas,[1] in the bowers
+    That Nature there herself had made
+      Without the aid of man. At times
+    Trees on their path cast densest shade,
+      And nightingales sang mystic rhymes
+    Their fears and sorrows to assuage.
+      Where two paths met, the north they chose,
+    As leading to the hermitage,
+      And soon before them, dim it rose.
+
+    Here let us end. For all may guess
+      The blind old king received his sight,
+    And ruled again with gentleness
+      The country that was his by right;
+    And that Savitri's royal sire
+      Was blest with many sons,--a race
+    Whom poets praised for martial fire,
+      And every peaceful gift and grace.
+    As for Savitri, to this day
+      Her name is named, when couples wed,
+    And to the bride the parents say,
+      Be thou like her, in heart and head.
+
+
+[1] _Butea frondosa._
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+LAKSHMAN.
+
+
+    "Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!
+      It is,--it is my husband's voice!
+    Oh hasten, to his succour fly,
+      No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.
+    He calls on thee, perhaps his foes
+      Environ him on all sides round,
+    That wail,--it means death's final throes!
+      Why standest thou, as magic-bound?
+
+    "Is this a time for thought,--oh gird
+      Thy bright sword on, and take thy bow!
+    He heeds not, hears not any word,
+      Evil hangs over us, I know!
+    Swift in decision, prompt in deed,
+      Brave unto rashness, can this be,
+    The man to whom all looked at need?
+      Is it my brother, that I see!
+
+    "Ah no, and I must run alone,
+      For further here I cannot stay;
+    Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!
+      Wherefore this impious, strange delay!
+    That cry,--that cry,--it seems to ring
+      Still in my ears,--I cannot bear
+    Suspense; if help we fail to bring
+      His death at least we both can share."
+
+    "Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,
+      No cause is there for any fear,
+    Hast thou his prowess never seen?
+      Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!
+    What being of demonian birth
+      Could ever brave his mighty arm?
+    Is there a creature on the earth
+      That dares to work our hero harm?
+
+    "The lion and the grisly bear
+      Cower when they see his royal look,
+    Sun-staring eagles of the air
+      His glance of anger cannot brook,
+    Pythons and cobras at his tread
+      To their most secret coverts glide,
+    Bowed to the dust each serpent head
+      Erect before in hooded pride.
+
+    "Rakshases, Danavs, demons, ghosts,
+      Acknowledge in their hearts his might,
+    And slink to their remotest coasts,
+      In terror at his very sight.
+    Evil to him! Oh fear it not,
+      Whatever foes against him rise!
+    Banish for aye, the foolish thought,
+      And be thyself,--bold, great, and wise.
+
+    "He call for help! Canst thou believe
+      He like a child would shriek for aid
+    Or pray for respite or reprieve--
+      Not of such metal is he made!
+    Delusive was that piercing cry,--
+      Some trick of magic by the foe;
+    He has a work,--he cannot die,
+      Beseech me not from hence to go.
+
+    "For here beside thee, as a guard
+      'Twas he commanded me to stay,
+    And dangers with my life to ward
+      If they should come across thy way.
+    Send me not hence, for in this wood
+      Bands scattered of the giants lurk,
+    Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,
+      And wait the hour their will to work."
+
+    "Oh shame! And canst thou make my weal
+      A plea for lingering! Now I know
+    What thou art Lakshman! And I feel
+      Far better were an open foe.
+    Art thou a coward? I have seen
+      Thy bearing in the battle-fray
+    Where flew the death-fraught arrows keen,
+      Else had I judged thee so to-day.
+
+    "But then thy leader stood beside!
+      Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,
+    Reft of his radiance, see it glide
+      A shapeless mass of vapours dun;
+    So of thy courage,--or if not,
+      The matter is far darker dyed,
+    What makes thee loth to leave this spot?
+      Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?
+
+    "He perishes--well, let him die!
+      His wife henceforth shall be mine own!
+    Can that thought deep imbedded lie
+      Within thy heart's most secret zone!
+    Search well and see! one brother takes
+      His kingdom,--one would take his wife!
+    A fair partition!--But it makes
+      Me shudder, and abhor my life.
+
+    "Art thou in secret league with those
+      Who from his hope the kingdom rent?
+    A spy from his ignoble foes
+      To track him in his banishment?
+    And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?
+      I know thou wouldst, or sure ere now
+    When first thou heardst that well-known voice
+      Thou shouldst have run to aid, I trow.
+
+    "Learn this,--whatever comes may come,
+      But I shall not survive my Love,--
+    Of all my thoughts here is the sum!
+      Witness it gods in heaven above.
+    If fire can burn, or water drown,
+      I follow him:--choose what thou wilt,
+    Truth with its everlasting crown,
+      Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt.
+
+    "Remain here, with a vain pretence
+      Of shielding me from wrong and shame,
+    Or go and die in his defence
+      And leave behind a noble name.
+    Choose what thou wilt,--I urge no more,
+      My pathway lies before me clear,
+    I did not know thy mind before,
+      I know thee now,--and have no fear."
+
+    She said and proudly from him turned,--
+      Was this the gentle Sîta? No.
+    Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,
+      The tears therein had ceased to flow.
+    "Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,
+      No longer can I bear thy words,
+    They lacerate my inmost heart
+      And torture me, like poisoned swords.
+
+    "Have I deserved this at thine hand?
+      Of lifelong loyalty and truth
+    Is this the meed? I understand
+      Thy feelings, Sîta, and in sooth
+    I blame thee not,--but thou mightst be
+      Less rash in judgement. Look! I go,
+    Little I care what comes to me
+      Wert thou but safe,--God keep thee so!
+
+    "In going hence I disregard
+      The plainest orders of my chief,
+    A deed for me,--a soldier,--hard
+      And deeply painful, but thy grief
+    And language, wild and wrong, allow
+      No other course. Mine be the crime,
+    And mine alone,--but oh, do thou
+      Think better of me from this time.
+
+    "Here with an arrow, lo, I trace
+      A magic circle ere I leave,
+    No evil thing within this space
+      May come to harm thee or to grieve.
+    Step not, for aught, across the line,
+      Whatever thou mayst see or hear,
+    So shalt thou balk the bad design
+      Of every enemy I fear.
+
+    "And now farewell! What thou hast said,
+      Though it has broken quite my heart,
+    So that I wish that I were dead--
+      I would before, O Queen, we part
+    Freely forgive, for well I know
+      That grief and fear have made thee wild,
+    We part as friends,--is it not so?"
+      And speaking thus,--he sadly smiled.
+
+    "And oh ye sylvan gods that dwell
+      Among these dim and sombre shades,
+    Whose voices in the breezes swell
+      And blend with noises of cascades,
+    Watch over Sîta, whom alone
+      I leave, and keep her safe from harm,
+    Till we return unto our own,
+      I and my brother, arm in arm.
+
+    "For though ill omens round us rise
+      And frighten her dear heart, I feel
+    That he is safe. Beneath the skies
+      His equal is not,--and his heel
+    Shall tread all adversaries down,
+      Whoever they may chance to be.--
+    Farewell, O Sîta! Blessings crown
+      And Peace for ever rest with thee!"
+
+    He said, and straight his weapons took
+      His bow and arrows pointed keen,
+    Kind,--nay, indulgent,--was his look,
+      No trace of anger there was seen,
+    Only a sorrow dark, that seemed
+      To deepen his resolve to dare
+    All dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,
+      As out he strode with dauntless air.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+JOGADHYA UMA.
+
+
+    "Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!
+      Fair maids and matrons come and buy!"
+    Along the road, in morning's glow,
+      The pedlar raised his wonted cry.
+    The road ran straight, a red, red line,
+      To Khirogram, for cream renowned,
+    Through pasture-meadows where the kine,
+      In knee-deep grass, stood magic bound
+    And half awake, involved in mist,
+      That floated in dun coils profound,
+    Till by the sudden sunbeams kist
+      Rich rainbow hues broke all around.
+
+    "Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!"
+      The roadside trees still dripped with dew,
+    And hung their blossoms like a show.
+      Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few,
+    A ragged herd-boy, here and there,
+      With his long stick and naked feet;
+    A ploughman wending to his care,
+      The field from which he hopes the wheat;
+    An early traveller, hurrying fast
+      To the next town; an urchin slow
+    Bound for the school; these heard and past,
+      Unheeding all,--"Shell-bracelets ho!"
+
+    Pellucid spread a lake-like tank
+      Beside the road now lonelier still,
+    High on three sides arose the bank
+      Which fruit-trees shadowed at their will;
+    Upon the fourth side was the Ghat,
+      With its broad stairs of marble white,
+    And at the entrance-arch there sat,
+      Full face against the morning light,
+    A fair young woman with large eyes,
+      And dark hair falling to her zone,
+    She heard the pedlar's cry arise,
+      And eager seemed his ware to own.
+
+    "Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see!
+      The rich enamel sunbeam-kist!
+    Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be,
+      Let them but clasp that slender wrist;
+    These bracelets are a mighty charm,
+      They keep a lover ever true,
+    And widowhood avert, and harm,
+      Buy them, and thou shalt never rue.
+    Just try them on!"--She stretched her hand,
+      "Oh what a nice and lovely fit!
+    No fairer hand, in all the land,
+      And lo! the bracelet matches it."
+
+    Dazzled the pedlar on her gazed
+      Till came the shadow of a fear,
+    While she the bracelet arm upraised
+      Against the sun to view more clear.
+    Oh she was lovely, but her look
+      Had something of a high command
+    That filled with awe. Aside she shook
+      Intruding curls by breezes fanned
+    And blown across her brows and face,
+      And asked the price, which when she heard
+    She nodded, and with quiet grace
+      For payment to her home referred.
+
+    "And where, O maiden, is thy house?
+      But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue,
+    No maiden art thou, but a spouse,
+      Happy, and rich, and fair, and young."
+    "Far otherwise, my lord is poor,
+      And him at home thou shalt not find;
+    Ask for my father; at the door
+      Knock loudly; he is deaf, but kind.
+    Seest thou that lofty gilded spire
+      Above these tufts of foliage green?
+    That is our place; its point of fire
+      Will guide thee o'er the tract between."
+
+    "That is the temple spire."--"Yes, there
+      We live; my father is the priest,
+    The manse is near, a building fair
+      But lowly, to the temple's east.
+    When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,
+      His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,
+    Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,
+      And he must pay so much for that.
+    Be sure, he will not let thee pass
+      Without the value, and a meal,
+    If he demur, or cry alas!
+      No money hath he,--then reveal,
+
+    "Within the small box, marked with streaks
+      Of bright vermilion, by the shrine,
+    The key whereof has lain for weeks
+      Untouched, he'll find some coin,--'tis mine.
+    That will enable him to pay
+      The bracelet's price, now fare thee well!"
+    She spoke, the pedlar went away,
+      Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;
+    While she left lonely there, prepared
+      To plunge into the water pure,
+    And like a rose her beauty bared,
+      From all observance quite secure.
+
+    Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,
+      Strong was each limb of flexile grace,
+    And full the bust; the mien elate,
+      Like hers, the goddess of the chase
+    On Latmos hill,--and oh, the face
+      Framed in its cloud of floating hair,
+    No painter's hand might hope to trace
+      The beauty and the glory there!
+    Well might the pedlar look with awe,
+      For though her eyes were soft, a ray
+    Lit them at times, which kings who saw
+      Would never dare to disobey.
+
+    Onwards through groves the pedlar sped
+      Till full in front the sunlit spire
+    Arose before him. Paths which led
+      To gardens trim in gay attire
+    Lay all around. And lo! the manse,
+      Humble but neat with open door!
+    He paused, and blest the lucky chance
+      That brought his bark to such a shore.
+    Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,
+      Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,
+    Spoke in a language sweet and plain,
+      "Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell."
+
+    Unconsciously he raised his cry,
+      "Shell-bracelets ho!" And at his voice
+    Looked out the priest, with eager eye,
+      And made his heart at once rejoice.
+    "Ho, _Sankha_ pedlar! Pass not by,
+      But step thou in, and share the food
+    Just offered on our altar high,
+      If thou art in a hungry mood.
+    Welcome are all to this repast!
+      The rich and poor, the high and low!
+    Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,
+      Then on thy journey strengthened go."
+
+    "Oh thanks, good priest! Observance due
+      And greetings! May thy name be blest!
+    I came on business, but I knew,
+      Here might be had both food and rest
+    Without a charge; for all the poor
+      Ten miles around thy sacred shrine
+    Know that thou keepest open door,
+      And praise that generous hand of thine:
+    But let my errand first be told,
+      For bracelets sold to thine this day,
+    So much thou owest me in gold,
+      Hast thou the ready cash to pay?
+
+    "The bracelets were enamelled,--so
+      The price is high."--"How! Sold to mine?
+    Who bought them, I should like to know."
+      "Thy daughter, with the large black eyne,
+    Now bathing at the marble ghat."
+      Loud laughed the priest at this reply,
+    "I shall not put up, friend, with that;
+      No daughter in the world have I,
+    An only son is all my stay;
+      Some minx has played a trick, no doubt,
+    But cheer up, let thy heart be gay.
+      Be sure that I shall find her out."
+
+    "Nay, nay, good father, such a face
+      Could not deceive, I must aver;
+    At all events, she knows thy place,
+      'And if my father should demur
+    To pay thee'--thus she said,--'or cry
+      He has no money, tell him straight
+    The box vermilion-streaked to try,
+      That's near the shrine.'" "Well, wait, friend, wait!"
+    The priest said thoughtful, and he ran
+      And with the open box came back,
+    "Here is the price exact, my man,
+      No surplus over, and no lack.
+
+    "How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thou
+      To have beheld her, touched her hand,
+    Before whom Vishnu's self must bow,
+      And Brahma and his heavenly band!
+    Here have I worshipped her for years
+      And never seen the vision bright;
+    Vigils and fasts and secret tears
+      Have almost quenched my outward sight;
+    And yet that dazzling form and face
+      I have not seen, and thou, dear friend,
+    To thee, unsought for, comes the grace,
+      What may its purport be, and end?
+
+    "How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!
+      And couldst thou ask no other boon
+    Than thy poor bracelet's price? That brow
+      Resplendent as the autumn moon
+    Must have bewildered thee, I trow,
+      And made thee lose thy senses all."
+    A dim light on the pedlar now
+      Began to dawn; and he let fall
+    His bracelet basket in his haste,
+      And backward ran the way he came;
+    What meant the vision fair and chaste,
+      Whose eyes were they,--those eyes of flame?
+
+    Swift ran the pedlar as a hind,
+      The old priest followed on his trace,
+    They reached the Ghat but could not find
+      The lady of the noble face.
+    The birds were silent in the wood,
+      The lotus flowers exhaled a smell
+    Faint, over all the solitude,
+      A heron as a sentinel
+    Stood by the bank. They called,--in vain,
+      No answer came from hill or fell,
+    The landscape lay in slumber's chain,
+      E'en Echo slept within her cell.
+
+    Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound!
+      They turned with saddened hearts to go;
+    Then from afar there came a sound
+      Of silver bells;--the priest said low,
+    "O Mother, Mother, deign to hear,
+      The worship-hour has rung; we wait
+    In meek humility and fear.
+      Must we return home desolate?
+    Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought,
+      Or was it but an idle dream?
+    Give us some sign if it was not,
+      A word, a breath, or passing gleam."
+
+    Sudden from out the water sprung
+      A rounded arm, on which they saw
+    As high the lotus buds among
+      It rose, the bracelet white, with awe.
+    Then a wide ripple tost and swung
+      The blossoms on that liquid plain,
+    And lo! the arm so fair and young
+      Sank in the waters down again.
+    They bowed before the mystic Power,
+      And as they home returned in thought,
+    Each took from thence a lotus flower
+      In memory of the day and spot.
+
+    Years, centuries, have passed away,
+      And still before the temple shrine
+    Descendants of the pedlar pay
+      Shell bracelets of the old design
+    As annual tribute. Much they own
+      In lands and gold,--but they confess
+    From that eventful day alone
+      Dawned on their industry,--success.
+    Absurd may be the tale I tell,
+      Ill-suited to the marching times,
+    I loved the lips from which it fell,
+      So let it stand among my rhymes.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+THE ROYAL ASCETIC AND THE HIND.
+
+_From the Vishnu Purana. B. II. Chap. XIII._
+
+
+      MAITREYA. Of old thou gav'st a promise to relate
+    The deeds of Bharat, that great hermit-king:
+    Beloved Master, now the occasion suits,
+    And I am all attention.
+      PARASARA.             Brahman, hear.
+      With a mind fixed intently on his gods
+    Long reigned in Saligram of ancient fame,
+    The mighty monarch of the wide, wide world.
+    Chief of the virtuous, never in his life
+    Harmed he, or strove to harm, his fellow-man,
+    Or any creature sentient. But he left
+    His kingdom in the forest-shades to dwell,
+    And changed his sceptre for a hermit's staff,
+    And with ascetic rites, privations rude,
+    And constant prayers, endeavoured to attain
+    Perfect dominion on his soul. At morn,
+    Fuel, and flowers, and fruit, and holy grass,
+    He gathered for oblations; and he passed
+    In stern devotions all his other hours;
+    Of the world heedless, and its myriad cares,
+    And heedless too of wealth, and love, and fame.
+
+      Once on a time, while living thus, he went
+    To bathe where through the wood the river flows:
+    And his ablutions done, he sat him down
+    Upon the shelving bank to muse and pray.
+    Thither impelled by thirst a graceful hind,
+    Big with its young, came fearlessly to drink.
+    Sudden, while yet she drank, the lion's roar,
+    Feared by all creatures, like a thunder-clap
+    Burst in that solitude from a thicket nigh.
+    Startled, the hind leapt up, and from her womb
+    Her offspring tumbled in the rushing stream.
+    Whelmed by the hissing waves and carried far
+    By the strong current swoln by recent rain,
+    The tiny thing still struggled for its life,
+    While its poor mother, in her fright and pain,
+    Fell down upon the bank, and breathed her last.
+    Up rose the hermit-monarch at the sight
+    Full of keen anguish; with his pilgrim staff
+    He drew the new-born creature from the wave;
+    'Twas panting fast, but life was in it still.
+    Now, as he saw its luckless mother dead,
+    He would not leave it in the woods alone,
+    But with the tenderest pity brought it home.
+
+    There, in his leafy hut, he gave it food,
+    And daily nourished it with patient care,
+    Until it grew in stature and in strength,
+    And to the forest skirts could venture forth
+    In search of sustenance. At early morn
+    Thenceforth it used to leave the hermitage
+    And with the shades of evening come again,
+    And in the little courtyard of the hut
+    Lie down in peace, unless the tigers fierce,
+    Prowling about, compelled it to return
+    Earlier at noon. But whether near or far,
+    Wandering abroad, or resting in its home,
+    The monarch-hermit's heart was with it still,
+    Bound by affection's ties; nor could he think
+    Of anything besides this little hind,
+    His nursling. Though a kingdom he had left,
+    And children, and a host of loving friends,
+    Almost without a tear, the fount of love
+    Sprang out anew within his blighted heart,
+    To greet this dumb, weak, helpless foster-child,
+    And so, whene'er it lingered in the wilds,
+    Or at the 'customed hour could not return,
+    His thoughts went with it; "And alas!" he cried,
+    "Who knows, perhaps some lion or some wolf,
+    Or ravenous tiger with relentless jaws
+    Already hath devoured it,--timid thing!
+    Lo, how the earth is dinted with its hoofs,
+    And variegated. Surely for my joy
+    It was created. When will it come back,
+    And rub its budding antlers on my arms
+    In token of its love and deep delight
+    To see my face? The shaven stalks of grass,
+    Kusha and kasha, by its new teeth clipped,
+    Remind me of it, as they stand in lines
+    Like pious boys who chant the Samga Veds
+    Shorn by their vows of all their wealth of hair."
+    Thus passed the monarch-hermit's time; in joy,
+    With smiles upon his lips, whenever near
+    His little favourite; in bitter grief
+    And fear, and trouble, when it wandered far.
+    And he who had abandoned ease and wealth,
+    And friends and dearest ties, and kingly power,
+    Found his devotions broken by the love
+    He had bestowed upon a little hind
+    Thrown in his way by chance. Years glided on....
+    And Death, who spareth none, approached at last
+    The hermit-king to summon him away;
+    The hind was at his side, with tearful eyes
+    Watching his last sad moments, like a child
+    Beside a father. He too, watched and watched
+    His favourite through a blinding film of tears,
+    And could not think of the Beyond at hand,
+    So keen he felt the parting, such deep grief
+    O'erwhelmed him for the creature he had reared.
+    To it devoted was his last, last thought,
+    Reckless of present and of future both!
+
+      Thus far the pious chronicle, writ of old
+    By Brahman sage; but we, who happier, live
+    Under the holiest dispensation, know
+    That God is Love, and not to be adored
+    By a devotion born of stoic pride,
+    Or with ascetic rites, or penance hard,
+    But with a love, in character akin
+    To His unselfish, all-including love.
+    And therefore little can we sympathize
+    With what the Brahman sage would fain imply
+    As the concluding moral of his tale,
+    That for the hermit-king it was a sin
+    To love his nursling. What! a sin to love!
+    A sin to pity! Rather should we deem
+    Whatever Brahmans wise, or monks may hold,
+    That he had sinned in _casting off_ all love
+    By his retirement to the forest-shades;
+    For that was to abandon duties high,
+    And, like a recreant soldier, leave the post
+    Where God had placed him as a sentinel.
+
+    This little hind brought strangely on his path,
+    This love engendered in his withered heart,
+    This hindrance to his rituals,--might these not
+    Have been ordained to teach him? Call him back
+    To ways marked out for him by Love divine?
+    And with a mind less self-willed to adore?
+
+    Not in seclusion, not apart from all,
+    Not in a place elected for its peace,
+    But in the heat and bustle of the world,
+    'Mid sorrow, sickness, suffering and sin,
+    Must he still labour with a loving soul
+    Who strives to enter through the narrow gate.
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+THE LEGEND OF DHRUVA.
+
+_Vishnu Purana. Book I. Chapter XI._
+
+
+    Sprung from great Brahma, Manu had two sons,
+    Heroic and devout, as I have said,
+    Pryavrata and Uttanapado,--names
+    Known in legends; and of these the last
+    Married two wives, Suruchee, his adored,
+    The mother of a handsome petted boy
+    Uttama; and Suneetee, less beloved,
+    The mother of another son whose name
+    Was Dhruva. Seated on his throne the king
+    Uttanapado, on his knee one day
+    Had placed Uttama; Dhruva, who beheld
+    His brother in that place of honour, longed
+    To clamber up and by his playmate sit;
+    Led on by Love he came, but found, alas!
+    Scant welcome and encouragement; the king
+    Saw fair Suruchee sweep into the hall
+    With stately step,--aye, every inch a queen,
+    And dared not smile upon her co-wife's son.
+    Observing him,--her rival's boy,--intent
+    To mount ambitious to his father's knee,
+    Where sat her own, thus fair Suruchee spake:
+    "Why hast thou, child, formed such a vain design?
+    Why harboured such an aspiration proud,
+    Born from another's womb and not from mine?
+    Oh thoughtless! To desire the loftiest place,
+    The throne of thrones, a royal father's lap!
+    It is an honour to the destined given,
+    And not within thy reach. What though thou art
+    Born of the king; those sleek and tender limbs
+    Hold of my blood no portion; I am queen.
+    To be the equal of mine only son
+    Were in thee vain ambition. Know'st thou not,
+    Fair prattler, thou art sprung,--not, not from mine,
+    But from Suneetee's bowels? Learn thy place."
+
+    Repulsed in silence from his father's lap,
+    Indignant, furious, at the words that fell
+    From his step-mother's lips, poor Dhruva ran
+    To his own mother's chambers, where he stood
+    Beside her with his pale, thin, trembling lips,
+    (Trembling with an emotion ill-suppressed)
+    And hair in wild disorder, till she took
+    And raised him to her lap, and gently said:
+    "Oh, child, what means this? What can be the cause
+    Of this great anger? Who hath given thee pain?
+    He that hath vexed thee, hath despised thy sire,
+    For in these veins thou hast the royal blood."
+
+    Thus conjured, Dhruva, with a swelling heart
+    Repeated to his mother every word
+    That proud Suruchee spake, from first to last,
+    Even in the very presence of the king.
+
+    His speech oft broken by his tears and sobs,
+    Helpless Suneetee, languid-eyed from care,
+    Heard sighing deeply, and then soft replied:
+    "Oh son, to lowly fortune thou wert born,
+    And what my co-wife said to thee is truth;
+    No enemy to Heaven's favoured ones may say
+    Such words as thy step-mother said to thee.
+    Yet, son, it is not meet that thou shouldst grieve
+    Or vex thy soul. The deeds that thou hast done,
+    The evil, haply, in some former life,
+    Long, long ago, who may alas! annul,
+    Or who the good works not done, supplement!
+    The sins of previous lives must bear their fruit.
+    The ivory throne, the umbrella of gold,
+    The best steed, and the royal elephant
+    Rich caparisoned, must be his by right
+    Who has deserved them by his virtuous acts
+    In times long past. Oh think on this, my son,
+    And be content. For glorious actions done
+    Not in this life, but in some previous birth,
+    Suruchee by the monarch is beloved.
+    Women, unfortunate like myself, who bear
+    Only the name of wife without the powers,
+    But pine and suffer for our ancient sins.
+    Suruchee raised her virtues pile on pile,
+    Hence Uttama her son, the fortunate!
+    Suneetee heaped but evil,--hence her son
+    Dhruva the luckless! But for all this, child,
+    It is not meet that thou shouldst ever grieve
+    As I have said. That man is truly wise
+    Who is content with what he has, and seeks
+    Nothing beyond, but in whatever sphere,
+    Lowly or great, God placed him, works in faith;
+    My son, my son, though proud Suruchee spake
+    Harsh words indeed, and hurt thee to the quick,
+    Yet to thine eyes thy duty should be plain.
+    Collect a large sum of the virtues; thence
+    A goodly harvest must to thee arise.
+    Be meek, devout, and friendly, full of love,
+    Intent to do good to the human race
+    And to all creatures sentient made of God;
+    And oh, be humble, for on modest worth
+    Descends prosperity, even as water flows
+    Down to low grounds."
+
+                      She finished, and her son,
+    Who patiently had listened, thus replied:--
+
+    "Mother, thy words of consolation find
+    Nor resting-place, nor echo in this heart
+    Broken by words severe, repulsing Love
+    That timidly approached to worship. Hear
+    My resolve unchangeable. I shall try
+    The highest good, the loftiest place to win,
+    Which the whole world deems priceless and desires.
+    There is a crown above my father's crown,
+    I shall obtain it, and at any cost
+    Of toil, or penance, or unceasing prayer.
+    Not born of proud Suruchee, whom the king
+    Favours and loves, but grown up from a germ
+    In thee, O mother, humble as thou art,
+    I yet shall show thee what is in my power.
+    Thou shalt behold my glory and rejoice.
+    Let Uttama my brother,--not thy son,--
+    Receive the throne and royal titles,--all
+    My father pleases to confer on him.
+    I grudge them not. Not with another's gifts
+    Desire I, dearest mother, to be rich,
+    But with my own work would acquire a name.
+    And I shall strive unceasing for a place
+    Such as my father hath not won,--a place
+    That would not know him even,--aye, a place
+    Far, far above the highest of this earth."
+
+    He said, and from his mother's chambers past,
+    And went into the wood where hermits live,
+    And never to his father's house returned.
+
+    Well kept the boy his promise made that day!
+    By prayer and penance Dhruva gained at last
+    The highest heavens, and there he shines a star!
+    Nightly men see him in the firmament.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+BUTTOO.
+
+
+    "Ho! Master of the wondrous art!
+    Instruct me in fair archery,
+    And buy for aye,--a grateful heart
+    That will not grudge to give thy fee."
+    Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes,
+    A hunter's low-born son was he,--
+    To Dronacharjya, great and wise,
+    Who sat with princes round his knee.
+
+    Up Time's fair stream far back,--oh far,
+    The great wise teacher must be sought!
+    The Kurus had not yet in war
+    With the Pandava brethren fought.
+    In peace, at Dronacharjya's feet,
+    Magic and archery they learned,
+    A complex science, which we meet
+    No more, with ages past inurned.
+
+    "And who art thou," the teacher said,
+    "My science brave to learn so fain?
+    Which many kings who wear the thread
+    Have asked to learn of me in vain."
+    "My name is Buttoo," said the youth,
+    "A hunter's son, I know not Fear;"
+    The teacher answered, smiling smooth,
+    "Then know him from this time, my dear."
+
+    Unseen the magic arrow came,
+    Amidst the laughter and the scorn
+    Of royal youths,--like lightning flame
+    Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn,
+    As down upon the ground he fell,
+    Not hurt, but made a jest and game;--
+    He rose,--and waved a proud farewell,
+    But cheek and brow grew red with shame.
+
+    And lo,--a single, single tear
+    Dropped from his eyelash as he past,
+    "My place I gather is not here;
+    No matter,--what is rank or caste?
+    In us is honour, or disgrace,
+    Not out of us," 'twas thus he mused,
+    "The question is,--not wealth or place,
+    But gifts well used, or gifts abused."
+
+    "And I shall do my best to gain
+    The science that man will not teach,
+    For life is as a shadow vain,
+    Until the utmost goal we reach
+    To which the soul points. I shall try
+    To realize my waking dream,
+    And what if I should chance to die?
+    None miss one bubble from a stream."
+
+    So thinking, on and on he went,
+    Till he attained the forest's verge,
+    The garish day was well-nigh spent,
+    Birds had already raised its dirge.
+    Oh what a scene! How sweet and calm!
+    It soothed at once his wounded pride,
+    And on his spirit shed a balm
+    That all its yearnings purified.
+
+    What glorious trees! The sombre saul
+    On which the eye delights to rest,
+    The betel-nut,--a pillar tall,
+    With feathery branches for a crest,
+    The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide,
+    The pale faint-scented bitter neem,
+    The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,
+    With flowers that have the ruby's gleam,
+
+    The Indian fig's pavilion tent
+    In which whole armies might repose,
+    With here and there a little rent,
+    The sunset's beauty to disclose,
+    The bamboo boughs that sway and swing
+    'Neath bulbuls as the south wind blows,
+    The mangoe-tope, a close dark ring,
+    Home of the rooks and clamorous crows,
+
+    The champac, bok, and South-sea pine,
+    The nagessur with pendant flowers
+    Like ear-rings,--and the forest vine
+    That clinging over all, embowers,
+    The sirish famed in Sanscrit song
+    Which rural maidens love to wear,
+    The peepul giant-like and strong,
+    The bramble with its matted hair,
+
+    All these, and thousands, thousands more,
+    With helmet red, or golden crown,
+    Or green tiara, rose before
+    The youth in evening's shadows brown.
+    He passed into the forest,--there
+    New sights of wonder met his view,
+    A waving Pampas green and fair
+    All glistening with the evening dew.
+
+    How vivid was the breast-high grass!
+    Here waved in patches, forest corn,--
+    Here intervened a deep morass,--
+    Here arid spots of verdure shorn
+    Lay open,--rock or barren sand,--
+    And here again the trees arose
+    Thick clustering,--a glorious band
+    Their tops still bright with sunset glows.--
+
+    Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs,
+    And seemed to welcome him with signs,
+    Onwards and on,--till Buttoo's brows
+    Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines.
+    Then in a grassy open space
+    He sits and leans against a tree,
+    To let the wind blow on his face
+    And look around him leisurely.
+
+    Herds, and still herds, of timid deer
+    Were feeding in the solitude,
+    They knew not man, and felt no fear,
+    And heeded not his neighbourhood,
+    Some young ones with large eyes and sweet
+    Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth
+    Against his arms, and licked his feet,
+    As if they wished his cares to soothe.
+
+    "They touch me," he exclaimed with joy,
+    "They have no pride of caste like men,
+    They shrink not from the hunter-boy,
+    Should not my home be with them then?
+    Here in this forest let me dwell,
+    With these companions innocent,
+    And learn each science and each spell
+    All by myself in banishment.
+
+    "A calm, calm life,--and it shall be
+    Its own exceeding great reward!
+    No thoughts to vex in all I see,
+    No jeers to bear or disregard;--
+    All creatures and inanimate things
+    Shall be my tutors; I shall learn
+    From beast, and fish, and bird with wings,
+    And rock, and stream, and tree, and fern."
+
+    With this resolve, he soon began
+    To build a hut, of reeds and leaves,
+    And when that needful work was done
+    He gathered in his store, the sheaves
+    Of forest corn, and all the fruit,
+    Date, plum, guava, he could find,
+    And every pleasant nut and root
+    By Providence for man designed,
+
+    A statue next of earth he made,
+    An image of the teacher wise,
+    So deft he laid, the light and shade,
+    On figure, forehead, face and eyes,
+    That any one who chanced to view
+    That image tall might soothly swear,
+    If he great Dronacharjya knew,
+    The teacher in his flesh was there.
+
+    Then at the statue's feet he placed
+    A bow, and arrows tipped with steel,
+    With wild-flower garlands interlaced,
+    And hailed the figure in his zeal
+    As Master, and his head he bowed,
+    A pupil reverent from that hour
+    Of one who late had disallowed
+    The claim, in pride of place and power.
+
+    By strainèd sense, by constant prayer,
+    By steadfastness of heart and will,
+    By courage to confront and dare,
+    All obstacles he conquered still;
+    A conscience clear,--a ready hand,
+    Joined to a meek humility,
+    Success must everywhere command,
+    How could he fail who had all three!
+
+    And now, by tests assured, he knows
+    His own God-gifted wondrous might,
+    Nothing to any man he owes,
+    Unaided he has won the fight;
+    Equal to gods themselves,--above
+    Wishmo and Drona,--for his worth
+    His name, he feels, shall be with love
+    Reckoned with great names of the earth.
+
+    Yet lacks he not, in reverence
+    To Dronacharjya, who declined
+    To teach him,--nay, with e'en offence
+    That well might wound a noble mind,
+    Drove him away;--for in his heart
+    Meek, placable, and ever kind,
+    Resentment had not any part,
+    And Malice never was enshrined.
+
+    One evening, on his work intent,
+    Alone he practised Archery,
+    When lo! the bow proved false and sent
+    The arrow from its mark awry;
+    Again he tried,--and failed again;
+    Why was it? Hark!--A wild dog's bark!
+    An evil omen:--it was plain
+    Some evil on his path hung dark!
+
+    Thus many times he tried and failed,
+    And still that lean, persistent dog
+    At distance, like some spirit wailed,
+    Safe in the cover of a fog.
+    His nerves unstrung, with many a shout
+    He strove to frighten it away,
+    It would not go,--but roamed about,
+    Howling, as wolves howl for their prey.
+
+    Worried and almost in a rage,
+    One magic shaft at last he sent,
+    A sample of his science sage,
+    To quiet but the noises meant.
+    Unerring to its goal it flew,
+    No death ensued, no blood was dropped,
+    But by the hush the young man knew
+    At last that howling noise had stopped.
+
+    It happened on this very day
+    That the Pandava princes came
+    With all the Kuru princes gay
+    To beat the woods and hunt the game.
+    Parted from others in the chase,
+    Arjuna brave the wild dog found,--
+    Stuck still the shaft,--but not a trace
+    Of hurt, though tongue and lip were bound.
+
+    "Wonder of wonders! Didst not thou
+    O Dronacharjya, promise me
+    Thy crown in time should deck my brow
+    And I be first in archery?
+    Lo! here, some other thou hast taught
+    A magic spell,--to all unknown;
+    Who has in secret from thee bought
+    The knowledge, in this arrow shown!"
+
+    Indignant thus Arjuna spake
+    To his great Master when they met--
+    "My word, my honour, is at stake,
+    Judge not, Arjuna, judge not yet.
+    Come, let us see the dog,"--and straight
+    They followed up the creature's trace.
+    They found it, in the selfsame state,
+    Dumb, yet unhurt,--near Buttoo's place.
+
+    A hut,--a statue,--and a youth
+    In the dim forest,--what mean these?
+    They gazed in wonder, for in sooth
+    The thing seemed full of mysteries.
+    "Now who art thou that dar'st to raise
+    Mine image in the wilderness?
+    Is it for worship and for praise?
+    What is thine object? speak, confess."
+
+    "Oh Master, unto thee I came
+    To learn thy science. Name or pelf
+    I had not, so was driven with shame,
+    And here I learn all by myself.
+    But still as Master thee revere,
+    For who so great in archery!
+    Lo, all my inspiration here,
+    And all my knowledge is from thee."
+
+    "If I am Master, now thou hast
+    Finished thy course, give me my due.
+    Let all the past, be dead and past,
+    Henceforth be ties between us new."
+    "All that I have, O Master mine,
+    All I shall conquer by my skill,
+    Gladly shall I to thee resign,
+    Let me but know thy gracious will."
+
+    "Is it a promise?" "Yea, I swear
+    So long as I have breath and life
+    To give thee all thou wilt." "Beware!
+    Rash promise ever ends in strife."
+    "Thou art my Master,--ask! oh ask!
+    From thee my inspiration came,
+    Thou canst not set too hard a task,
+    Nor aught refuse I, free from blame."
+
+    "If it be so,--Arjuna hear!"
+    Arjuna and the youth were dumb,
+    "For thy sake, loud I ask and clear,
+    Give me, O youth, thy right-hand thumb.
+    I promised in my faithfulness
+    No equal ever shall there be
+    To thee, Arjuna,--and I press
+    For this sad recompense--for thee."
+
+    Glanced the sharp knife one moment high,
+    The severed thumb was on the sod,
+    There was no tear in Buttoo's eye,
+    He left the matter with his God.
+    "For this,"--said Dronacharjya,--"Fame
+    Shall sound thy praise from sea to sea,
+    And men shall ever link thy name
+    With Self-help, Truth, and Modesty."
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+SINDHU.
+
+
+PART I.
+
+    Deep in the forest shades there dwelt
+      A _Muni_ and his wife,
+    Blind, gray-haired, weak, they hourly felt
+      Their slender hold on life.
+
+    No friends had they, no help or stay,
+      Except an only boy,
+    A bright-eyed child, his laughter gay,
+      Their leaf-hut filled with joy.
+
+    Attentive, duteous, loving, kind,
+      Thoughtful, sedate, and calm,
+    He waited on his parents blind,
+      Whose days were like a psalm.
+
+    He roamed the woods for luscious fruits,
+      He brought them water pure,
+    He cooked their simple mess of roots,
+      Content to live obscure.
+
+    To fretful questions, answers mild
+      He meekly ever gave,
+    If they reproved, he only smiled,
+      He loved to be their slave.
+
+    Not that to him they were austere,
+      But age is peevish still,
+    Dear to their hearts he was,--so dear,
+      That none his place might fill.
+
+    They called him Sindhu, and his name
+      Was ever on their tongue,
+    And he, nor cared for wealth nor fame,
+      Who dwelt his own among.
+
+    A belt of _Bela_ trees hemmed round
+      The cottage small and rude,
+    If peace on earth was ever found
+      'Twas in that solitude.
+
+
+PART II.
+
+    Great Dasarath, the King of Oude,
+      Whom all men love and fear,
+    With elephants and horses proud
+      Went forth to hunt the deer.
+
+    Oh gallant was the long array!
+      Pennons and plumes were seen,
+    And swords that mirrored back the day,
+      And spears and axes keen.
+
+    Rang trump, and conch, and piercing fife,
+      Woke Echo from her bed!
+    The solemn woods with sounds were rife
+      As on the pageant sped.
+
+    Hundreds, nay thousands, on they went!
+      The wild beasts fled away!
+    Deer ran in herds, and wild boars spent
+      Became an easy prey.
+
+    Whirring the peacocks from the brake
+      With Argus wings arose,
+    Wild swans abandoned pool and lake
+      For climes beyond the snows.
+
+    From tree to tree the monkeys sprung,
+      Unharmed and unpursued,
+    As louder still the trumpets rung
+      And startled all the wood.
+
+    The porcupines and such small game
+      Unnoted fled at will,
+    The weasel only caught to tame
+      From fissures in the hill.
+
+    Slunk light the tiger from the bank,
+      But sudden turned to bay!
+    When he beheld the serried rank
+      That barred his tangled way.
+
+    Uprooting fig-trees on their path,
+      And trampling shrubs and flowers,
+    Wild elephants, in fear and wrath,
+      Burst through, like moving towers.
+
+    Lowering their horns in crescents grim
+      Whene'er they turned about,
+    Retreated into coverts dim
+      The bisons' fiercer rout.
+
+    And in this mimic game of war
+      In bands dispersed and past
+    The royal train,--some near, some far,
+      As day closed in at last.
+
+    Where was the king? He left his friends
+      At midday, it was known,
+    And now that evening fast descends
+      Where was he? All alone.
+
+    Curving, the river formed a lake,
+      Upon whose bank he stood,
+    No noise the silence there to break,
+      Or mar the solitude.
+
+    Upon the glassy surface fell
+      The last beams of the day,
+    Like fiery darts, that lengthening swell,
+      As breezes wake and play.
+
+    Osiers and willows on the edge
+      And purple buds and red,
+    Leant down,--and 'mid the pale green sedge
+      The lotus raised its head.
+
+    And softly, softly, hour by hour
+      Light faded, and a veil
+    Fell over tree, and wave, and flower,
+      On came the twilight pale.
+
+    Deeper and deeper grew the shades,
+      Stars glimmered in the sky,
+    The nightingale along the glades
+      Raised her preluding cry.
+
+    What is that momentary flash?
+      A gleam of silver scales
+    Reveals the _Mahseer_;--then a splash,
+      And calm again prevails.
+
+    As darkness settled like a pall
+      The eye would pierce in vain,
+    The fireflies gemmed the bushes all,
+      Like fiery drops of rain.
+
+    Pleased with the scene,--and knowing not
+      Which way, alas! to go,
+    The monarch lingered on the spot,--
+      The lake spread bright below.
+
+    He lingered, when--oh hark! oh hark
+      What sound salutes his ear!
+    A roebuck drinking in the dark,
+      Not hunted, nor in fear.
+
+    Straight to the stretch his bow he drew,
+      That bow ne'er missed its aim,
+    Whizzing the deadly arrow flew,
+      Ear-guided, on the game!
+
+    Ah me! What means this?--Hark, a cry,
+      A feeble human wail,
+    "Oh God!" it said--"I die,--I die,
+      Who'll carry home the pail?"
+
+    Startled, the monarch forward ran,
+      And then there met his view
+    A sight to freeze in any man
+      The warm blood coursing true.
+
+    A child lay dying on the grass,
+      A pitcher by his side,
+    Poor Sindhu was the child, alas!
+      His parents' stay and pride.
+
+    His bow and quiver down to fling,
+      And lift the wounded boy,
+    A moment's work was with the king.
+      Not dead,--that was a joy!
+
+    He placed the child's head on his lap,
+      And ranged the blinding hair,
+    The blood welled fearful from the gap
+      On neck and bosom fair.
+
+    He dashed cold water on the face,
+      He chafed the hands, with sighs,
+    Till sense revived, and he could trace
+      Expression in the eyes.
+
+    Then mingled with his pity, fear--
+      In all this universe
+    What is so dreadful as to hear
+      A Bramin's dying curse!
+
+    So thought the king, and on his brow
+      The beads of anguish spread,
+    And Sindhu, fully conscious now,
+      The anguish plainly read.
+
+    "What dost thou fear, O mighty king?
+      For sure a king thou art!
+    Why should thy bosom anguish wring?
+      No crime was in thine heart!
+
+    "Unwittingly the deed was done;
+      It is my destiny,
+    O fear not thou, but pity one
+      Whose fate is thus to die.
+
+    "No curses, no!--I bear no grudge,
+      Not thou my blood hast spilt,
+    Lo! here before the unseen Judge,
+      Thee I absolve from guilt.
+
+    "The iron, red-hot as it burns,
+      Burns those that touch it too,
+    Not such my nature,--for it spurns,
+      Thank God, the like to do.
+
+    "Because I suffer, should I give
+      Thee, king, a needless pain?
+    Ah, no! I die, but mayst thou live,
+      And cleansed from every stain!"
+
+    Struck with these words, and doubly grieved
+      At what his hands had done,
+    The monarch wept, as weeps bereaved
+      A man his only son.
+
+    "Nay, weep not so," resumed the child,
+      "But rather let me say
+    My own sad story, sin-defiled.
+      And why I die to day!
+
+    "Picking a living in our sheaves,
+      And happy in their loves,
+    Near, 'mid a peepul's quivering leaves,
+      There lived a pair of doves.
+
+    "Never were they two separate,
+      And lo, in idle mood,
+    I took a sling and ball, elate
+      In wicked sport and rude,--
+
+    "And killed one bird,--it was the male,
+      Oh cruel deed and base!
+    The female gave a plaintive wail
+      And looked me in the face!
+
+    "The wail and sad reproachful look
+      In plain words seemed to say,
+    A widowed life I cannot brook,
+      The forfeit thou must pay.
+
+    "What was my darling's crime that thou
+      Him wantonly shouldst kill?
+    The curse of blood is on thee now,
+      Blood calls for red blood still.
+
+    "And so I die--a bloody death--
+      But not for this I mourn,
+    To feel the world pass with my breath
+      I gladly could have borne,
+
+    "But for my parents, who are blind,
+      And have no other stay,--
+    This, this, weighs sore upon my mind
+      And fills me with dismay.
+
+    "Upon the eleventh day of the moon
+      They keep a rigorous fast,
+    All yesterday they fasted; soon
+      For water and repast
+
+    "They shall upon me feebly call!
+      Ah, must they call in vain?
+    Bear thou the pitcher, friend--'tis all
+      I ask--down that steep lane."
+
+    He pointed,--ceased,--then sudden died!
+      The king took up the corpse,
+    And with the pitcher slowly hied,
+      Attended by Remorse,
+
+    Down the steep lane--unto the hut
+      Girt round with _Bela_ trees;
+    Gleamed far a light-the door not shut
+      Was open to the breeze.
+
+
+PART III.
+
+    "Oh why does not our child return?
+      Too long he surely stays."--
+    Thus to the _Muni_, blind and stern,
+      His partner gently says.
+
+    "For fruits and water when he goes
+      He never stays so long,
+    Oh can it be, beset by foes,
+      He suffers cruel wrong?
+
+    "Some distance he has gone, I fear,
+      A more circuitous round,--
+    Yet why should he? The fruits are near,
+      The river near our bound.
+
+    "I die of thirst,--it matters not
+      If Sindhu be but safe,
+    What if he leave us, and this spot,
+      Poor birds in cages chafe.
+
+    "Peevish and fretful oft we are,--
+      Ah, no--that cannot be:
+    Of our blind eyes he is the star,
+      Without him, what were we?
+
+    "Too much he loves us to forsake,
+      But something ominous,
+    Here in my heart, a dreadful ache,
+      Says, he is gone from us.
+
+    "Why do my bowels for him yearn,
+      What ill has crossed his path?
+    Blind, helpless, whither shall we turn,
+      Or how avert the wrath?
+
+    "Lord of my soul--what means my pain?
+      This horrid terror,--like
+    Some cloud that hides a hurricane;
+      Hang not, O lightning,--strike!"
+
+    Thus while she spake, the king drew near
+      With haggard look and wild,
+    Weighed down with grief, and pale with fear,
+      Bearing the lifeless child.
+
+    Rustled the dry leaves neath his foot,
+      And made an eerie sound,
+    A neighbouring owl began to hoot,
+      All else was still around.
+
+    At the first rustle of the leaves
+      The _Muni_ answered clear,
+    "Lo, here he is--oh wherefore grieves
+      Thy soul, my partner dear?"
+
+    The words distinct, the monarch heard,
+      He could no further go,
+    His nature to its depths was stirred,
+      He stopped in speechless woe.
+
+    No steps advanced,--the sudden pause
+      Attention quickly drew,
+    Rolled sightless orbs to learn the cause,
+      But, hark!--the steps renew.
+
+    "Where art thou, darling--why so long
+      Hast thou delayed to-night?
+    We die of thirst,--we are not strong,
+      This fasting kills outright.
+
+    "Speak to us, dear one,--only speak,
+      And calm our idle fears,
+    Where hast thou been, and what to seek?
+      Have pity on these tears."
+
+    With head bent low the monarch heard,
+      Then came a cruel throb
+    That tore his heart,--still not a word,
+      Only a stifled sob!
+
+    "It is not Sindhu--who art thou?
+      And where is Sindhu gone?
+    There's blood upon thy hands--avow!"
+      "There is."--"Speak on, speak on."
+
+    The dead child in their arms he placed,
+      And briefly told his tale,
+    The parents their dead child embraced,
+      And kissed his forehead pale.
+
+    "Our hearts are broken. Come, dear wife,
+      On earth no more we dwell;
+    Now welcome Death, and farewell Life,
+      And thou, O king, farewell!
+
+    "We do not curse thee, God forbid
+      But to my inner eye
+    The future is no longer hid,
+      Thou too shalt like us die.
+
+    "Die--for a son's untimely loss!
+      Die--with a broken heart!
+    Now help us to our bed of moss,
+      And let us both depart."
+
+    Upon the moss he laid them down,
+      And watched beside the bed;
+    Death gently came and placed a crown
+      Upon each reverend head.
+
+    Where the Sarayu's waves dash free
+      Against a rocky bank,
+    The monarch had the corpses three
+      Conveyed by men of rank;
+
+    There honoured he with royal pomp
+      Their funeral obsequies,--
+    Incense and sandal, drum and tromp,
+      And solemn sacrifice.
+
+    What is the sequel of the tale?
+      How died the king?--Oh man,
+    A prophet's words can never fail--
+      Go, read the Ramayan.
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+PREHLAD.
+
+
+    A terror both of gods and men
+    Was Heerun Kasyapu, the king;
+    No bear more sullen in its den,
+    No tiger quicker at the spring.
+    In strength of limb he had not met,
+    Since first his black flag he unfurled,
+    Nor in audacious courage, yet,
+    His equal in the wide, wide world.
+
+    The holy Veds he tore in shreds;
+    Libations, sacrifices, rites,
+    He made all penal; and the heads
+    Of Bramins slain, he flung to kites,
+    "I hold the sceptre in my hand,
+    I sit upon the ivory throne,
+    Bow down to me--'tis my command,
+    And worship me, and me alone.
+
+    "No god has ever me withstood,
+    Why raise ye altars?--cease your pains!
+    I shall protect you, give you food,
+    If ye obey,--or else the chains."
+    Fled at such edicts, self-exiled,
+    The Bramins and the pundits wise,
+    To live thenceforth in forests wild,
+    Or caves in hills that touch the skies.
+
+    In secret there, they altars raised,
+    And made oblations due by fire,
+    Their gods, their wonted gods, they praised,
+    Lest these should earth destroy in ire;
+    They read the Veds, they prayed and mused,
+    Full well they knew that Time would bring
+    For favours scorned, and gifts misused,
+    Undreamt of changes on his wing.
+
+    Time changes deserts bare to meads,
+    And fertile meads to deserts bare,
+    Cities to pools, and pools with reeds
+    To towns and cities large and fair.
+    Time changes purple into rags,
+    And rags to purple. Chime by chime,
+    Whether it flies, or runs, or drags--
+    The wise wait patiently on Time.
+
+    Time brought the tyrant children four,
+    Rahd, Onoorahd, Prehlad, Sunghrad,
+    Who made his castle gray and hoar,
+    Once full of gloom, with sunshine glad.
+    No boys were e'er more beautiful,
+    No brothers e'er loved more each other,
+    No sons were e'er more dutiful,
+    Nor ever kissed a fonder mother.
+
+    Nor less beloved were they of him
+    Who gave them birth, Kasyapu proud,
+    But made by nature stern and grim,
+    His love was covered by a cloud
+    From which it rarely e'er emerged,
+    To gladden these sweet human flowers.
+    They grew apace, and now Time urged
+    The education of their powers.
+
+    Who should their teacher be? A man
+    Among the flatterers in the court
+    Was found, well-suited to the plan
+    The tyrant had devised. Report
+    Gave him a wisdom owned by few,
+    And certainly to trim his sail,
+    And veer his bark, none better knew,
+    Before a changing adverse gale.
+
+    And Sonda Marco,--such his name,--
+    Took home the four fair boys to teach
+    All knowledge that their years became,
+    Science, and war, and modes of speech,
+    But he was told, if death he feared,
+    Never to tell them of the soul,
+    Of vows, and prayers, and rites revered,
+    And of the gods who all control.
+
+    The sciences the boys were taught
+    They mastered with a quickness strange,
+    But Prehlad was the one for thought,
+    He soared above the lesson's range.
+    One day the tutor unseen heard
+    The boy discuss forbidden themes,
+    As if his inmost heart were stirred,
+    And he of truth from heaven had gleams.
+
+    "O Prince, what mean'st thou?" In his fright
+    The teacher thus in private said--
+    "Talk on such subjects is not right,
+    Wouldst thou bring ruin on my head?
+    There are no gods except the king,
+    The ruler of the world is he!
+    Look up to him, and do not bring
+    Destruction by a speech too free.
+
+    "Be wary for thy own sake, child,
+    If he should hear thee talking so,
+    Thou shalt for ever be exiled,
+    And I shall die, full well I know.
+    Worthy of worship, honour, praise,
+    Is thy great father. Things unseen,
+    What _are_ they?--Themes of poets' lays!
+    They _are_ not and have never been."
+
+    Smiling, the boy, with folded hands,
+    As sign of a submission meek,
+    Answered his tutor. "Thy commands
+    Are ever precious. Do not seek
+    To lay upon me what I feel
+    Would be unrighteous. Let me hear
+    Those inner voices that reveal
+    Long vistas in another sphere.
+
+    "The gods that rule the earth and sea,
+    Shall I abjure them and adore
+    A man? It may not, may not be;
+    Though I should lie in pools of gore
+    My conscience I would hurt no more;
+    But I shall follow what my heart
+    Tells me is right, so I implore
+    My purpose fixed no longer thwart.
+
+    "The coward calls black white, white black,
+    At bidding, or in fear of death;
+    Such suppleness, thank God, I lack,
+    To die is but to lose my breath.
+    Is death annihilation? No.
+    New worlds will open on my view,
+    When persecuted hence I go,
+    The right is right,--the true is true."
+
+    All's over now, the teacher thought,
+    Now let this reach the monarch's ear!
+    And instant death shall be my lot.
+    They parted, he in abject fear.
+    And soon he heard a choral song
+    Sung by young voices in the praise
+    Of gods unseen, who right all wrong,
+    And rule the worlds from primal days.
+
+    "What progress have thy charges made?
+    Let them be called, that I may see."
+    And Sonda Marco brought as bade
+    His pupils to the royal knee.
+    Three passed the monarch's test severe,
+    The fourth remained: then spake the king,
+    "Now, Prehlad, with attention hear,
+    I know thou hast the strongest wing!
+
+    "What is the cream of knowledge, child,
+    Which men take such great pains to learn?"
+    With folded hands he answered mild:
+    "Listen, O Sire! To speak I yearn.
+    All sciences are nothing worth,--
+    Astronomy that tracks the star,
+    Geography that maps the earth,
+    Logic, and Politics, and War,--
+
+    "And Medicine, that strives to heal
+    But only aggravates disease,
+    All, all are futile,--so I feel,
+    For me, O father, none of these.
+    That is true knowledge which can show
+    The glory of the living gods,--
+    Divest of pride, make men below
+    Humble and happy, though but clods.
+
+    "That is true knowledge which can make
+    Us mortals, saintlike, holy, pure,
+    The strange thirst of the spirit slake
+    And strengthen suffering to endure.
+    That is true knowledge which can change
+    Our very natures, with its glow;
+    The sciences whate'er their range
+    Feed but the flesh, and make a show."
+
+    "Where hast thou learnt this nonsense, boy?
+    Where live these gods believed so great?
+    Can they like me thy life destroy?
+    Have they such troops and royal state?
+    Above all gods is he who rules
+    The wide, wide earth, from sea to sea,
+    Men, devils, gods,--yea, all but fools
+    Bow down in fear and worship me!
+
+    "And dares an atom from my loins
+    Against my kingly power rebel?
+    Though heaven itself to aid him joins,
+    His end is death--the infidel!
+    I warn thee yet,--bow down, thou slave,
+    And worship me, or thou shalt die!
+    We'll see what gods descend to save--
+    What gods with me their strength will try!"
+
+    Thus spake the monarch in his ire,
+    One hand outstretched, in menace rude,
+    And eyes like blazing coals of fire.
+    And Prehlad, in unruffled mood
+    Straight answered him; his head bent low,
+    His palms joined meekly on his breast
+    As ever, and his cheeks aglow
+    His rock-firm purpose to attest.
+
+    "Let not my words, Sire, give offence,
+    To thee, and to my mother, both
+    I give as due all reverence,
+    And to obey thee am not loth.
+    But higher duties sometimes clash
+    With lower,--then these last must go,--
+    Or there will come a fearful crash
+    In lamentation, fear, and woe!
+
+    "The gods who made us are the life
+    Of living creatures, small and great;
+    We see them not, but space is rife
+    With their bright presence and their state.
+    They are the parents of us all,
+    'Tis they create, sustain, redeem,
+    Heaven, earth and hell, they hold in thrall,
+    And shall we these high gods blaspheme?
+
+    "Blest is the man whose heart obeys
+    And makes their law of life his guide,
+    He shall be led in all his ways,
+    His footsteps shall not ever slide;
+    In forests dim, on raging seas,
+    In certain peace shall he abide,
+    What though he all the world displease,
+    His gods shall all his wants provide!"
+
+    "Cease, babbler! 'tis enough! I know
+    Thy proud, rebellious nature well.
+    Ho! Captain of our lifeguards, ho!
+    Take down this lad to dungeon-cell,
+    And bid the executioner wait
+    Our orders." All unmoved and calm,
+    He went, as reckless of his fate,
+    Erect and stately as a palm.
+
+    Hushed was the hall, as down he past,
+    No breath, no whisper, not a sign,
+    Through ranks of courtiers, all aghast
+    Like beaten hounds that dare not whine.
+    Outside the door, the Captain spoke,
+    "Recant," he said beneath his breath;
+    "The lion's anger to provoke
+    Is death, O prince, is certain death."
+
+    "Thanks," said the prince,--"I have revolved
+    The question in my mind with care,
+    Do what you will,--I am resolved,
+    To do the right, all deaths I dare.
+    The gods, perhaps, may please to spare
+    My tender years; if not,--why, still
+    I never shall my faith forswear,
+    I can but say, be done their will."
+
+    Whether in pity for the youth,
+    The headsman would not rightly ply
+    The weapon, or the gods in truth
+    Had ordered that he should not die,
+    Soon to the king there came report
+    The sword would not destroy his son,
+    The council held thereon was short,
+    The king's look frightened every one.
+
+    "There is a spell against cold steel
+    Which known, the steel can work no harm,
+    Some sycophant with baneful zeal
+    Hath taught this foolish boy the charm.
+    It would be wise, O king, to deal
+    Some other way, or else I fear
+    Much damage to the common weal."
+    Thus spake the wily-tongued vizier.
+
+    Dark frowned the king.--"Enough of this,--
+    Death, instant death, is my command!
+    Go throw him down some precipice,
+    Or bury him alive in sand."
+    With terror dumb, from that wide hall
+    Departed all the courtier band,
+    But not one man amongst them all
+    Dared raise against the prince his hand.
+
+    And now vague rumours ran around,
+    Men talked of them with bated breath:
+    The river has a depth profound,
+    The elephants trample down to death,
+    The poisons kill, the firebrands burn.
+    Had every means in turn been tried?
+    Some said they had,--but soon they learn
+    The brave young prince had not yet died.
+
+    For once more in the Council-Hall
+    He had been cited to appear,
+    'Twas open to the public all,
+    And all the people came in fear.
+    Banners were hung along the wall,
+    The King sat on his peacock throne,
+    And now the hoary Marechal
+    Brings in the youth,--bare skin and bone.
+
+    "Who shall protect thee, Prehlad, now?
+    Against steel, poison, water, fire,
+    Thou art protected, men avow
+    Who treason, if but bold, admire.
+    In our own presence thou art brought
+    That we and all may know the truth--
+    Where are thy gods?--I long have sought
+    But never found them, hapless youth.
+
+    "Will they come down, to prove their strength?
+    Will they come down, to rescue thee?
+    Let them come down, for once, at length,
+    Come one, or all, to fight with me.
+    Where are thy gods? Or are they dead,
+    Or do they hide in craven fear?
+    There lies my gage. None ever said
+    I hide from any,--far or near."
+
+    "My gracious Liege, my Sire, my King!
+    If thou indeed wouldst deign to hear,
+    In humble mood, my words would spring
+    Like a pellucid fountain clear,
+    For I have in my dungeon dark
+    Learnt more of truth than e'er I knew,
+    There is one God--One only,--mark!
+    To Him is all our service due.
+
+    "Hath He a shape, or hath He none?
+    I know not this, nor care to know,
+    Dwelling in light, to which the sun
+    Is darkness,--He sees all below,
+    Himself unseen! In Him I trust,
+    He can protect me if He will,
+    And if this body turn to dust,
+    He can new life again instil.
+
+    "I fear not fire, I fear not sword,
+    All dangers, father, I can dare;
+    Alone, I can confront a horde,
+    For oh! my God is everywhere!"
+    "What! everywhere? Then in this hall,
+    And in this crystal pillar bright?
+    Now tell me plain, before us all,
+    Is He herein, thy God of light?"
+
+    The monarch placed his steel-gloved hand
+    Upon a crystal pillar near,
+    In mockful jest was his demand,
+    The answer came, low, serious, clear:
+    "Yes, father, God is even here,
+    And if He choose this very hour
+    Can strike us dead, with ghastly fear,
+    And vindicate His name and power."
+
+    "Where is this God? Now let us see."
+    He spumed the pillar with his foot,
+    Down, down it tumbled, like a tree
+    Severed by axes from the root,
+    And from within, with horrid clang
+    That froze the blood in every vein,
+    A stately sable warrior sprang,
+    Like some phantasma of the brain.
+
+    He had a lion head and eyes,
+    A human body, feet and hands,
+    Colossal,--such strange shapes arise
+    In clouds, when Autumn rules the lands!
+    He gave a shout;--the boldest quailed,
+    Then struck the tyrant on the helm,
+    And ripped him down; and last, he hailed
+    Prehlad as king of all the realm!
+
+    A thunder clap--the shape was gone!
+    One king lay stiff, and stark, and dead,
+    Another on the peacock throne
+    Bowed reverently his youthful head.
+    Loud rang the trumpets; louder still
+    A sovereign people's wild acclaim.
+    The echoes ran from hill to hill,
+    "Kings rule for us and in our name."
+
+    Tyrants of every age and clime
+    Remember this,--that awful shape
+    Shall startle you when comes the time,
+    And send its voice from cape to cape.
+    As human, peoples suffer pain,
+    But oh, the lion strength is theirs,
+    Woe to the king when galls the chain!
+    Woe, woe, their fury when he dares!
+
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+SÎTA.
+
+
+    Three happy children in a darkened room!
+    What do they gaze on with wide-open eyes?
+    A dense, dense forest, where no sunbeam pries,
+    And in its centre a cleared spot.--There bloom
+    Gigantic flowers on creepers that embrace
+    Tall trees; there, in a quiet lucid lake
+    The white swans glide; there, "whirring from the brake,"
+    The peacock springs; there, herds of wild deer race;
+    There, patches gleam with yellow waving grain;
+    There, blue smoke from strange altars rises light,
+    There, dwells in peace, the poet-anchorite.
+    But who is this fair lady? Not in vain
+    She weeps,--for lo! at every tear she sheds
+    Tears from three pairs of young eyes fall amain,
+    And bowed in sorrow are the three young heads.
+    It is an old, old story, and the lay
+    Which has evoked sad Sîta from the past
+    Is by a mother sung.... 'Tis hushed at last
+    And melts the picture from their sight away,
+    Yet shall they dream of it until the day!
+    When shall those children by their mother's side
+    Gather, ah me! as erst at eventide?
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
+
+
+
+
+NEAR HASTINGS.
+
+
+    Near Hastings, on the shingle-beach,
+      We loitered at the time
+    When ripens on the wall the peach,
+      The autumn's lovely prime.
+    Far off,--the sea and sky seemed blent,
+      The day was wholly done,
+    The distant town its murmurs sent,
+      Strangers,--we were alone.
+
+    We wandered slow; sick, weary, faint,
+      Then one of us sat down,
+    No nature hers, to make complaint;--
+      The shadows deepened brown.
+    A lady past,--she was not young,
+      But oh! her gentle face
+    No painter-poet ever sung,
+      Or saw such saintlike grace.
+
+    She past us,--then she came again,
+      Observing at a glance
+    That we were strangers; one, in pain,--
+      Then asked,--Were we from France?
+    We talked awhile,--some roses red
+      That seemed as wet with tears,
+    She gave my sister, and she said,
+      "God bless you both, my dears!"
+
+    Sweet were the roses,--sweet and full,
+      And large as lotus flowers
+    That in our own wide tanks we cull
+      To deck our Indian bowers.
+    But sweeter was the love that gave
+      Those flowers to one unknown,
+    I think that He who came to save
+      The gift a debt will own.
+
+    The lady's name I do not know,
+      Her face no more may see,
+    But yet, oh yet I love her so!
+      Blest, happy, may she be!
+    Her memory will not depart,
+      Though grief my years should shade,
+    Still bloom her roses in my heart!
+      And they shall never fade!
+
+
+
+
+FRANCE.
+
+1870.
+
+
+    Not dead,--oh no,--she cannot die!
+      Only a swoon, from loss of blood!
+    Levite England passes her by,
+    Help, Samaritan! None is nigh;
+      Who shall stanch me this sanguine flood?
+
+    Range the brown hair, it blinds her eyne,
+      Dash cold water over her face!
+    Drowned in her blood, she makes no sign,
+    Give her a draught of generous wine.
+      None heed, none hear, to do this grace.
+
+    Head of the human column, thus
+      Ever in swoon wilt thou remain?
+    Thought, Freedom, Truth, quenched ominous,
+    Whence then shall Hope arise for us,
+      Plunged in the darkness all again!
+
+    No, she stirs!--There's a fire in her glance,
+      Ware, oh ware of that broken sword!
+    What, dare ye for an hour's mischance,
+    Gather around her, jeering France,
+      Attila's own exultant horde?
+
+    Lo, she stands up,--stands up e'en now,
+      Strong once more for the battle-fray,
+    Gleams bright the star, that from her brow
+    Lightens the world. Bow, nations, bow,
+      Let her again lead on the way!
+
+
+
+
+THE TREE OF LIFE.
+
+
+    Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness!
+    Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep,
+    My hand was in my father's, and I felt
+    His presence near me. Thus we often past
+    In silence, hour by hour. What was the need
+    Of interchanging words when every thought
+    That in our hearts arose, was known to each,
+    And every pulse kept time? Suddenly there shone
+    A strange light, and the scene as sudden changed.
+    I was awake:--It was an open plain
+    Illimitable,--stretching, stretching--oh, so far!
+    And o'er it that strange light,--a glorious light
+    Like that the stars shed over fields of snow
+    In a clear, cloudless, frosty winter night,
+    Only intenser in its brilliance calm.
+    And in the midst of that vast plain, I saw,
+    For I was wide awake,--it was no dream,
+    A tree with spreading branches and with leaves
+    Of divers kinds,--dead silver and live gold,
+    Shimmering in radiance that no words may tell!
+    Beside the tree an Angel stood; he plucked
+    A few small sprays, and bound them round my head.
+    Oh, the delicious touch of those strange leaves!
+    No longer throbbed my brows, no more I felt
+    The fever in my limbs--"And oh," I cried,
+    "Bind too my father's forehead with these leaves."
+    One leaf the Angel took and therewith touched
+    His forehead, and then gently whispered "Nay!"
+    Never, oh never had I seen a face
+    More beautiful than that Angel's, or more full
+    Of holy pity and of love divine.
+    Wondering I looked awhile,--then, all at once
+    Opened my tear-dimmed eyes--When lo! the light
+    Was gone--the light as of the stars when snow
+    Lies deep upon the ground. No more, no more,
+    Was seen the Angel's face. I only found
+    My father watching patient by my bed,
+    And holding in his own, close-prest, my hand.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE FLY-LEAF OF ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN'S NOVEL ENTITLED "MADAME THÉRÈSE."
+
+
+    Wavered the foremost soldiers,--then fell back.
+    Fallen was their leader, and loomed right before
+    The sullen Prussian cannon, grim and black,
+    With lighted matches waving. Now, once more,
+    Patriots and veterans!--Ah! 'Tis in vain!
+    Back they recoil, though bravest of the brave;
+    No human troops may stand that murderous rain;
+    But who is this--that rushes to a grave?
+
+    It is a woman,--slender, tall, and brown!
+    She snatches up the standard as it falls,--
+    In her hot haste tumbles her dark hair down,
+    And to the drummer-boy aloud she calls
+    To beat the charge; then forwards on the _pont_
+    They dash together;--who could bear to see
+    A woman and a child, thus Death confront,
+    Nor burn to follow them to victory?
+
+    I read the story and my heart beats fast!
+    Well might all Europe quail before thee, France,
+    Battling against oppression! Years have past,
+    Yet of that time men speak with moistened glance.
+    _Va-nu-pieds!_ When rose high your Marseillaise
+    Man knew his rights to earth's remotest bound,
+    And tyrants trembled. Yours alone the praise!
+    Ah, had a Washington but then been found!
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--BAUGMAREE.
+
+
+    A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
+      But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
+      Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;
+    The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
+    Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,
+      And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
+      And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
+    Red,--red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
+    But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
+      Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
+    Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
+      Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
+        Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
+        On a primeval Eden, in amaze.
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--THE LOTUS.
+
+
+    Love came to Flora asking for a flower
+      That would of flowers be undisputed queen,
+      The lily and the rose, long, long had been
+    Rivals for that high honour. Bards of power
+    Had sung their claims. "The rose can never tower
+      Like the pale lily with her Juno mien"--
+      "But is the lily lovelier?" Thus between
+    Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche's bower.
+    "Give me a flower delicious as the rose
+      And stately as the lily in her pride"--
+    "But of what colour?"--"Rose-red," Love first chose,
+      Then prayed,--"No, lily-white,--or, both provide;"
+      And Flora gave the lotus, "rose-red" dyed,
+    And "lily-white,"--the queenliest flower that blows.
+
+
+
+
+OUR CASUARINA TREE.
+
+
+    Like a huge Python, winding round and round
+      The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars
+      Up to its very summit near the stars,
+    A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound
+      No other tree could live. But gallantly
+    The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung
+    In crimson clusters all the boughs among,
+      Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;
+    And oft at nights the garden overflows
+    With one sweet song that seems to have no close,
+    Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.
+
+    When first my casement is wide open thrown
+      At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;
+      Sometimes, and most in winter,--on its crest
+    A grey baboon sits statue-like alone
+      Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs
+    His puny offspring leap about and play;
+    And far and near kokilas hail the day;
+      And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;
+    And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast
+    By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,
+    The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.
+
+    But not because of its magnificence
+      Dear is the Casuarina to my soul:
+      Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,
+    O sweet companions, loved with love intense,
+      For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear!
+    Blent with your images, it shall arise
+    In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!
+      What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear
+    Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?
+    It is the tree's lament, an eerie speech,
+    That haply to the unknown land may reach.
+
+    Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!
+      Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away
+      In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,
+    When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith
+      And the waves gently kissed the classic shore
+    Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,
+    When earth lay trancèd in a dreamless swoon:
+      And every time the music rose,--before
+    Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,
+    Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime
+    I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.
+
+    Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay
+      Unto thy honour, Tree, beloved of those
+      Who now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose,
+    Dearer than life to me, alas! were they!
+      Mayst thou be numbered when my days are done
+    With deathless trees--like those in Borrowdale,
+    Under whose awful branches lingered pale
+      "Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,
+    And Time the shadow;" and though weak the verse
+    That would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse,
+    May Love defend thee from Oblivion's curse.
+
+
+
+
+ CHISWICK PRESS:
+ C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT,
+ CHANCERY LANE.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ancient Ballads and Legends of
+Hindustan, by Toru Dutt
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+Project Gutenberg's Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan, by Toru Dutt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan
+
+Author: Toru Dutt
+
+Contributor: Edmund Gosse
+
+Release Date: October 29, 2007 [EBook #23245]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT BALLADS AND LEGENDS ***
+
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+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
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+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1><i>ANCIENT BALLADS</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>AND LEGENDS</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>OF HINDUSTAN</i></span></h1>
+
+<h2><small><small>BY<br /><br /></small></small>
+TORU DUTT</h2>
+
+<p class="hd1">AUTHOR OF "A SHEAF GLEANED IN FRENCH FIELDS," AND<br />
+"LE JOURNAL DE MADEMOISELLE D'ARVERS."</p>
+
+
+<p class="hd2">WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR<br />
+<big>BY EDMUND GOSSE.</big></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 134px;">
+<img src="images/001.png" width="134" height="150" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="hd3">LONDON<br />
+KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH &amp; CO.<br />
+MDCCCLXXXV</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas,
+that I found not my heart moved, more than with a
+trumpet: and yet it is sung but by some blinde crowder,
+with no rougher voice, than rude style."</p>
+
+<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Sir Philip Sidney.</span></p></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td class="td1" colspan="3">Page</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">I.</td><td class="td2">Savitri</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">II.</td><td class="td2">Lakshman</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">III.</td><td class="td2">Jogadhya Uma</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">IV.</td><td class="td2">The Royal Ascetic and the Hind</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">V.</td><td class="td2">Dhruva</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">VI.</td><td class="td2">Buttoo</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">VII.</td><td class="td2">Sindhu</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">VIII.</td><td class="td2">Prehlad</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td1">IX.</td><td class="td2">S&icirc;ta</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td4" colspan="3">MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td5" colspan="2">Near Hastings</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td5" colspan="2">France&mdash;1870</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td5" colspan="2">The Tree of Life</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td5" colspan="2">On the Fly Leaf of Erckmann-Chatrian's<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+novel entitled <i>Madame Th&eacute;r&egrave;se</i></td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td5" colspan="2">Sonnet&mdash;Baugmaree</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td5" colspan="2">Sonnet&mdash;The Lotus</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="td5" colspan="2">Our Casuarina Tree</td><td class="td3"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr>
+
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+<h2>TORU DUTT.</h2>
+
+<h3>INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR.</h3>
+
+
+<p>If Toru Dutt were alive, she would still be
+younger than any recognized European writer,
+and yet her fame, which is already considerable,
+has been entirely posthumous. Within
+the brief space of four years which now
+divides us from the date of her decease, her
+genius has been revealed to the world under
+many phases, and has been recognized
+throughout France and England. Her name,
+at least, is no longer unfamiliar in the ear
+of any well-read man or woman. But at
+the hour of her death she had published but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>
+one book, and that book had found but two
+reviewers in Europe. One of these, M.
+Andr&eacute; Theuriet, the well-known poet and
+novelist, gave the "Sheaf gleaned in French
+Fields" adequate praise in the "Revue
+des Deux Mondes;" but the other, the
+writer of the present notice, has a melancholy
+satisfaction in having been a little
+earlier still in sounding the only note of
+welcome which reached the dying poetess
+from England. It was while Professor W.
+Minto was editor of the "Examiner,"
+that one day in August, 1876, in the very
+heart of the dead season for books, I happened
+to be in the office of that newspaper,
+and was upbraiding the whole body of
+publishers for issuing no books worth reviewing.
+At that moment the postman brought
+in a thin and sallow packet with a wonderful
+Indian postmark on it, and containing a most
+unattractive orange pamphlet of verse, printed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span>
+at Bhowanipore, and entitled "A Sheaf
+gleaned in French Fields, by Toru Dutt."
+This shabby little book of some two hundred
+pages, without preface or introduction, seemed
+specially destined by its particular providence
+to find its way hastily into the waste-paper
+basket. I remember that Mr. Minto thrust it
+into my unwilling hands, and said "There!
+see whether you can't make something of
+that." A hopeless volume it seemed, with its
+queer type, published at Bhowanipore, printed
+at the Saptahiksambad Press! But when at
+last I took it out of my pocket, what was my
+surprise and almost rapture to open at such
+verse as this:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still barred thy doors! The far east glows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The morning wind blows fresh and free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should not the hour that wakes the rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Awaken also thee?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All look for thee, Love, Light, and Song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Light in the sky deep red above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Song, in the lark of pinions strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And in my heart, true Love.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Apart we miss our nature's goal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why strive to cheat our destinies?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was not my love made for thy soul?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy beauty for mine eyes?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">No longer sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Oh, listen now!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I wait and weep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">But where art thou?<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>When poetry is as good as this it does not
+much matter whether Rouveyre prints it upon
+Whatman paper, or whether it steals to light
+in blurred type from some press in Bhowanipore.</p>
+
+<p>Toru Dutt was the youngest of the three
+children of a high-caste Hindu couple in
+Bengal. Her father, who survives them all,
+the Baboo Govin Chunder Dutt, is himself
+distinguished among his countrymen for the
+width of his views and the vigour of his intelligence.
+His only son, Abju, died in 1865, at
+the age of fourteen, and left his two younger
+sisters to console their parents. Aru, the
+elder daughter, born in 1854, was eighteen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span>
+months senior to Toru, the subject of this
+memoir, who was born in Calcutta on the
+4th of March, 1856. With the exception of
+one year's visit to Bombay, the childhood of
+these girls was spent in Calcutta, at their
+father's garden-house. In a poem now printed
+for the first time, Toru refers to the scene of
+her earliest memories, the circling wilderness
+of foliage, the shining tank with the round
+leaves of the lilies, the murmuring dusk under
+the vast branches of the central casuarina-tree.
+Here, in a mystical retirement more
+irksome to an European in fancy than to an
+Oriental in reality, the brain of this wonderful
+child was moulded. She was pure Hindu,
+full of the typical qualities of her race and
+blood, and, as the present volume shows us
+for the first time, preserving to the last her
+appreciation of the poetic side of her ancient
+religion, though faith itself in Vishnu and
+Siva had been cast aside with childish things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span>
+and been replaced by a purer faith. Her
+mother fed her imagination with the old
+songs and legends of their people, stories
+which it was the last labour of her life to
+weave into English verse; but it would seem
+that the marvellous faculties of Toru's mind
+still slumbered, when, in her thirteenth year,
+her father decided to take his daughters to
+Europe to learn English and French. To
+the end of her days Toru was a better
+French than English scholar. She loved
+France best, she knew its literature best, she
+wrote its language with more perfect elegance.
+The Dutts arrived in Europe at the close of
+1869, and the girls went to school, for the first
+and last time, at a French pension. They
+did not remain there very many months;
+their father took them to Italy and England
+with him, and finally they attended for a short
+time, but with great zeal and application, the
+lectures for women at Cambridge. In November,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span>
+1873, they went back again to Bengal,
+and the four remaining years of Toru's life
+were spent in the old garden-house at Calcutta,
+in a feverish dream of intellectual effort
+and imaginative production. When we consider
+what she achieved in these forty-five
+months of seclusion, it is impossible to
+wonder that the frail and hectic body succumbed
+under so excessive a strain.</p>
+
+<p>She brought with her from Europe a store
+of knowledge that would have sufficed to make
+an English or French girl seem learned, but
+which in her case was simply miraculous.
+Immediately on her return she began to study
+Sanskrit with the same intense application
+which she gave to all her work, and mastering
+the language with extraordinary swiftness,
+she plunged into its mysterious literature.
+But she was born to write, and despairing of
+an audience in her own language, she began
+to adopt ours as a medium for her thought.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span>
+Her first essay, published when she was
+eighteen, was a monograph, in the "Bengal
+Magazine," on Leconte de Lisle, a writer with
+whom she had a sympathy which is very easy
+to comprehend. The austere poet of "La Mort
+de Valmiki" was, obviously, a figure to whom
+the poet of "Sindhu" must needs be attracted
+on approaching European literature. This
+study, which was illustrated by translations
+into English verse, was followed by another
+on Jos&eacute;phin Soulary, in whom she saw more
+than her maturer judgment might have justified.
+There is something very interesting and
+now, alas! still more pathetic in these sturdy
+and workmanlike essays in unaided criticism.
+Still more solitary her work became, in July,
+1874, when her only sister, Aru, died, at the
+age of twenty. She seems to have been no less
+amiable than her sister, and if gifted with less
+originality and a less forcible ambition, to
+have been finely accomplished. Both sisters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span>
+were well-trained musicians, with full contralto
+voices, and Aru had a faculty for design
+which promised well. The romance of "Mlle.
+D'Arvers" was originally projected for Aru to
+illustrate, but no page of this book did Aru
+ever see.</p>
+
+<p>In 1876, as we have said, appeared that
+obscure first volume at Bhowanipore. The
+"Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" is certainly
+the most imperfect of Toru's writings, but it
+is not the least interesting. It is a wonderful
+mixture of strength and weakness, of genius
+overriding great obstacles and of talent succumbing
+to ignorance and inexperience. That
+it should have been performed at all is so
+extraordinary that we forget to be surprised
+at its inequality. The English verse is sometimes
+exquisite; at other times the rules of
+our prosody are absolutely ignored, and it is
+obvious that the Hindu poetess was chanting
+to herself a music that is discord in an English<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span>
+ear. The notes are no less curious, and to a
+stranger no less bewildering. Nothing could
+be more na&iuml;ve than the writer's ignorance at
+some points, or more startling than her learning
+at others. On the whole, the attainment
+of the book was simply astounding. It consisted
+of a selection of translations from nearly
+one hundred French poets, chosen by the
+poetess herself on a principle of her own
+which gradually dawned upon the careful
+reader. She eschewed the Classicist writers
+as though they had never existed. For her
+Andr&eacute; Chenier was the next name in chronological
+order after Du Bartas. Occasionally
+she showed a profundity of research that
+would have done no discredit to Mr. Saintsbury
+or "le doux Assellineau." She was
+ready to pronounce an opinion on Napol le
+Pyr&eacute;n&eacute;an or to detect a plagiarism in Baudelaire.
+But she thought that Alexander Smith
+was still alive, and she was curiously vague<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span>
+about the career of Saint Beuve. This inequality
+of equipment was a thing inevitable
+to her isolation, and hardly worth recording,
+except to show how laborious her mind was,
+and how quick to make the best of small
+resources.</p>
+
+<p>We have already seen that the "Sheaf
+gleaned in French Fields" attracted the very
+minimum of attention in England. In France
+it was talked about a little more. M. Garcin
+de Tassy, the famous Orientalist, who scarcely
+survived Toru by twelve months, spoke of it
+to Mlle. Clarisse Bader, author of a somewhat
+remarkable book on the position of women
+in ancient Indian society. Almost simultaneously
+this volume fell into the hands of
+Toru, and she was moved to translate it into
+English, for the use of Hindus less instructed
+than herself. In January, 1877, she accordingly
+wrote to Mlle. Bader requesting her authorization,
+and received a prompt and kind reply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span>
+On the 18th of March Toru wrote again to
+this, her solitary correspondent in the world
+of European literature, and her letter, which
+has been preserved, shows that she had already
+descended into the valley of the shadow of
+death:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Ma constitution n'est pas forte; j'ai contract&eacute; une toux
+opini&acirc;tre, il y a plus de deux ans, qui ne me quitte point.
+Cependant j'esp&egrave;re mettre la main &agrave; l'&#339;uvre bient&ocirc;t. Je
+ne peux dire, mademoiselle, combien votre affection,&mdash;car
+vous les aimez, votre livre et votre lettre en t&eacute;moignent
+assez,&mdash;pour mes compatriotes et mon pays me touche; et je
+suis fi&egrave;re de pouvoir le dire que les h&eacute;roines de nos grandes
+&eacute;pop&eacute;es sont dignes de tout honneur et de tout amour. Y a-ti-il
+d'h&eacute;roine plus touchante, plus aimable que S&icirc;ta? Je ne
+le crois pas. <i>Quand j'entends ma m&egrave;re chanter, le soir,
+les vieux chants de notre pays, je pleure presque toujours.</i>
+La plainte de S&icirc;ta, quand, bannie pour la s&eacute;conde fois, elle
+erre dans la vaste for&ecirc;t, seule, le d&eacute;sespoir et l'effroi dans
+l'&acirc;me, est si path&eacute;tique qu'il n'y a personne, je crois, qui
+puisse l'entendre sans verser des larmes. Je vous envois
+sous ce pli deux petites traductions du Sanscrit, cette belle
+langue antique. Malheureusement j'ai &eacute;t&eacute; oblig&eacute;e de faire
+cesser mes traductions de Sanscrit, il y a six mois. Ma
+sant&eacute; ne me permet pas de les continuer.</p></div>
+
+<p>These simple and pathetic words, in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span>
+the dying poetess pours out her heart to the
+one friend she had, and that one gained too
+late, seem as touching and as beautiful as any
+strain of Marceline Valmore's immortal verse.
+In English poetry I do not remember anything
+that exactly parallels their resigned melancholy.
+Before the month of March was over,
+Toru had taken to her bed. Unable to write,
+she continued to read, strewing her sick-room
+with the latest European books, and entering
+with interest into the questions raised by the
+Soci&eacute;t&eacute; Asiatique of Paris in its printed Transactions.
+On the 30th of July she wrote her
+last letter to Mlle. Clarisse Bader, and a month
+later, on the 30th of August, 1877, at the age
+of twenty-one years, six months, and twenty-six
+days, she breathed her last in her father's
+house in Maniktollah Street, Calcutta.</p>
+
+<p>In the first distraction of grief it seemed as
+though her unequalled promise had been
+entirely blighted, and as though she would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span>
+remembered only by her single book. But
+as her father examined her papers, one completed
+work after another revealed itself.
+First a selection from the sonnets of the
+Comte de Grammont, translated into English,
+turned up, and was printed in a Calcutta
+magazine; then some fragments of an English
+story, which were printed in another
+Calcutta magazine. Much more important,
+however, than any of these was a complete
+romance, written in French, being the identical
+story for which her sister Aru had proposed
+to make the illustrations. In the meantime
+Toru was no sooner dead than she began
+to be famous. In May, 1878, there appeared
+a second edition of the "Sheaf gleaned in
+French Fields," with a touching sketch of her
+death, by her father; and in 1879 was published,
+under the editorial care of Mlle.
+Clarisse Bader, the romance of "Le Journal
+de Mlle. D'Arvers," forming a handsome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[xxi]</a></span>
+volume of 259 pages. This book, begun, as
+it appears, before the family returned from
+Europe, and finished nobody knows when, is
+an attempt to describe scenes from modern
+French society, but it is less interesting as an
+experiment of the fancy, than as a revelation
+of the mind of a young Hindu woman of
+genius. The story is simple, clearly told, and
+interesting; the studies of character have
+nothing French about them, but they are full
+of vigour and originality. The description of
+the hero is most characteristically Indian.&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Il est beau en effet. Sa taille est haute, mais quelques-uns
+la trouveraient mince, sa chevelure noire est boucl&eacute;e et
+tombe jusqu'&agrave; la nuque; ses yeux noirs sont profonds et
+bien fendus, le front est noble; la l&egrave;vre sup&eacute;rieure, couverte
+par une moustache naissante et noire, est parfaitement
+model&eacute;e; son menton a quelque chose de s&eacute;v&egrave;re; son teint
+est d'un blanc presque f&eacute;minin, ce qui d&eacute;note sa haute
+naissance.</p></div>
+
+<p>In this description we seem to recognize
+some Surya or Soma of Hindu mythology,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[xxii]</a></span>
+and the final touch, meaningless as applied
+to an European, reminds us that in India
+whiteness of skin has always been a sign of
+aristocratic birth, from the days when it
+originally distinguished the conquering Aryas
+from the indigenous race of the Dasyous.</p>
+
+<p>As a literary composition "Mlle. D'Arvers"
+deserves high commendation. It deals with
+the ungovernable passion of two brothers
+for one placid and beautiful girl, a passion
+which leads to fratricide and madness.
+That it is a very melancholy and tragical
+story is obvious from this brief sketch of its
+contents, but it is remarkable for coherence
+and self-restraint no less than for vigour of
+treatment. Toru Dutt never sinks to melodrama
+in the course of her extraordinary tale,
+and the wonder is that she is not more often
+fantastic and unreal.</p>
+
+<p>But we believe that the original English
+poems, which we present to the public for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[xxiii]</a></span>
+the first time to-day, will be ultimately found
+to constitute Toru's chief legacy to posterity.
+These ballads form the last and most matured
+of her writings, and were left so far fragmentary
+at her death that the fourth and fifth in
+her projected series of nine were not to be
+discovered in any form among her papers.
+It is probable that she had not even commenced
+them. Her father, therefore, to give
+a certain continuity to the series, has filled
+up these blanks with two stories from the
+"Vishnupurana," which originally appeared
+respectively in the "Calcutta Review" and
+in the "Bengal Magazine." These are interesting,
+but a little rude in form, and they
+have not the same peculiar value as the
+rhymed octo-syllabic ballads. In these
+last we see Toru no longer attempting vainly,
+though heroically, to compete with European
+literature on its own ground, but turning to
+the legends of her own race and country for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[xxiv]</a></span>
+inspiration. No modern Oriental has given
+us so strange an insight into the conscience
+of the Asiatic as is presented in the stories of
+"Prehlad" and of "Savitri," or so quaint a
+piece of religious fancy as the ballad of
+"Jogadhya Uma." The poetess seems in
+these verses to be chanting to herself those
+songs of her mother's race to which she
+always turned with tears of pleasure. They
+breathe a Vedic solemnity and simplicity of
+temper, and are singularly devoid of that
+littleness and frivolity which seem, if we
+may judge by a slight experience, to be the
+bane of modern India.</p>
+
+<p>As to the merely technical character of
+these poems, it may be suggested that in
+spite of much in them that is rough and
+inchoate, they show that Toru was advancing
+in her mastery of English verse. Such a
+stanza as this, selected out of many no less
+skilful, could hardly be recognized as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[xxv]</a></span>
+work of one by whom the language was a late
+acquirement:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What glorious trees! The sombre saul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On which the eye delights to rest,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The betel-nut, a pillar tall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With feathery branches for a crest,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The pale faint-scented bitter neem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With flowers that have the ruby's gleam.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>In other passages, of course, the text reads
+like a translation from some stirring ballad,
+and we feel that it gives but a faint and
+discordant echo of the music welling in
+Toru's brain. For it must frankly be confessed
+that in the brief May-day of her
+existence she had not time to master our
+language as Blanco White did, or as Chamisso
+mastered German. To the end of her days,
+fluent and graceful as she was, she was not
+entirely conversant with English, especially
+with the colloquial turns of modern speech.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxvi" id="Page_xxvi">[xxvi]</a></span>
+Often a very fine thought is spoiled for
+hypercritical ears by the queer turn of expression
+which she has innocently given to it.
+These faults are found to a much smaller
+degree in her miscellaneous poems. Her
+sonnets, here printed for the first time, seem
+to me to be of great beauty, and her longer
+piece entitled "Our Casuarina Tree," needs
+no apology for its rich and mellifluous
+numbers.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult to exaggerate when we try to
+estimate what we have lost in the premature
+death of Toru Dutt. Literature has no
+honours which need have been beyond the
+grasp of a girl who at the age of twenty-one,
+and in languages separated from her own by
+so deep a chasm, had produced so much of
+lasting worth. And her courage and fortitude
+were worthy of her intelligence. Among
+"last words" of celebrated people, that which
+her father has recorded, "It is only the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[xxvii]</a></span>
+physical pain that makes me cry," is not the
+least remarkable, or the least significant of
+strong character. It was to a native of our
+island, and to one ten years senior to Toru,
+to whom it was said, in words more appropriate,
+surely, to her than to Oldham,</p>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still showed a quickness, and maturing time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of Rime.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<p>That mellow sweetness was all that Toru
+lacked to perfect her as an English poet, and
+of no other Oriental who has ever lived can
+the same be said. When the history of the
+literature of our country comes to be written,
+there is sure to be a page in it dedicated
+to this fragile exotic blossom of song.</p>
+
+<p class="rgt"><span class="smcap">Edmund W. Gosse.</span></p>
+
+<p>1881.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h2 style="margin-bottom: 3em;"><big>ANCIENT BALLADS OF<br />HINDUSTAN.</big></h2>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>I.</h2>
+
+<h2>SAVITRI.</h2>
+
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Part I.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Savitri was the only child<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Madra's wise and mighty king;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stern warriors, when they saw her, smiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As mountains smile to see the spring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair as a lotus when the moon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Kisses its opening petals red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After sweet showers in sultry June!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With happier heart, and lighter tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chance strangers, having met her, past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And often would they turn the head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lingering second look to cast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And bless the vision ere it fled.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What was her own peculiar charm?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The soft black eyes, the raven hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The curving neck, the rounded arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All these are common everywhere.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her charm was this&mdash;upon her face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Childlike and innocent and fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No man with thought impure or base<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could ever look;&mdash;the glory there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sweet simplicity and grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Abashed the boldest; but the good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God's purity there loved to trace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mirrored in dawning womanhood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In those far-off primeval days<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair India's daughters were not pent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In closed zenanas. On her ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Savitri at her pleasure went<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whither she chose,&mdash;and hour by hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With young companions of her age,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She roamed the woods for fruit or flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or loitered in some hermitage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For to the Munis gray and old<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her presence was as sunshine glad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They taught her wonders manifold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gave her of the best they had.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her father let her have her way<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In all things, whether high or low;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He feared no harm; he knew no ill<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could touch a nature pure as snow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long childless, as a priceless boon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He had obtained this child at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By prayers, made morning, night, and noon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With many a vigil, many a fast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would Shiva his own gift recall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or mar its perfect beauty ever?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, he had faith,&mdash;he gave her all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She wished, and feared and doubted never.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so she wandered where she pleased<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In boyish freedom. Happy time!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No small vexations ever teased,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor crushing sorrows dimmed her prime.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One care alone, her father felt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where should he find a fitting mate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For one so pure?&mdash;His thoughts long dwelt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On this as with his queen he sate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Ah, whom, dear wife, should we select?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Leave it to God," she answering cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Savitri, may herself elect<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some day, her future lord and guide."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Months passed, and lo, one summer morn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As to the hermitage she went<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through smiling fields of waving corn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She saw some youths on sport intent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sons of the hermits, and their peers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And one among them tall and lithe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Royal in port,&mdash;on whom the years<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Consenting, shed a grace so blithe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So frank and noble, that the eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was loth to quit that sun-browned face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She looked and looked,&mdash;then gave a sigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And slackened suddenly her pace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What was the meaning&mdash;was it love?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love at first sight, as poets sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is then no fiction? Heaven above<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is witness, that the heart its king<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Finds often like a lightning flash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We play,&mdash;we jest,&mdash;we have no care,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When hark a step,&mdash;there comes no crash,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But life, or silent slow despair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their eyes just met,&mdash;Savitri past<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into the friendly Muni's hut,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her heart-rose opened had at last&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Opened no flower can ever shut.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In converse with the gray-haired sage<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She learnt the story of the youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His name and place and parentage&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of royal race he was in truth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Satyavan was he hight,&mdash;his sire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dyoumatsen had been Salva's king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But old and blind, opponents dire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had gathered round him in a ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And snatched the sceptre from his hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now,&mdash;with his queen and only son<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He lived a hermit in the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gentler hermit was there none.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With many tears was said and heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The story,&mdash;and with praise sincere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Prince Satyavan; every word<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sent up a flush on cheek and ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unnoticed. Hark! The bells remind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis time to go,&mdash;she went away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving her virgin heart behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And richer for the loss. A ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shot down from heaven, appeared to tinge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All objects with supernal light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thatches had a rainbow fringe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The cornfields looked more green and bright.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Savitri's first care was to tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her mother all her feelings new;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The queen her own fears to dispel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the king's private chamber flew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Now what is it, my gentle queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That makes thee hurry in this wise?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She told him, smiles and tears between,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All she had heard; the king with sighs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sadly replied:&mdash;"I fear me much!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whence is his race and what his creed?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not knowing aught, can we in such<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A matter delicate, proceed?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As if the king's doubts to allay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Came Narad Muni to the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A few days after. Old and gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All loved to see the gossip's face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great Brahma's son,&mdash;adored of men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Long absent, doubly welcome he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the monarch, hoping then<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By his assistance, clear to see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No god in heaven, nor king on earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But Narad knew his history,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun's, the moon's, the planets' birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was not to him a mystery.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Now welcome, welcome, dear old friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All hail, and welcome once again!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The greeting had not reached its end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When glided like a music-strain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Savitri's presence through the room.&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"And who is this bright creature, say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose radiance lights the chamber's gloom&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is she an Apsara or fay?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"No son thy servant hath, alas!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This is my one,&mdash;my only child;"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"And married?"&mdash;"No."&mdash;"The seasons pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Make haste, O king,"&mdash;he said, and smiled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"That is the very theme, O sage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In which thy wisdom ripe I need;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seen hath she at the hermitage<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A youth to whom in very deed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her heart inclines."&mdash;"And who is he?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"My daughter, tell his name and race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Speak as to men who best love thee."<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She turned to them her modest face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And answered quietly and clear.&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Ah, no! ah, no!&mdash;It cannot be&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Choose out another husband, dear,"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Muni cried,&mdash;"or woe is me!"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And why should I? When I have given<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My heart away, though but in thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can I take back? Forbid it, Heaven!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It were a deadly sin, I wot.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why should I? I know no crime<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In him or his."&mdash;"Believe me, child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My reasons shall be clear in time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I speak not like a madman wild;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trust me in this."&mdash;"I cannot break<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A plighted faith,&mdash;I cannot bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wounded conscience."&mdash;"Oh, forsake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This fancy, hence may spring despair."&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It may not be."&mdash;The father heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By turns the speakers, and in doubt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus interposed a gentle word,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Friend should to friend his mind speak out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is he not worthy? tell us."&mdash;"Nay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All worthiness is in Satyavan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And no one can my praise gainsay:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of solar race&mdash;more god than man!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great Soorasen, his ancestor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Dyoumatsen his father blind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are known to fame: I can aver<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No kings have been so good and kind."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Then where, O Muni, is the bar?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If wealth be gone, and kingdom lost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His merit still remains a star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor melts his lineage like the frost.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For riches, worldly power, or rank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I care not,&mdash;I would have my son<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure, wise, and brave,&mdash;the Fates I thank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I see no hindrance, no, not one."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Since thou insistest, King, to hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fatal truth,&mdash;I tell you,&mdash;I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon this day as rounds the year<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The young Prince Satyavan shall die."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This was enough. The monarch knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The future was no seal&egrave;d book<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Brahma's son. A clammy dew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spread on his brow,&mdash;he gently took<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Savitri's palm in his, and said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"No child can give away her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pledge is nought unsanction&egrave;d;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And here, if right I understand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was no pledge at all,&mdash;a thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A shadow,&mdash;barely crossed the mind&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unblamed, it may be clean forgot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before the gods it cannot bind.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And think upon the dreadful curse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of widowhood; the vigils, fasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And penances; no life is worse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than hopeless life,&mdash;the while it lasts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Day follows day in one long round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Monotonous and blank and drear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Less painful were it to be bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On some bleak rock, for aye to hear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without one chance of getting free&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The ocean's melancholy voice!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine be the sin,&mdash;if sin there be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But thou must make a different choice."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the meek grace of virginhood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unblanched her cheek, undimmed her eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Savitri, like a statue, stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Somewhat austere was her reply.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Once, and once only, all submit<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To Destiny,&mdash;'tis God's command;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once, and once only, so 'tis writ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall woman pledge her faith and hand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once, and once only, can a sire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto his well-loved daughter say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In presence of the witness fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I give thee to this man away.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Once, and once only, have I given<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My heart and faith&mdash;'tis past recall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With conscience none have ever striven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And none may strive, without a fall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not the less solemn was my vow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because unheard, and oh! the sin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will not be less, if I should now<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deny the feeling felt within.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unwedded to my dying day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I must, my father dear, remain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis well, if so thou will'st, but say<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can man balk Fate, or break its chain?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"If Fate so rules, that I should feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The miseries of a widow's life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can man's device the doom repeal?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unequal seems to be a strife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between Humanity and Fate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">None have on earth what they desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death comes to all or soon or late;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And peace is but a wandering fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Expediency leads wild astray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Right must be our guiding star;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Duty our watchword, come what may;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Judge for me, friends,&mdash;as wiser far."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She said, and meekly looked to both.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The father, though he patient heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give the sanction still seemed loth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But Narad Muni took the word.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Bless thee, my child! 'Tis not for us<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To question the Almighty will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though cloud on cloud loom ominous,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In gentle rain they may distil."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At this, the monarch&mdash;"Be it so!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I sanction what my friend approves;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All praise to Him, whom praise we owe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My child shall wed the youth she loves."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p><h3><span class="smcap">Part II.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Great joy in Madra. Blow the shell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The marriage over to declare!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now to forest-shades where dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hermits, wend the wedded pair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The doors of every house are hung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With gay festoons of leaves and flowers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blazing banners broad are flung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And trumpets blown from castle towers!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slow the procession makes its ground<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Along the crowded city street:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blessings in a storm of sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At every step the couple greet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Past all the houses, past the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Past gardens gay, and hedgerows trim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Past fields, where sinuous brooklets small<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With molten silver to the brim<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glance in the sun's expiring light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Past frowning hills, past pastures wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last arises on the sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Foliage on foliage densely piled,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The woods primeval, where reside<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The holy hermits;&mdash;henceforth here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must live the fair and gentle bride:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But this thought brought with it no fear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fear! With her husband by her still?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or weariness! Where all was new?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hark! What a welcome from the hill!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There gathered are a hermits few.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Screaming the peacocks upward soar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wondering the timid wild deer gaze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from Briarean fig-trees hoar<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Look down the monkeys in amaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the procession moves along;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And now behold, the bridegroom's sire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With joy comes forth amid the throng;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What reverence his looks inspire!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blind! With his partner by his side!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For them it was a hallowed time!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Warmly they greet the modest bride<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With her dark eyes and front sublime!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One only grief they feel.&mdash;Shall she<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who dwelt in palace halls before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dwell in their huts beneath the tree?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would not their hard life press her sore;&mdash;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The manual labour, and the want<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of comforts that her rank became,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Valkala robes, meals poor and scant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All undermine the fragile frame?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To see the bride, the hermits' wives<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And daughters gathered to the huts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Women of pure and saintly lives!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And there beneath the betel-nuts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tall trees like pillars, they admire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her beauty, and congratulate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The parents, that their hearts' desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had thus accorded been by Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Satyavan their son had found<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In exile lone, a fitting mate:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gossips add,&mdash;good signs abound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prosperity shall on her wait.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good signs in features, limbs, and eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That old experience can discern,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good signs on earth and in the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That it could read at every turn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now with rice and gold, all bless<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bride and bridegroom,&mdash;and they go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy in others' happiness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each to her home, beneath the glow<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the late risen moon that lines<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With silver, all the ghost-like trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sals, tamarisks, and South-Sea pines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And palms whose plumes wave in the breeze.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">False was the fear, the parents felt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Savitri liked her new life much;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though in a lowly home she dwelt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her conduct as a wife was such<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to illumine all the place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She sickened not, nor sighed, nor pined;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with simplicity and grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Discharged each household duty kind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strong in all manual work,&mdash;and strong<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To comfort, cherish, help, and pray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hours past peacefully along<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And rippling bright, day followed day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At morn Satyavan to the wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Early repaired and gathered flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fruits, in its wild solitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fuel,&mdash;till advancing hours<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Apprised him that his frugal meal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Awaited him. Ah, happy time!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Savitri, who with fervid zeal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had said her orisons sublime,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And fed the Bramins and the birds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now ministered. Arcadian love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With tender smiles and honeyed words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All bliss of earth thou art above!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet there was a spectre grim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A skeleton in Savitri's heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looming in shadow, somewhat dim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But which would never thence depart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was that fatal, fatal speech<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Narad Muni. As the days<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slipt smoothly past, each after each,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In private she more fervent prays.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there is none to share her fears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For how could she communicate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sad cause of her bidden tears?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The doom approached, the fatal date.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No help from man. Well, be it so!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No sympathy,&mdash;it matters not!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God can avert the heavy blow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He answers worship. Thus she thought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, her prayers, by day and night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like incense rose unto the throne;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor did she vow neglect or rite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Veds enjoin or helpful own.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the fourteenth of the moon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As nearer came the time of dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Joystee, that is May or June,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She vowed her vows and Bramins fed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now she counted e'en the hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As to Eternity they past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er head the dark cloud darker lowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The year is rounding full at last.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-day,&mdash;to-day,&mdash;with doleful sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The word seem'd in her ear to ring!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O breaking heart,&mdash;thy pain profound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy husband knows not, nor the king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exiled and blind, nor yet the queen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But One knows in His place above.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-day,&mdash;to-day,&mdash;it will be seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which shall be victor, Death or Love!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Incessant in her prayers from morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The noon is safely tided,&mdash;then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A gleam of faint, faint hope is born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But the heart fluttered like a wren<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sees the shadow of the hawk<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sail on,&mdash;and trembles in affright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest a down-rushing swoop should mock<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its fortune, and o'erwhelm it quite.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The afternoon has come and gone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And brought no change;&mdash;should she rejoice?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gentle evening's shades come on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When hark!&mdash;She hears her husband's voice!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The twilight is most beautiful!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mother, to gather fruit I go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fuel,&mdash;for the air is cool<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Expect me in an hour or so."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The night, my child, draws on apace,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The mother's voice was heard to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The forest paths are hard to trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In darkness,&mdash;till the morrow stay."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Not hard for me, who can discern<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The forest-paths in any hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blindfold I could with ease return,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And day has not yet lost its power."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"He goes then," thought Savitri, "thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With unseen bands Fate draws us on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto the place appointed us;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We feel no outward force,&mdash;anon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We go to marriage or to death<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At a determined time and place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We are her playthings; with her breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She blows us where she lists in space.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">What is my duty? It is clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My husband I must follow; so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While he collects his forest gear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let me permission get to go."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His sire she seeks,&mdash;the blind old king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And asks from him permission straight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My daughter, night with ebon wing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hovers above; the hour is late.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My son is active, brave, and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Conversant with the woods, he knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each path; methinks it would be wrong<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For thee to venture where he goes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weak and defenceless as thou art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At such a time. If thou wert near<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou might'st embarrass him, dear heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alone, he would not have a fear."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So spake the hermit-monarch blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His wife too, entering in, exprest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The self-same thoughts in words as kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And begged Savitri hard, to rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Thy recent fasts and vigils, child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Make thee unfit to undertake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This journey to the forest wild."<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But nothing could her purpose shake.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">She urged the nature of her vows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Required her now the rites were done<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To follow where her loving spouse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Might e'en a chance of danger run.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Go then, my child,&mdash;we give thee leave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But with thy husband quick return,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the flickering shades of eve<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deepen to night, and planets burn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And forest-paths become obscure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lit only by their doubtful rays.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gods, who guard all women pure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bless thee and kept thee in thy ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And safely bring thee and thy lord!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On this she left, and swiftly ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where with his saw in lieu of sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And basket, plodded Satyavan.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, lovely are the woods at dawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lovely in the sultry noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But loveliest, when the sun withdrawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The twilight and a crescent moon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Change all asperities of shape,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And tone all colours softly down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a blue veil of silvered crape!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lo! By that hill which palm-trees crown,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Down the deep glade with perfume rife<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From buds that to the dews expand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The husband and the faithful wife<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pass to dense jungle,&mdash;hand in hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Satyavan bears beside his saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A fork&egrave;d stick to pluck the fruit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His wife, the basket lined with straw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He talks, but she is almost mute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And very pale. The minutes pass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The basket has no further space,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now on the fruits they flowers amass<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That with their red flush all the place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While twilight lingers; then for wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He saws the branches of the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The noise, heard in the solitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grates on its soft, low harmonies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And all the while one dreadful thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Haunted Savitri's anxious mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which would have fain its stress forgot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It came as chainless as the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft and again: thus on the spot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Marked with his heart-blood oft comes back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The murdered man, to see the clot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Death's final blow,&mdash;the fatal wrack<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of every hope, whence will it fall?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For fall, by Narad's words, it must;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Persistent rising to appall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This thought its horrid presence thrust.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sudden the noise is hushed,&mdash;a pause!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Satyavan lets the weapon drop&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too well Savitri knows the cause,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He feels not well, the work must stop.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pain is in his head,&mdash;a pain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As if he felt the cobra's fangs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He tries to look around,&mdash;in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A mist before his vision hangs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The trees whirl dizzily around<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a fantastic fashion wild;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His throat and chest seem iron-bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He staggers, like a sleepy child.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"My head, my head!&mdash;Savitri, dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This pain is frightful. Let me lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here on the turf." Her voice was clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And very calm was her reply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if her heart had banished fear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Lean, love, thy head upon my breast,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as she helped him, added&mdash;"here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So shall thou better breathe and rest."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"Ah me, this pain,&mdash;'tis getting dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I see no more,&mdash;can this be death?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What means this, gods?&mdash;Savitri, mark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My hands wax cold, and fails my breath."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It may be but a swoon." "Ah! no&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Arrows are piercing through my heart,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Farewell my love! for I must go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This, this is death." He gave one start<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then lay quiet on her lap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Insensible to sight and sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Breathing his last.... The branches flap<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fireflies glimmer all around;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His head upon her breast; his frame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Part on her lap, part on the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus lies he. Hours pass. Still the same,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The pair look statues, magic-bound.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p><h3><span class="smcap">Part III.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Death in his palace holds his court,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His messengers move to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each of his mission makes report,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And takes the royal orders,&mdash;Lo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some slow before his throne appear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And humbly in the Presence kneel:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Why hath the Prince not been brought here?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hour is past; nor is appeal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Allowed against foregone decree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There is the mandate with the seal!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How comes it ye return to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without him? Shame upon your zeal!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O King, whom all men fear,&mdash;he lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deep in the dark Medhya wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We fled from thence in wild surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And left him in that solitude.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We dared not touch him, for there sits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beside him, lighting all the place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman fair, whose brow permits<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In its austerity of grace<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And purity,&mdash;no creatures foul<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As we seemed, by her loveliness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To venture close, and far, far less<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"To stretch a hand, and bear the dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We left her leaning on her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But looked the goddess of the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With her meek air of mild command."&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Then on this errand I must go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Myself, and bear my dreaded brand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This duty unto Fate I owe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know the merits of the prince,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But merit saves not from the doom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Common to man; his death long since<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was destined in his beauty's bloom."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Part IV.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As still Savitri sat beside<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her husband dying,&mdash;dying fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She saw a stranger slowly glide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon his head he wore a crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That shimmered in the doubtful light;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His vestment scarlet reached low down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His waist, a golden girdle dight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His skin was dark as bronze; his face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Irradiate, and yet severe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His eyes had much of love and grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A string was in the stranger's hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Noosed at its end. Her terrors now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Savitri scarcely could command.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the sod beneath a bough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She gently laid her husband's head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in obeisance bent her brow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"No mortal form is thine,"&mdash;she said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Beseech thee say what god art thou?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And what can be thine errand here?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I answer,&mdash;list,&mdash;my name is Death.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And I am come myself to take<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy husband from this earth away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he shall cross the doleful lake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In my own charge, and let me say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To few such honours I accord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But his pure life and thine require<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No less from me." The dreadful sword<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like lightning glanced one moment dire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then the inner man was tied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The soul no bigger than the thumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be borne onwards by his side:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Savitri all the while stood dumb.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But when the god moved slowly on<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To gain his own dominions dim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving the body there&mdash;anon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Savitri meekly followed him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hoping against all hope; he turned<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pale, pale the stars above them burned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More weird the scene had grown and wild;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"It is not for the living&mdash;hear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To follow where the dead must go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy duty lies before thee clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The funeral rites that they ordain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And sacrifices must take up<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy first sad moments; not in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is held to thee this bitter cup;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its lessons thou shall learn in time!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All that thou <i>canst</i> do, thou hast done<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thy dear lord. Thy love sublime<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My deepest sympathy hath won.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Return, for thou hast come as far<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As living creature may. Adieu!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let duty be thy guiding star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As ever. To thyself be true!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Where'er my husband dear is led,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or journeys of his own free will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I too must go, though darkness spread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Across my path, portending ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis thus my duty I have read!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I am wrong, oh! with me bear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But do not bid me backward tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My way forlorn,&mdash;for I can dare<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">All things but that; ah! pity me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A woman frail, too sorely tried!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let me, let me follow thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O gracious god,&mdash;whate'er betide.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"By all things sacred, I entreat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By Penitence that purifies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By prompt Obedience, full, complete,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To spiritual masters, in the eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of gods so precious, by the love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I bear my husband, by the faith<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That looks from earth to heaven above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And by thy own great name O Death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all thy kindness, bid me not<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To leave thee, and to go my way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But let me follow as I ought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy steps and his, as best I may.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I know that in this transient world<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All is delusion,&mdash;nothing true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know its shows are mists unfurled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To please and vanish. To renew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its bubble joys, be magic bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In <i>Maya's</i> network frail and fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not my aim! The gladsome sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of husband, brother, friend, is air<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To such as know that all must die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And that at last the time must come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When eye shall speak no more to eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Love cry,&mdash;Lo, this is my sum.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I know in such a world as this<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No one can gain his heart's desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or pass the years in perfect bliss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like gold we must be tried by fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each shall suffer as he acts<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thinks,&mdash;his own sad burden bear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No friends can help,&mdash;his sins are facts<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That nothing can annul or square,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he must bear their consequence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can I my husband save by rites?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, no,&mdash;that were a vain pretence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Justice eternal strict requites.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"He for his deeds shall get his due<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I for mine: thus here each soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is its own friend if it pursue<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The right, and run straight for the goal;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But its own worst and direst foe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If it choose evil, and in tracks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forbidden, for its pleasure go.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who knows not this, true wisdom lacks,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue should be the turn and end<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of every life, all else is vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Duty should be its dearest friend<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If higher life, it would attain."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"So sweet thy words ring on mine ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gentle Savitri, that I fain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would give some sign to make it clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou hast not prayed to me in vain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Satyavan's life I may not grant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor take before its term thy life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I am not all adamant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I feel for thee, thou faithful wife!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ask thou aught else, and let it be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some good thing for thyself or thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I shall give it, child, to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If any power on earth be mine."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Well be it so. My husband's sire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hath lost his sight and fair domain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give to his eyes their former fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And place him on his throne again."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"It shall be done. Go back, my child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hour wears late, the wind feels cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The path becomes more weird and wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy feet are torn, there's blood, behold!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou feelest faint from weariness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh try to follow me no more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go home, and with thy presence bless<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those who thine absence there deplore."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No weariness, O Death, I feel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And how should I, when by the side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Satyavan? In woe and weal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be a helpmate swears the bride.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is my place; by solemn oath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherever thou conductest him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I too must go, to keep my troth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if the eye at times should brim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis human weakness, give me strength<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My work appointed to fulfil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I may gain the crown at length<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gods give those who do their will.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The power of goodness is so great<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We pray to feel its influence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For ever on us. It is late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the strange landscape awes my sense;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I would fain with thee go on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And hear thy voice so true and kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The false lights that on objects shone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have vanished, and no longer blind,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Thanks to thy simple presence. Now<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I feel a fresher air around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And see the glory of that brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With flashing rubies fitly crowned.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Men call thee Yama&mdash;conqueror,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because it is against their will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They follow thee,&mdash;and they abhor<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Truth which thou wouldst aye instil.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If they thy nature knew aright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O god, all other gods above!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that thou conquerest in the fight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By patience, kindness, mercy, love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not by devastating wrath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They would not shrink in childlike fright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see thy shadow on their path,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But hail thee as sick souls the light."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Thy words, Savitri, greet mine ear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As sweet as founts that murmur low<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To one who in the deserts drear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With parch&egrave;d tongue moves faint and slow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because thy talk is heart-sincere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without hypocrisy or guile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Demand another boon, my dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But not of those forbad erewhile,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And I shall grant it, ere we part:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lo, the stars pale,&mdash;the way is long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Receive thy boon, and homewards start,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For ah, poor child, thou art not strong."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Another boon! My sire the king<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beside myself hath children none,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh grant that from his stock may spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A hundred boughs." "It shall be done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He shall be blest with many a son<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who his old palace shall rejoice."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Each heart-wish from thy goodness won,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I am still allowed a choice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fain thy voice would ever hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reluctant am I still to part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The way seems short when thou art near<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Satyavan, my heart's dear heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Of all the pleasures given on earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The company of the good is best,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For weariness has never birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In such a commerce sweet and blest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sun runs on its wonted course,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The earth its plenteous treasure yields,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All for their sake, and by the force<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their prayer united ever wields.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh let me, let me ever dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Amidst the good, where'er it be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether in lowly hermit-cell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or in some spot beyond the sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The favours man accords to men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are never fruitless, from them rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thousand acts beyond our ken<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That float like incense to the skies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For benefits can ne'er efface,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They multiply and widely spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And honour follows on their trace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sharp penances, and vigils dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Austerities, and wasting fasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Create an empire, and the blest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long as this spiritual empire lasts<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Become the saviours of the rest."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O thou endowed with every grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And every virtue,&mdash;thou whose soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Appears upon thy lovely face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May the great gods who all control<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Send thee their peace. I too would give<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One favour more before I go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ask something for thyself, and live<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Happy, and dear to all below,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Till summoned to the bliss above.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Savitri ask, and ask unblamed."&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She took the clue, felt Death was Love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For no exceptions now he named,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And boldly said,&mdash;"Thou knowest, Lord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The inmost hearts and thoughts of all!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is no need to utter word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon thy mercy sole, I call.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If speech be needful to obtain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy grace,&mdash;oh hear a wife forlorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let my Satyavan live again<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And children unto us be born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wise, brave, and valiant." "From thy stock<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A hundred families shall spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As lasting as the solid rock,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each son of thine shall be a king."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As thus he spoke, he loosed the knot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The soul of Satyavan that bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And promised further that their lot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In pleasant places should be found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thenceforth, and that they both should live<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Four centuries, to which the name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of fair Savitri, men would give,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then he vanished in a flame.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"Adieu, great god!" She took the soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No bigger than the human thumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And running swift, soon reached her goal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where lay the body stark and dumb.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She lifted it with eager hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And as before, when he expired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She placed the head upon the bands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That bound her breast which hope new-fired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And which alternate rose and fell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then placed his soul upon his heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence like a bee it found its cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lo, he woke with sudden start!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His breath came low at first, then deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With an unquiet look he gazed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As one awaking from a sleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wholly bewildered and amazed.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Part V.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As consciousness came slowly back<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He recognised his loving wife&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Who was it, Love, through regions black<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where hardly seemed a sign of life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Carried me bound? Methinks I view<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The dark face yet&mdash;a noble face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had a robe of scarlet hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ruby crown; far, far through space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He bore me, on and on, but now,"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Thou hast been sleeping, but the man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With glory on his kingly brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is gone, thou seest, Satyavan!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O my belov&egrave;d,&mdash;thou art free!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sleep which had bound thee fast, hath left<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thine eyelids. Try thyself to be!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For late of every sense bereft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou seemedst in a rigid trance;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And if thou canst, my love, arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Regard the night, the dark expanse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spread out before us, and the skies."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Supported by her, looked he long<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the landscape dim outspread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like some old remembered song<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The past came back,&mdash;a tangled thread.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I had a pain, as if an asp<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gnawed in my brain, and there I lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Silent, for oh! I could but gasp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till someone came that bore away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My spirit into lands unknown:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou, dear, who watchedst beside me,&mdash;say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was it a dream from elfland blown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or very truth,&mdash;my doubts to stay."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"O Love, look round,&mdash;how strange and dread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The shadows of the high trees fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Homeward our path now let us tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To-morrow I shall tell thee all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Arise! Be strong! Gird up thy loins!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Think of our parents, dearest friend!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The solemn darkness haste enjoins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not likely is it soon to end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hark! Jackals still at distance howl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The day, long, long will not appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo, wild fierce eyes through bushes scowl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Summon thy courage, lest I fear.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Was that the tiger's sullen growl?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What means this rush of many feet?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can creatures wild so near us prowl?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rise up, and hasten homewards, sweet!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He rose, but could not find the track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then, too well, Savitri knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His wonted force had not come back.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She made a fire, and from the dew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Essayed to shelter him. At last<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He nearly was himself again,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then vividly rose all the past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And with the past, new fear and pain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"What anguish must my parents feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who wait for me the livelong hours!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their sore wound let us haste to heal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Before it festers, past our powers:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"For broken-hearted, they may die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh hasten dear,&mdash;now I am strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more I suffer, let us fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah me! each minute seems so long.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They told me once, they could not live<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without me, in their feeble age,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their food and water I must give<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And help them in the last sad stage<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Of earthly life, and that Beyond<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In which a son can help by rites.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh what a love is theirs&mdash;how fond!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whom now Despair, perhaps, benights.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Infirm herself, my mother dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now guides, methinks, the tottering feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of my blind father, for they hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And hasten eagerly to meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our fancied steps. O faithful wife<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let us on wings fly back again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon their safety hangs my life!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He tried his feelings to restrain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But like some river swelling high<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They swept their barriers weak and vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sudden there burst a fearful cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then followed tears,&mdash;like autumn rain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hush! Hark, a sweet voice rises clear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A voice of earnestness intense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"If I have worshipped Thee in fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And duly paid with reverence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The solemn sacrifices,&mdash;hear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Send consolation, and thy peace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eternal, to our parents dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That their anxieties may cease.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, ever hath I loved Thy truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Therefore on Thee I dare to call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Help us, this night, and them, for sooth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without thy help, we perish all."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She took in hers Satyavan's hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She gently wiped his falling tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"This weakness, Love, I understand!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Courage!" She smiled away his fears.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Now we shall go, for thou art strong."<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She helped him rise up by her side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And led him like a child along,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He, wistfully the basket eyed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laden with fruit and flowers. "Not now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To-morrow we shall fetch it hence."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, she hung it on a bough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"I'll bear thy saw for our defence."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In one fair hand the saw she took,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The other with a charming grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She twined around him, and her look<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She turn&egrave;d upwards to his face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus aiding him she felt anew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His bosom beat against her own&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More firm his step, more clear his view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More self-possessed his words and tone<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Became, as swift the minutes past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And now the pathway he discerns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And 'neath the trees, they hurry fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For Hope's fair light before them burns.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Under the faint beams of the stars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How beautiful appeared the flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Light scarlet, flecked with golden bars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the pal&acirc;sas,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> in the bowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Nature there herself had made<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without the aid of man. At times<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trees on their path cast densest shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And nightingales sang mystic rhymes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their fears and sorrows to assuage.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where two paths met, the north they chose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As leading to the hermitage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And soon before them, dim it rose.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here let us end. For all may guess<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The blind old king received his sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ruled again with gentleness<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The country that was his by right;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that Savitri's royal sire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was blest with many sons,&mdash;a race<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom poets praised for martial fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And every peaceful gift and grace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As for Savitri, to this day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her name is named, when couples wed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the bride the parents say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be thou like her, in heart and head.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Butea frondosa.</i></p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+<h2>II.</h2>
+
+<h2>LAKSHMAN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It is,&mdash;it is my husband's voice!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh hasten, to his succour fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He calls on thee, perhaps his foes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Environ him on all sides round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wail,&mdash;it means death's final throes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why standest thou, as magic-bound?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Is this a time for thought,&mdash;oh gird<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy bright sword on, and take thy bow!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He heeds not, hears not any word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Evil hangs over us, I know!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swift in decision, prompt in deed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Brave unto rashness, can this be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The man to whom all looked at need?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is it my brother, that I see!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Ah no, and I must run alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For further here I cannot stay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherefore this impious, strange delay!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That cry,&mdash;that cry,&mdash;it seems to ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Still in my ears,&mdash;I cannot bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suspense; if help we fail to bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His death at least we both can share."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No cause is there for any fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hast thou his prowess never seen?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What being of demonian birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could ever brave his mighty arm?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is there a creature on the earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That dares to work our hero harm?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The lion and the grisly bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cower when they see his royal look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sun-staring eagles of the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His glance of anger cannot brook,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pythons and cobras at his tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To their most secret coverts glide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bowed to the dust each serpent head<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Erect before in hooded pride.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Rakshases, Danavs, demons, ghosts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Acknowledge in their hearts his might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And slink to their remotest coasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In terror at his very sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Evil to him! Oh fear it not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whatever foes against him rise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Banish for aye, the foolish thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And be thyself,&mdash;bold, great, and wise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"He call for help! Canst thou believe<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He like a child would shriek for aid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or pray for respite or reprieve&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not of such metal is he made!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Delusive was that piercing cry,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some trick of magic by the foe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He has a work,&mdash;he cannot die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beseech me not from hence to go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"For here beside thee, as a guard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twas he commanded me to stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dangers with my life to ward<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If they should come across thy way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Send me not hence, for in this wood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bands scattered of the giants lurk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And wait the hour their will to work."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh shame! And canst thou make my weal<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A plea for lingering! Now I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What thou art Lakshman! And I feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Far better were an open foe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Art thou a coward? I have seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy bearing in the battle-fray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where flew the death-fraught arrows keen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Else had I judged thee so to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But then thy leader stood beside!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reft of his radiance, see it glide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A shapeless mass of vapours dun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So of thy courage,&mdash;or if not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The matter is far darker dyed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What makes thee loth to leave this spot?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"He perishes&mdash;well, let him die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His wife henceforth shall be mine own!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can that thought deep imbedded lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within thy heart's most secret zone!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Search well and see! one brother takes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His kingdom,&mdash;one would take his wife!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fair partition!&mdash;But it makes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Me shudder, and abhor my life.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Art thou in secret league with those<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who from his hope the kingdom rent?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A spy from his ignoble foes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To track him in his banishment?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know thou wouldst, or sure ere now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When first thou heardst that well-known voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou shouldst have run to aid, I trow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Learn this,&mdash;whatever comes may come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But I shall not survive my Love,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all my thoughts here is the sum!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Witness it gods in heaven above.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If fire can burn, or water drown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I follow him:&mdash;choose what thou wilt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Truth with its everlasting crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Remain here, with a vain pretence<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of shielding me from wrong and shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or go and die in his defence<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And leave behind a noble name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Choose what thou wilt,&mdash;I urge no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My pathway lies before me clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did not know thy mind before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know thee now,&mdash;and have no fear."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She said and proudly from him turned,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was this the gentle S&icirc;ta? No.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The tears therein had ceased to flow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No longer can I bear thy words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They lacerate my inmost heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And torture me, like poisoned swords.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Have I deserved this at thine hand?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of lifelong loyalty and truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is this the meed? I understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy feelings, S&icirc;ta, and in sooth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I blame thee not,&mdash;but thou mightst be<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Less rash in judgement. Look! I go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little I care what comes to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wert thou but safe,&mdash;God keep thee so!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"In going hence I disregard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The plainest orders of my chief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A deed for me,&mdash;a soldier,&mdash;hard<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And deeply painful, but thy grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And language, wild and wrong, allow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No other course. Mine be the crime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mine alone,&mdash;but oh, do thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Think better of me from this time.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Here with an arrow, lo, I trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A magic circle ere I leave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No evil thing within this space<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May come to harm thee or to grieve.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Step not, for aught, across the line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whatever thou mayst see or hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So shalt thou balk the bad design<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of every enemy I fear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And now farewell! What thou hast said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though it has broken quite my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that I wish that I were dead&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I would before, O Queen, we part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Freely forgive, for well I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That grief and fear have made thee wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We part as friends,&mdash;is it not so?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And speaking thus,&mdash;he sadly smiled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And oh ye sylvan gods that dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Among these dim and sombre shades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose voices in the breezes swell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And blend with noises of cascades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watch over S&icirc;ta, whom alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I leave, and keep her safe from harm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till we return unto our own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I and my brother, arm in arm.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"For though ill omens round us rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And frighten her dear heart, I feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he is safe. Beneath the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His equal is not,&mdash;and his heel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall tread all adversaries down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whoever they may chance to be.&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Farewell, O S&icirc;ta! Blessings crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Peace for ever rest with thee!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He said, and straight his weapons took<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His bow and arrows pointed keen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kind,&mdash;nay, indulgent,&mdash;was his look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No trace of anger there was seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only a sorrow dark, that seemed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To deepen his resolve to dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As out he strode with dauntless air.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
+<h2>III.</h2>
+
+<h2>JOGADHYA UMA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair maids and matrons come and buy!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the road, in morning's glow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The pedlar raised his wonted cry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The road ran straight, a red, red line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To Khirogram, for cream renowned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through pasture-meadows where the kine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In knee-deep grass, stood magic bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And half awake, involved in mist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That floated in dun coils profound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till by the sudden sunbeams kist<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rich rainbow hues broke all around.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The roadside trees still dripped with dew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hung their blossoms like a show.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A ragged herd-boy, here and there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With his long stick and naked feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A ploughman wending to his care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The field from which he hopes the wheat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An early traveller, hurrying fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the next town; an urchin slow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bound for the school; these heard and past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unheeding all,&mdash;"Shell-bracelets ho!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pellucid spread a lake-like tank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beside the road now lonelier still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High on three sides arose the bank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which fruit-trees shadowed at their will;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the fourth side was the Ghat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With its broad stairs of marble white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And at the entrance-arch there sat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Full face against the morning light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fair young woman with large eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And dark hair falling to her zone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She heard the pedlar's cry arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And eager seemed his ware to own.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The rich enamel sunbeam-kist!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let them but clasp that slender wrist;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">These bracelets are a mighty charm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They keep a lover ever true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And widowhood avert, and harm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Buy them, and thou shalt never rue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just try them on!"&mdash;She stretched her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Oh what a nice and lovely fit!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No fairer hand, in all the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lo! the bracelet matches it."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dazzled the pedlar on her gazed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till came the shadow of a fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While she the bracelet arm upraised<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Against the sun to view more clear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh she was lovely, but her look<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had something of a high command<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That filled with awe. Aside she shook<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Intruding curls by breezes fanned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blown across her brows and face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And asked the price, which when she heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She nodded, and with quiet grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For payment to her home referred.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And where, O maiden, is thy house?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No maiden art thou, but a spouse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Happy, and rich, and fair, and young."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"Far otherwise, my lord is poor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And him at home thou shalt not find;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ask for my father; at the door<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Knock loudly; he is deaf, but kind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seest thou that lofty gilded spire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Above these tufts of foliage green?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is our place; its point of fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Will guide thee o'er the tract between."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"That is the temple spire."&mdash;"Yes, there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We live; my father is the priest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The manse is near, a building fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But lowly, to the temple's east.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And he must pay so much for that.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be sure, he will not let thee pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without the value, and a meal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If he demur, or cry alas!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No money hath he,&mdash;then reveal,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Within the small box, marked with streaks<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of bright vermilion, by the shrine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The key whereof has lain for weeks<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Untouched, he'll find some coin,&mdash;'tis mine.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That will enable him to pay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bracelet's price, now fare thee well!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She spoke, the pedlar went away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While she left lonely there, prepared<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To plunge into the water pure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And like a rose her beauty bared,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From all observance quite secure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strong was each limb of flexile grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And full the bust; the mien elate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like hers, the goddess of the chase<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On Latmos hill,&mdash;and oh, the face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Framed in its cloud of floating hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No painter's hand might hope to trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The beauty and the glory there!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well might the pedlar look with awe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For though her eyes were soft, a ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lit them at times, which kings who saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Would never dare to disobey.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Onwards through groves the pedlar sped<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till full in front the sunlit spire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arose before him. Paths which led<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To gardens trim in gay attire<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay all around. And lo! the manse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Humble but neat with open door!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He paused, and blest the lucky chance<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That brought his bark to such a shore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spoke in a language sweet and plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unconsciously he raised his cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Shell-bracelets ho!" And at his voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looked out the priest, with eager eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And made his heart at once rejoice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Ho, <i>Sankha</i> pedlar! Pass not by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But step thou in, and share the food<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just offered on our altar high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If thou art in a hungry mood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Welcome are all to this repast!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The rich and poor, the high and low!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then on thy journey strengthened go."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh thanks, good priest! Observance due<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And greetings! May thy name be blest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I came on business, but I knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here might be had both food and rest<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Without a charge; for all the poor<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ten miles around thy sacred shrine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Know that thou keepest open door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And praise that generous hand of thine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But let my errand first be told,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For bracelets sold to thine this day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So much thou owest me in gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hast thou the ready cash to pay?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The bracelets were enamelled,&mdash;so<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The price is high."&mdash;"How! Sold to mine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who bought them, I should like to know."<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Thy daughter, with the large black eyne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now bathing at the marble ghat."<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Loud laughed the priest at this reply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I shall not put up, friend, with that;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No daughter in the world have I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An only son is all my stay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some minx has played a trick, no doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But cheer up, let thy heart be gay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be sure that I shall find her out."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Nay, nay, good father, such a face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could not deceive, I must aver;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At all events, she knows thy place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'And if my father should demur<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To pay thee'&mdash;thus she said,&mdash;'or cry<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He has no money, tell him straight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The box vermilion-streaked to try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That's near the shrine.'" "Well, wait, friend, wait!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The priest said thoughtful, and he ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And with the open box came back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Here is the price exact, my man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No surplus over, and no lack.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To have beheld her, touched her hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before whom Vishnu's self must bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Brahma and his heavenly band!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here have I worshipped her for years<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And never seen the vision bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vigils and fasts and secret tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have almost quenched my outward sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet that dazzling form and face<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have not seen, and thou, dear friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thee, unsought for, comes the grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What may its purport be, and end?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And couldst thou ask no other boon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than thy poor bracelet's price? That brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Resplendent as the autumn moon<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Must have bewildered thee, I trow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And made thee lose thy senses all."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dim light on the pedlar now<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Began to dawn; and he let fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His bracelet basket in his haste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And backward ran the way he came;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What meant the vision fair and chaste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose eyes were they,&mdash;those eyes of flame?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Swift ran the pedlar as a hind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The old priest followed on his trace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They reached the Ghat but could not find<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lady of the noble face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The birds were silent in the wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lotus flowers exhaled a smell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Faint, over all the solitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A heron as a sentinel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood by the bank. They called,&mdash;in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No answer came from hill or fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The landscape lay in slumber's chain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">E'en Echo slept within her cell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They turned with saddened hearts to go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then from afar there came a sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of silver bells;&mdash;the priest said low,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"O Mother, Mother, deign to hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The worship-hour has rung; we wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In meek humility and fear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Must we return home desolate?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or was it but an idle dream?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give us some sign if it was not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A word, a breath, or passing gleam."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sudden from out the water sprung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A rounded arm, on which they saw<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As high the lotus buds among<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It rose, the bracelet white, with awe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then a wide ripple tost and swung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The blossoms on that liquid plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lo! the arm so fair and young<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sank in the waters down again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They bowed before the mystic Power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And as they home returned in thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each took from thence a lotus flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In memory of the day and spot.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Years, centuries, have passed away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And still before the temple shrine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Descendants of the pedlar pay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shell bracelets of the old design<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">As annual tribute. Much they own<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In lands and gold,&mdash;but they confess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From that eventful day alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dawned on their industry,&mdash;success.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Absurd may be the tale I tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ill-suited to the marching times,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I loved the lips from which it fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So let it stand among my rhymes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IV.</h2>
+
+<h2>THE ROYAL ASCETIC AND THE HIND.</h2>
+
+<h3><i>From the Vishnu Purana. B. II. Chap. XIII.</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Maitreya.</span> Of old thou gav'st a promise to relate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The deeds of Bharat, that great hermit-king:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beloved Master, now the occasion suits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I am all attention.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Parasara.</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Brahman, hear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a mind fixed intently on his gods<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long reigned in Saligram of ancient fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mighty monarch of the wide, wide world.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chief of the virtuous, never in his life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Harmed he, or strove to harm, his fellow-man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or any creature sentient. But he left<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His kingdom in the forest-shades to dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And changed his sceptre for a hermit's staff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with ascetic rites, privations rude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And constant prayers, endeavoured to attain<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Perfect dominion on his soul. At morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fuel, and flowers, and fruit, and holy grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gathered for oblations; and he passed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In stern devotions all his other hours;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the world heedless, and its myriad cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heedless too of wealth, and love, and fame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Once on a time, while living thus, he went<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bathe where through the wood the river flows:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his ablutions done, he sat him down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the shelving bank to muse and pray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thither impelled by thirst a graceful hind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Big with its young, came fearlessly to drink.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sudden, while yet she drank, the lion's roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feared by all creatures, like a thunder-clap<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burst in that solitude from a thicket nigh.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Startled, the hind leapt up, and from her womb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her offspring tumbled in the rushing stream.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whelmed by the hissing waves and carried far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the strong current swoln by recent rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tiny thing still struggled for its life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While its poor mother, in her fright and pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fell down upon the bank, and breathed her last.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up rose the hermit-monarch at the sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full of keen anguish; with his pilgrim staff<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He drew the new-born creature from the wave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas panting fast, but life was in it still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, as he saw its luckless mother dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would not leave it in the woods alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with the tenderest pity brought it home.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There, in his leafy hut, he gave it food,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And daily nourished it with patient care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until it grew in stature and in strength,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the forest skirts could venture forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In search of sustenance. At early morn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thenceforth it used to leave the hermitage<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with the shades of evening come again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the little courtyard of the hut<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lie down in peace, unless the tigers fierce,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prowling about, compelled it to return<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earlier at noon. But whether near or far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wandering abroad, or resting in its home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The monarch-hermit's heart was with it still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bound by affection's ties; nor could he think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of anything besides this little hind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His nursling. Though a kingdom he had left,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And children, and a host of loving friends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Almost without a tear, the fount of love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sprang out anew within his blighted heart,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To greet this dumb, weak, helpless foster-child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, whene'er it lingered in the wilds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or at the 'customed hour could not return,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His thoughts went with it; "And alas!" he cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Who knows, perhaps some lion or some wolf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or ravenous tiger with relentless jaws<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Already hath devoured it,&mdash;timid thing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo, how the earth is dinted with its hoofs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And variegated. Surely for my joy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was created. When will it come back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rub its budding antlers on my arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In token of its love and deep delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see my face? The shaven stalks of grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kusha and kasha, by its new teeth clipped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remind me of it, as they stand in lines<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like pious boys who chant the Samga Veds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shorn by their vows of all their wealth of hair."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus passed the monarch-hermit's time; in joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With smiles upon his lips, whenever near<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His little favourite; in bitter grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fear, and trouble, when it wandered far.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he who had abandoned ease and wealth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And friends and dearest ties, and kingly power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Found his devotions broken by the love<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He had bestowed upon a little hind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thrown in his way by chance. Years glided on....<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Death, who spareth none, approached at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hermit-king to summon him away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hind was at his side, with tearful eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watching his last sad moments, like a child<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside a father. He too, watched and watched<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His favourite through a blinding film of tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And could not think of the Beyond at hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So keen he felt the parting, such deep grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'erwhelmed him for the creature he had reared.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To it devoted was his last, last thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reckless of present and of future both!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Thus far the pious chronicle, writ of old<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Brahman sage; but we, who happier, live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the holiest dispensation, know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That God is Love, and not to be adored<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By a devotion born of stoic pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or with ascetic rites, or penance hard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with a love, in character akin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To His unselfish, all-including love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And therefore little can we sympathize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With what the Brahman sage would fain imply<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">As the concluding moral of his tale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That for the hermit-king it was a sin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To love his nursling. What! a sin to love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sin to pity! Rather should we deem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever Brahmans wise, or monks may hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he had sinned in <i>casting off</i> all love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By his retirement to the forest-shades;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For that was to abandon duties high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, like a recreant soldier, leave the post<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where God had placed him as a sentinel.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This little hind brought strangely on his path,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This love engendered in his withered heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This hindrance to his rituals,&mdash;might these not<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have been ordained to teach him? Call him back<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ways marked out for him by Love divine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a mind less self-willed to adore?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not in seclusion, not apart from all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not in a place elected for its peace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in the heat and bustle of the world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Mid sorrow, sickness, suffering and sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must he still labour with a loving soul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who strives to enter through the narrow gate.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+<h2>V.</h2>
+
+<h2>THE LEGEND OF DHRUVA.</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Vishnu Purana. Book I. Chapter XI.</i></h3>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sprung from great Brahma, Manu had two sons,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heroic and devout, as I have said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pryavrata and Uttanapado,&mdash;names<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Known in legends; and of these the last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Married two wives, Suruchee, his adored,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mother of a handsome petted boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uttama; and Suneetee, less beloved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mother of another son whose name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was Dhruva. Seated on his throne the king<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uttanapado, on his knee one day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had placed Uttama; Dhruva, who beheld<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His brother in that place of honour, longed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To clamber up and by his playmate sit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Led on by Love he came, but found, alas!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scant welcome and encouragement; the king<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw fair Suruchee sweep into the hall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With stately step,&mdash;aye, every inch a queen,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And dared not smile upon her co-wife's son.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Observing him,&mdash;her rival's boy,&mdash;intent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To mount ambitious to his father's knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where sat her own, thus fair Suruchee spake:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Why hast thou, child, formed such a vain design?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why harboured such an aspiration proud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Born from another's womb and not from mine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh thoughtless! To desire the loftiest place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The throne of thrones, a royal father's lap!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is an honour to the destined given,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not within thy reach. What though thou art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Born of the king; those sleek and tender limbs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hold of my blood no portion; I am queen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be the equal of mine only son<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were in thee vain ambition. Know'st thou not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair prattler, thou art sprung,&mdash;not, not from mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But from Suneetee's bowels? Learn thy place."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Repulsed in silence from his father's lap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Indignant, furious, at the words that fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From his step-mother's lips, poor Dhruva ran<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To his own mother's chambers, where he stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside her with his pale, thin, trembling lips,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">(Trembling with an emotion ill-suppressed)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hair in wild disorder, till she took<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And raised him to her lap, and gently said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh, child, what means this? What can be the cause<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of this great anger? Who hath given thee pain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He that hath vexed thee, hath despised thy sire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For in these veins thou hast the royal blood."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus conjured, Dhruva, with a swelling heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Repeated to his mother every word<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That proud Suruchee spake, from first to last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even in the very presence of the king.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His speech oft broken by his tears and sobs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Helpless Suneetee, languid-eyed from care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heard sighing deeply, and then soft replied:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh son, to lowly fortune thou wert born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what my co-wife said to thee is truth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No enemy to Heaven's favoured ones may say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such words as thy step-mother said to thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, son, it is not meet that thou shouldst grieve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or vex thy soul. The deeds that thou hast done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The evil, haply, in some former life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long, long ago, who may alas! annul,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Or who the good works not done, supplement!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sins of previous lives must bear their fruit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ivory throne, the umbrella of gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The best steed, and the royal elephant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rich caparisoned, must be his by right<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who has deserved them by his virtuous acts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In times long past. Oh think on this, my son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And be content. For glorious actions done<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not in this life, but in some previous birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suruchee by the monarch is beloved.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Women, unfortunate like myself, who bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only the name of wife without the powers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But pine and suffer for our ancient sins.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suruchee raised her virtues pile on pile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hence Uttama her son, the fortunate!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suneetee heaped but evil,&mdash;hence her son<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dhruva the luckless! But for all this, child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is not meet that thou shouldst ever grieve<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I have said. That man is truly wise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who is content with what he has, and seeks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing beyond, but in whatever sphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lowly or great, God placed him, works in faith;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My son, my son, though proud Suruchee spake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Harsh words indeed, and hurt thee to the quick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet to thine eyes thy duty should be plain.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Collect a large sum of the virtues; thence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A goodly harvest must to thee arise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be meek, devout, and friendly, full of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intent to do good to the human race<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to all creatures sentient made of God;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oh, be humble, for on modest worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Descends prosperity, even as water flows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down to low grounds."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">She finished, and her son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who patiently had listened, thus replied:&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Mother, thy words of consolation find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor resting-place, nor echo in this heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Broken by words severe, repulsing Love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That timidly approached to worship. Hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My resolve unchangeable. I shall try<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The highest good, the loftiest place to win,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which the whole world deems priceless and desires.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is a crown above my father's crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall obtain it, and at any cost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of toil, or penance, or unceasing prayer.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not born of proud Suruchee, whom the king<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Favours and loves, but grown up from a germ<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">In thee, O mother, humble as thou art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I yet shall show thee what is in my power.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou shalt behold my glory and rejoice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let Uttama my brother,&mdash;not thy son,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Receive the throne and royal titles,&mdash;all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My father pleases to confer on him.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I grudge them not. Not with another's gifts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Desire I, dearest mother, to be rich,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with my own work would acquire a name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I shall strive unceasing for a place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such as my father hath not won,&mdash;a place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That would not know him even,&mdash;aye, a place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far, far above the highest of this earth."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He said, and from his mother's chambers past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And went into the wood where hermits live,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never to his father's house returned.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well kept the boy his promise made that day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By prayer and penance Dhruva gained at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The highest heavens, and there he shines a star!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nightly men see him in the firmament.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VI.</h2>
+
+<h2>BUTTOO.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Ho! Master of the wondrous art!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Instruct me in fair archery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And buy for aye,&mdash;a grateful heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That will not grudge to give thy fee."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hunter's low-born son was he,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Dronacharjya, great and wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who sat with princes round his knee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up Time's fair stream far back,&mdash;oh far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The great wise teacher must be sought!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Kurus had not yet in war<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the Pandava brethren fought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In peace, at Dronacharjya's feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Magic and archery they learned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A complex science, which we meet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more, with ages past inurned.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And who art thou," the teacher said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My science brave to learn so fain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which many kings who wear the thread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have asked to learn of me in vain."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My name is Buttoo," said the youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"A hunter's son, I know not Fear;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The teacher answered, smiling smooth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Then know him from this time, my dear."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unseen the magic arrow came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amidst the laughter and the scorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of royal youths,&mdash;like lightning flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As down upon the ground he fell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not hurt, but made a jest and game;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He rose,&mdash;and waved a proud farewell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But cheek and brow grew red with shame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And lo,&mdash;a single, single tear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dropped from his eyelash as he past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My place I gather is not here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No matter,&mdash;what is rank or caste?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In us is honour, or disgrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not out of us," 'twas thus he mused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The question is,&mdash;not wealth or place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But gifts well used, or gifts abused."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And I shall do my best to gain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The science that man will not teach,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For life is as a shadow vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until the utmost goal we reach<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To which the soul points. I shall try<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To realize my waking dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what if I should chance to die?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None miss one bubble from a stream."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So thinking, on and on he went,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till he attained the forest's verge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The garish day was well-nigh spent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Birds had already raised its dirge.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh what a scene! How sweet and calm!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It soothed at once his wounded pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on his spirit shed a balm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all its yearnings purified.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What glorious trees! The sombre saul<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On which the eye delights to rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The betel-nut,&mdash;a pillar tall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With feathery branches for a crest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pale faint-scented bitter neem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With flowers that have the ruby's gleam,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Indian fig's pavilion tent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In which whole armies might repose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With here and there a little rent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sunset's beauty to disclose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bamboo boughs that sway and swing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Neath bulbuls as the south wind blows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mangoe-tope, a close dark ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Home of the rooks and clamorous crows,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The champac, bok, and South-sea pine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The nagessur with pendant flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like ear-rings,&mdash;and the forest vine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That clinging over all, embowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sirish famed in Sanscrit song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which rural maidens love to wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peepul giant-like and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bramble with its matted hair,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All these, and thousands, thousands more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With helmet red, or golden crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or green tiara, rose before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The youth in evening's shadows brown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He passed into the forest,&mdash;there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New sights of wonder met his view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A waving Pampas green and fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All glistening with the evening dew.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How vivid was the breast-high grass!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here waved in patches, forest corn,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here intervened a deep morass,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here arid spots of verdure shorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lay open,&mdash;rock or barren sand,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here again the trees arose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thick clustering,&mdash;a glorious band<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their tops still bright with sunset glows.&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seemed to welcome him with signs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Onwards and on,&mdash;till Buttoo's brows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then in a grassy open space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sits and leans against a tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To let the wind blow on his face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And look around him leisurely.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Herds, and still herds, of timid deer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were feeding in the solitude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They knew not man, and felt no fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heeded not his neighbourhood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some young ones with large eyes and sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against his arms, and licked his feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if they wished his cares to soothe.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"They touch me," he exclaimed with joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"They have no pride of caste like men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They shrink not from the hunter-boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should not my home be with them then?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here in this forest let me dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With these companions innocent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And learn each science and each spell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All by myself in banishment.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"A calm, calm life,&mdash;and it shall be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its own exceeding great reward!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No thoughts to vex in all I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No jeers to bear or disregard;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All creatures and inanimate things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall be my tutors; I shall learn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From beast, and fish, and bird with wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rock, and stream, and tree, and fern."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With this resolve, he soon began<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To build a hut, of reeds and leaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when that needful work was done<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gathered in his store, the sheaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of forest corn, and all the fruit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Date, plum, guava, he could find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every pleasant nut and root<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Providence for man designed,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A statue next of earth he made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An image of the teacher wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So deft he laid, the light and shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On figure, forehead, face and eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That any one who chanced to view<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That image tall might soothly swear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If he great Dronacharjya knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The teacher in his flesh was there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then at the statue's feet he placed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bow, and arrows tipped with steel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With wild-flower garlands interlaced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hailed the figure in his zeal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Master, and his head he bowed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pupil reverent from that hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one who late had disallowed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The claim, in pride of place and power.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By strain&egrave;d sense, by constant prayer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By steadfastness of heart and will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By courage to confront and dare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All obstacles he conquered still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A conscience clear,&mdash;a ready hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Joined to a meek humility,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Success must everywhere command,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How could he fail who had all three!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now, by tests assured, he knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His own God-gifted wondrous might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing to any man he owes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unaided he has won the fight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Equal to gods themselves,&mdash;above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wishmo and Drona,&mdash;for his worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His name, he feels, shall be with love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reckoned with great names of the earth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet lacks he not, in reverence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Dronacharjya, who declined<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To teach him,&mdash;nay, with e'en offence<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That well might wound a noble mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drove him away;&mdash;for in his heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meek, placable, and ever kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resentment had not any part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Malice never was enshrined.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One evening, on his work intent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone he practised Archery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When lo! the bow proved false and sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The arrow from its mark awry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Again he tried,&mdash;and failed again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why was it? Hark!&mdash;A wild dog's bark!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An evil omen:&mdash;it was plain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some evil on his path hung dark!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus many times he tried and failed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still that lean, persistent dog<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At distance, like some spirit wailed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Safe in the cover of a fog.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His nerves unstrung, with many a shout<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He strove to frighten it away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It would not go,&mdash;but roamed about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Howling, as wolves howl for their prey.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Worried and almost in a rage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One magic shaft at last he sent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sample of his science sage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To quiet but the noises meant.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unerring to its goal it flew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No death ensued, no blood was dropped,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But by the hush the young man knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last that howling noise had stopped.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It happened on this very day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the Pandava princes came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all the Kuru princes gay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To beat the woods and hunt the game.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Parted from others in the chase,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arjuna brave the wild dog found,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stuck still the shaft,&mdash;but not a trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of hurt, though tongue and lip were bound.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Wonder of wonders! Didst not thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Dronacharjya, promise me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy crown in time should deck my brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I be first in archery?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo! here, some other thou hast taught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A magic spell,&mdash;to all unknown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who has in secret from thee bought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The knowledge, in this arrow shown!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Indignant thus Arjuna spake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To his great Master when they met&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My word, my honour, is at stake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Judge not, Arjuna, judge not yet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come, let us see the dog,"&mdash;and straight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They followed up the creature's trace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They found it, in the selfsame state,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dumb, yet unhurt,&mdash;near Buttoo's place.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A hut,&mdash;a statue,&mdash;and a youth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the dim forest,&mdash;what mean these?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They gazed in wonder, for in sooth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thing seemed full of mysteries.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Now who art thou that dar'st to raise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine image in the wilderness?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is it for worship and for praise?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What is thine object? speak, confess."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh Master, unto thee I came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To learn thy science. Name or pelf<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had not, so was driven with shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here I learn all by myself.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still as Master thee revere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For who so great in archery!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo, all my inspiration here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all my knowledge is from thee."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"If I am Master, now thou hast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Finished thy course, give me my due.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let all the past, be dead and past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Henceforth be ties between us new."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"All that I have, O Master mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All I shall conquer by my skill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gladly shall I to thee resign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me but know thy gracious will."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Is it a promise?" "Yea, I swear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So long as I have breath and life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To give thee all thou wilt." "Beware!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rash promise ever ends in strife."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Thou art my Master,&mdash;ask! oh ask!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thee my inspiration came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou canst not set too hard a task,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor aught refuse I, free from blame."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"If it be so,&mdash;Arjuna hear!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arjuna and the youth were dumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"For thy sake, loud I ask and clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give me, O youth, thy right-hand thumb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I promised in my faithfulness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No equal ever shall there be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thee, Arjuna,&mdash;and I press<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For this sad recompense&mdash;for thee."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Glanced the sharp knife one moment high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The severed thumb was on the sod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was no tear in Buttoo's eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He left the matter with his God.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"For this,"&mdash;said Dronacharjya,&mdash;"Fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall sound thy praise from sea to sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And men shall ever link thy name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Self-help, Truth, and Modesty."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VII.</h2>
+
+<h2>SINDHU.</h2>
+
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Part I.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Deep in the forest shades there dwelt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A <i>Muni</i> and his wife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blind, gray-haired, weak, they hourly felt<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their slender hold on life.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No friends had they, no help or stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Except an only boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bright-eyed child, his laughter gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their leaf-hut filled with joy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Attentive, duteous, loving, kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thoughtful, sedate, and calm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He waited on his parents blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose days were like a psalm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He roamed the woods for luscious fruits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He brought them water pure,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He cooked their simple mess of roots,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Content to live obscure.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To fretful questions, answers mild<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He meekly ever gave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If they reproved, he only smiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He loved to be their slave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not that to him they were austere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But age is peevish still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear to their hearts he was,&mdash;so dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That none his place might fill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They called him Sindhu, and his name<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was ever on their tongue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he, nor cared for wealth nor fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who dwelt his own among.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A belt of <i>Bela</i> trees hemmed round<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The cottage small and rude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If peace on earth was ever found<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twas in that solitude.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Part II.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Great Dasarath, the King of Oude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whom all men love and fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With elephants and horses proud<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Went forth to hunt the deer.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh gallant was the long array!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pennons and plumes were seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And swords that mirrored back the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And spears and axes keen.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rang trump, and conch, and piercing fife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Woke Echo from her bed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The solemn woods with sounds were rife<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As on the pageant sped.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hundreds, nay thousands, on they went!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The wild beasts fled away!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deer ran in herds, and wild boars spent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Became an easy prey.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whirring the peacocks from the brake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With Argus wings arose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild swans abandoned pool and lake<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For climes beyond the snows.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From tree to tree the monkeys sprung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unharmed and unpursued,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As louder still the trumpets rung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And startled all the wood.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The porcupines and such small game<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unnoted fled at will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The weasel only caught to tame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From fissures in the hill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Slunk light the tiger from the bank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But sudden turned to bay!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he beheld the serried rank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That barred his tangled way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Uprooting fig-trees on their path,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And trampling shrubs and flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild elephants, in fear and wrath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Burst through, like moving towers.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lowering their horns in crescents grim<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whene'er they turned about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Retreated into coverts dim<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bisons' fiercer rout.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And in this mimic game of war<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In bands dispersed and past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The royal train,&mdash;some near, some far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As day closed in at last.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where was the king? He left his friends<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At midday, it was known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now that evening fast descends<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where was he? All alone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Curving, the river formed a lake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon whose bank he stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No noise the silence there to break,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or mar the solitude.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Upon the glassy surface fell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The last beams of the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like fiery darts, that lengthening swell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As breezes wake and play.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Osiers and willows on the edge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And purple buds and red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leant down,&mdash;and 'mid the pale green sedge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lotus raised its head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And softly, softly, hour by hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Light faded, and a veil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fell over tree, and wave, and flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On came the twilight pale.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Deeper and deeper grew the shades,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stars glimmered in the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The nightingale along the glades<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Raised her preluding cry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What is that momentary flash?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A gleam of silver scales<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reveals the <i>Mahseer</i>;&mdash;then a splash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And calm again prevails.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As darkness settled like a pall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The eye would pierce in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fireflies gemmed the bushes all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like fiery drops of rain.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pleased with the scene,&mdash;and knowing not<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which way, alas! to go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The monarch lingered on the spot,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lake spread bright below.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He lingered, when&mdash;oh hark! oh hark<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What sound salutes his ear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A roebuck drinking in the dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not hunted, nor in fear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Straight to the stretch his bow he drew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That bow ne'er missed its aim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whizzing the deadly arrow flew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ear-guided, on the game!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah me! What means this?&mdash;Hark, a cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A feeble human wail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh God!" it said&mdash;"I die,&mdash;I die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who'll carry home the pail?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Startled, the monarch forward ran,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then there met his view<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sight to freeze in any man<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The warm blood coursing true.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A child lay dying on the grass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A pitcher by his side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor Sindhu was the child, alas!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His parents' stay and pride.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His bow and quiver down to fling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lift the wounded boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A moment's work was with the king.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not dead,&mdash;that was a joy!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He placed the child's head on his lap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And ranged the blinding hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blood welled fearful from the gap<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On neck and bosom fair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He dashed cold water on the face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He chafed the hands, with sighs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till sense revived, and he could trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Expression in the eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then mingled with his pity, fear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In all this universe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What is so dreadful as to hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A Bramin's dying curse!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So thought the king, and on his brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The beads of anguish spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Sindhu, fully conscious now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The anguish plainly read.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What dost thou fear, O mighty king?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For sure a king thou art!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why should thy bosom anguish wring?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No crime was in thine heart!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Unwittingly the deed was done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It is my destiny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O fear not thou, but pity one<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose fate is thus to die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No curses, no!&mdash;I bear no grudge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not thou my blood hast spilt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lo! here before the unseen Judge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thee I absolve from guilt.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The iron, red-hot as it burns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Burns those that touch it too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not such my nature,&mdash;for it spurns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thank God, the like to do.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Because I suffer, should I give<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thee, king, a needless pain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, no! I die, but mayst thou live,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And cleansed from every stain!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Struck with these words, and doubly grieved<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At what his hands had done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The monarch wept, as weeps bereaved<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A man his only son.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Nay, weep not so," resumed the child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"But rather let me say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My own sad story, sin-defiled.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And why I die to day!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Picking a living in our sheaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And happy in their loves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Near, 'mid a peepul's quivering leaves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There lived a pair of doves.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Never were they two separate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lo, in idle mood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I took a sling and ball, elate<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In wicked sport and rude,&mdash;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And killed one bird,&mdash;it was the male,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh cruel deed and base!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The female gave a plaintive wail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And looked me in the face!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The wail and sad reproachful look<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In plain words seemed to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A widowed life I cannot brook,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The forfeit thou must pay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What was my darling's crime that thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Him wantonly shouldst kill?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The curse of blood is on thee now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blood calls for red blood still.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And so I die&mdash;a bloody death&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But not for this I mourn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feel the world pass with my breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I gladly could have borne,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But for my parents, who are blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And have no other stay,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This, this, weighs sore upon my mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fills me with dismay.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Upon the eleventh day of the moon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They keep a rigorous fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All yesterday they fasted; soon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For water and repast<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"They shall upon me feebly call!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, must they call in vain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bear thou the pitcher, friend&mdash;'tis all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I ask&mdash;down that steep lane."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He pointed,&mdash;ceased,&mdash;then sudden died!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The king took up the corpse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with the pitcher slowly hied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Attended by Remorse,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down the steep lane&mdash;unto the hut<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Girt round with <i>Bela</i> trees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gleamed far a light-the door not shut<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was open to the breeze.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Part III.</span></h3>
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh why does not our child return?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Too long he surely stays."&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus to the <i>Muni</i>, blind and stern,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His partner gently says.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"For fruits and water when he goes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He never stays so long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh can it be, beset by foes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He suffers cruel wrong?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Some distance he has gone, I fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A more circuitous round,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet why should he? The fruits are near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The river near our bound.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I die of thirst,&mdash;it matters not<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If Sindhu be but safe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if he leave us, and this spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Poor birds in cages chafe.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Peevish and fretful oft we are,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, no&mdash;that cannot be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of our blind eyes he is the star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Without him, what were we?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Too much he loves us to forsake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But something ominous,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here in my heart, a dreadful ache,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Says, he is gone from us.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Why do my bowels for him yearn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What ill has crossed his path?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blind, helpless, whither shall we turn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or how avert the wrath?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Lord of my soul&mdash;what means my pain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This horrid terror,&mdash;like<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some cloud that hides a hurricane;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hang not, O lightning,&mdash;strike!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus while she spake, the king drew near<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With haggard look and wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weighed down with grief, and pale with fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bearing the lifeless child.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rustled the dry leaves neath his foot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And made an eerie sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A neighbouring owl began to hoot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All else was still around.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At the first rustle of the leaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The <i>Muni</i> answered clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Lo, here he is&mdash;oh wherefore grieves<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy soul, my partner dear?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The words distinct, the monarch heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He could no further go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His nature to its depths was stirred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He stopped in speechless woe.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No steps advanced,&mdash;the sudden pause<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Attention quickly drew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rolled sightless orbs to learn the cause,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But, hark!&mdash;the steps renew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Where art thou, darling&mdash;why so long<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hast thou delayed to-night?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We die of thirst,&mdash;we are not strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This fasting kills outright.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Speak to us, dear one,&mdash;only speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And calm our idle fears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where hast thou been, and what to seek?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have pity on these tears."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With head bent low the monarch heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then came a cruel throb<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That tore his heart,&mdash;still not a word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Only a stifled sob!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It is not Sindhu&mdash;who art thou?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And where is Sindhu gone?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's blood upon thy hands&mdash;avow!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"There is."&mdash;"Speak on, speak on."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The dead child in their arms he placed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And briefly told his tale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The parents their dead child embraced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And kissed his forehead pale.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Our hearts are broken. Come, dear wife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On earth no more we dwell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now welcome Death, and farewell Life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thou, O king, farewell!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"We do not curse thee, God forbid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But to my inner eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The future is no longer hid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou too shalt like us die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Die&mdash;for a son's untimely loss!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Die&mdash;with a broken heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now help us to our bed of moss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And let us both depart."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Upon the moss he laid them down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And watched beside the bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death gently came and placed a crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon each reverend head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where the Sarayu's waves dash free<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Against a rocky bank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The monarch had the corpses three<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Conveyed by men of rank;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There honoured he with royal pomp<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their funeral obsequies,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Incense and sandal, drum and tromp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And solemn sacrifice.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What is the sequel of the tale?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How died the king?&mdash;Oh man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A prophet's words can never fail&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Go, read the Ramayan.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VIII.</h2>
+
+<h2>PREHLAD.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A terror both of gods and men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was Heerun Kasyapu, the king;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No bear more sullen in its den,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No tiger quicker at the spring.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In strength of limb he had not met,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since first his black flag he unfurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor in audacious courage, yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His equal in the wide, wide world.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The holy Veds he tore in shreds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Libations, sacrifices, rites,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He made all penal; and the heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Bramins slain, he flung to kites,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I hold the sceptre in my hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sit upon the ivory throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bow down to me&mdash;'tis my command,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And worship me, and me alone.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No god has ever me withstood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why raise ye altars?&mdash;cease your pains!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall protect you, give you food,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If ye obey,&mdash;or else the chains."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fled at such edicts, self-exiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Bramins and the pundits wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live thenceforth in forests wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or caves in hills that touch the skies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In secret there, they altars raised,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And made oblations due by fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their gods, their wonted gods, they praised,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest these should earth destroy in ire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They read the Veds, they prayed and mused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full well they knew that Time would bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For favours scorned, and gifts misused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Undreamt of changes on his wing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Time changes deserts bare to meads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fertile meads to deserts bare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cities to pools, and pools with reeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To towns and cities large and fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Time changes purple into rags,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rags to purple. Chime by chime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether it flies, or runs, or drags&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wise wait patiently on Time.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Time brought the tyrant children four,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rahd, Onoorahd, Prehlad, Sunghrad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who made his castle gray and hoar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once full of gloom, with sunshine glad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No boys were e'er more beautiful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No brothers e'er loved more each other,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sons were e'er more dutiful,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor ever kissed a fonder mother.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nor less beloved were they of him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who gave them birth, Kasyapu proud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But made by nature stern and grim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His love was covered by a cloud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From which it rarely e'er emerged,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To gladden these sweet human flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They grew apace, and now Time urged<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The education of their powers.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who should their teacher be? A man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the flatterers in the court<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was found, well-suited to the plan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tyrant had devised. Report<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gave him a wisdom owned by few,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And certainly to trim his sail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And veer his bark, none better knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before a changing adverse gale.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Sonda Marco,&mdash;such his name,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Took home the four fair boys to teach<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All knowledge that their years became,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Science, and war, and modes of speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he was told, if death he feared,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never to tell them of the soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of vows, and prayers, and rites revered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And of the gods who all control.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sciences the boys were taught<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They mastered with a quickness strange,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Prehlad was the one for thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He soared above the lesson's range.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One day the tutor unseen heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The boy discuss forbidden themes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if his inmost heart were stirred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he of truth from heaven had gleams.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O Prince, what mean'st thou?" In his fright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The teacher thus in private said&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Talk on such subjects is not right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wouldst thou bring ruin on my head?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are no gods except the king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ruler of the world is he!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look up to him, and do not bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Destruction by a speech too free.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Be wary for thy own sake, child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If he should hear thee talking so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou shalt for ever be exiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I shall die, full well I know.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Worthy of worship, honour, praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is thy great father. Things unseen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What <i>are</i> they?&mdash;Themes of poets' lays!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They <i>are</i> not and have never been."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Smiling, the boy, with folded hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sign of a submission meek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Answered his tutor. "Thy commands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are ever precious. Do not seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lay upon me what I feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would be unrighteous. Let me hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those inner voices that reveal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long vistas in another sphere.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The gods that rule the earth and sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I abjure them and adore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man? It may not, may not be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I should lie in pools of gore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My conscience I would hurt no more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I shall follow what my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tells me is right, so I implore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My purpose fixed no longer thwart.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The coward calls black white, white black,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At bidding, or in fear of death;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such suppleness, thank God, I lack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To die is but to lose my breath.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is death annihilation? No.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">New worlds will open on my view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When persecuted hence I go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The right is right,&mdash;the true is true."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All's over now, the teacher thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now let this reach the monarch's ear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And instant death shall be my lot.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They parted, he in abject fear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soon he heard a choral song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sung by young voices in the praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of gods unseen, who right all wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rule the worlds from primal days.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What progress have thy charges made?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let them be called, that I may see."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Sonda Marco brought as bade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His pupils to the royal knee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three passed the monarch's test severe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fourth remained: then spake the king,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Now, Prehlad, with attention hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know thou hast the strongest wing!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What is the cream of knowledge, child,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which men take such great pains to learn?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With folded hands he answered mild:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Listen, O Sire! To speak I yearn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All sciences are nothing worth,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Astronomy that tracks the star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Geography that maps the earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Logic, and Politics, and War,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And Medicine, that strives to heal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But only aggravates disease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All, all are futile,&mdash;so I feel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For me, O father, none of these.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is true knowledge which can show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The glory of the living gods,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Divest of pride, make men below<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Humble and happy, though but clods.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"That is true knowledge which can make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Us mortals, saintlike, holy, pure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The strange thirst of the spirit slake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strengthen suffering to endure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is true knowledge which can change<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our very natures, with its glow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sciences whate'er their range<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feed but the flesh, and make a show."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Where hast thou learnt this nonsense, boy?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where live these gods believed so great?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can they like me thy life destroy?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have they such troops and royal state?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Above all gods is he who rules<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wide, wide earth, from sea to sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men, devils, gods,&mdash;yea, all but fools<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bow down in fear and worship me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And dares an atom from my loins<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against my kingly power rebel?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though heaven itself to aid him joins,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His end is death&mdash;the infidel!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I warn thee yet,&mdash;bow down, thou slave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And worship me, or thou shalt die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We'll see what gods descend to save&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What gods with me their strength will try!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus spake the monarch in his ire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One hand outstretched, in menace rude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And eyes like blazing coals of fire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Prehlad, in unruffled mood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Straight answered him; his head bent low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His palms joined meekly on his breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As ever, and his cheeks aglow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His rock-firm purpose to attest.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Let not my words, Sire, give offence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thee, and to my mother, both<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I give as due all reverence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to obey thee am not loth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But higher duties sometimes clash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lower,&mdash;then these last must go,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or there will come a fearful crash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In lamentation, fear, and woe!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The gods who made us are the life<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of living creatures, small and great;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We see them not, but space is rife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With their bright presence and their state.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They are the parents of us all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis they create, sustain, redeem,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven, earth and hell, they hold in thrall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shall we these high gods blaspheme?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Blest is the man whose heart obeys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And makes their law of life his guide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He shall be led in all his ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His footsteps shall not ever slide;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In forests dim, on raging seas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In certain peace shall he abide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What though he all the world displease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His gods shall all his wants provide!"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Cease, babbler! 'tis enough! I know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy proud, rebellious nature well.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ho! Captain of our lifeguards, ho!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take down this lad to dungeon-cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bid the executioner wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our orders." All unmoved and calm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He went, as reckless of his fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Erect and stately as a palm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hushed was the hall, as down he past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No breath, no whisper, not a sign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through ranks of courtiers, all aghast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like beaten hounds that dare not whine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Outside the door, the Captain spoke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Recant," he said beneath his breath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The lion's anger to provoke<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is death, O prince, is certain death."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Thanks," said the prince,&mdash;"I have revolved<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The question in my mind with care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do what you will,&mdash;I am resolved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To do the right, all deaths I dare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gods, perhaps, may please to spare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My tender years; if not,&mdash;why, still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never shall my faith forswear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can but say, be done their will."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whether in pity for the youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The headsman would not rightly ply<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The weapon, or the gods in truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had ordered that he should not die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soon to the king there came report<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sword would not destroy his son,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The council held thereon was short,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The king's look frightened every one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"There is a spell against cold steel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which known, the steel can work no harm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some sycophant with baneful zeal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath taught this foolish boy the charm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It would be wise, O king, to deal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some other way, or else I fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much damage to the common weal."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus spake the wily-tongued vizier.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dark frowned the king.&mdash;"Enough of this,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death, instant death, is my command!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go throw him down some precipice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or bury him alive in sand."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With terror dumb, from that wide hall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Departed all the courtier band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not one man amongst them all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dared raise against the prince his hand.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now vague rumours ran around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men talked of them with bated breath:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The river has a depth profound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The elephants trample down to death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poisons kill, the firebrands burn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had every means in turn been tried?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some said they had,&mdash;but soon they learn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The brave young prince had not yet died.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For once more in the Council-Hall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had been cited to appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas open to the public all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the people came in fear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Banners were hung along the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The King sat on his peacock throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now the hoary Marechal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brings in the youth,&mdash;bare skin and bone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Who shall protect thee, Prehlad, now?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against steel, poison, water, fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art protected, men avow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who treason, if but bold, admire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In our own presence thou art brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we and all may know the truth&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where are thy gods?&mdash;I long have sought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But never found them, hapless youth.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Will they come down, to prove their strength?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will they come down, to rescue thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let them come down, for once, at length,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come one, or all, to fight with me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where are thy gods? Or are they dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or do they hide in craven fear?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There lies my gage. None ever said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hide from any,&mdash;far or near."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"My gracious Liege, my Sire, my King!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If thou indeed wouldst deign to hear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In humble mood, my words would spring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a pellucid fountain clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I have in my dungeon dark<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Learnt more of truth than e'er I knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is one God&mdash;One only,&mdash;mark!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Him is all our service due.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Hath He a shape, or hath He none?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know not this, nor care to know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dwelling in light, to which the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is darkness,&mdash;He sees all below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Himself unseen! In Him I trust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He can protect me if He will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if this body turn to dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He can new life again instil.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I fear not fire, I fear not sword,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All dangers, father, I can dare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone, I can confront a horde,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For oh! my God is everywhere!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"What! everywhere? Then in this hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in this crystal pillar bright?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now tell me plain, before us all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is He herein, thy God of light?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The monarch placed his steel-gloved hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon a crystal pillar near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In mockful jest was his demand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The answer came, low, serious, clear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Yes, father, God is even here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if He choose this very hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can strike us dead, with ghastly fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vindicate His name and power."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Where is this God? Now let us see."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He spumed the pillar with his foot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down, down it tumbled, like a tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Severed by axes from the root,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And from within, with horrid clang<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That froze the blood in every vein,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A stately sable warrior sprang,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like some phantasma of the brain.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He had a lion head and eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A human body, feet and hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Colossal,&mdash;such strange shapes arise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In clouds, when Autumn rules the lands!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gave a shout;&mdash;the boldest quailed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then struck the tyrant on the helm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ripped him down; and last, he hailed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prehlad as king of all the realm!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A thunder clap&mdash;the shape was gone!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One king lay stiff, and stark, and dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another on the peacock throne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bowed reverently his youthful head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loud rang the trumpets; louder still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sovereign people's wild acclaim.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The echoes ran from hill to hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Kings rule for us and in our name."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tyrants of every age and clime<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remember this,&mdash;that awful shape<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall startle you when comes the time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And send its voice from cape to cape.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As human, peoples suffer pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oh, the lion strength is theirs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Woe to the king when galls the chain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Woe, woe, their fury when he dares!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IX.</h2>
+
+<h2>S&Icirc;TA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Three happy children in a darkened room!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What do they gaze on with wide-open eyes?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dense, dense forest, where no sunbeam pries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in its centre a cleared spot.&mdash;There bloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gigantic flowers on creepers that embrace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tall trees; there, in a quiet lucid lake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The white swans glide; there, "whirring from the brake,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peacock springs; there, herds of wild deer race;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, patches gleam with yellow waving grain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, blue smoke from strange altars rises light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, dwells in peace, the poet-anchorite.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But who is this fair lady? Not in vain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She weeps,&mdash;for lo! at every tear she sheds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tears from three pairs of young eyes fall amain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bowed in sorrow are the three young heads.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is an old, old story, and the lay<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Which has evoked sad S&icirc;ta from the past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is by a mother sung.... 'Tis hushed at last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And melts the picture from their sight away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet shall they dream of it until the day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When shall those children by their mother's side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gather, ah me! as erst at eventide?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NEAR HASTINGS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 18em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Near Hastings, on the shingle-beach,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We loitered at the time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When ripens on the wall the peach,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The autumn's lovely prime.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far off,&mdash;the sea and sky seemed blent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The day was wholly done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The distant town its murmurs sent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strangers,&mdash;we were alone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We wandered slow; sick, weary, faint,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then one of us sat down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No nature hers, to make complaint;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The shadows deepened brown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lady past,&mdash;she was not young,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But oh! her gentle face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No painter-poet ever sung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or saw such saintlike grace.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She past us,&mdash;then she came again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Observing at a glance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That we were strangers; one, in pain,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then asked,&mdash;Were we from France?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We talked awhile,&mdash;some roses red<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That seemed as wet with tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She gave my sister, and she said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"God bless you both, my dears!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet were the roses,&mdash;sweet and full,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And large as lotus flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in our own wide tanks we cull<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To deck our Indian bowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But sweeter was the love that gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those flowers to one unknown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think that He who came to save<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gift a debt will own.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The lady's name I do not know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her face no more may see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But yet, oh yet I love her so!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blest, happy, may she be!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her memory will not depart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though grief my years should shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still bloom her roses in my heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they shall never fade!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+<h2>FRANCE.</h2>
+
+<h2>1870.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not dead,&mdash;oh no,&mdash;she cannot die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Only a swoon, from loss of blood!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Levite England passes her by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Help, Samaritan! None is nigh;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who shall stanch me this sanguine flood?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Range the brown hair, it blinds her eyne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dash cold water over her face!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drowned in her blood, she makes no sign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give her a draught of generous wine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">None heed, none hear, to do this grace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Head of the human column, thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ever in swoon wilt thou remain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thought, Freedom, Truth, quenched ominous,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence then shall Hope arise for us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Plunged in the darkness all again!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, she stirs!&mdash;There's a fire in her glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ware, oh ware of that broken sword!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What, dare ye for an hour's mischance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gather around her, jeering France,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Attila's own exultant horde?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lo, she stands up,&mdash;stands up e'en now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strong once more for the battle-fray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gleams bright the star, that from her brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lightens the world. Bow, nations, bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let her again lead on the way!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE TREE OF LIFE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My hand was in my father's, and I felt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His presence near me. Thus we often past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In silence, hour by hour. What was the need<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of interchanging words when every thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in our hearts arose, was known to each,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every pulse kept time? Suddenly there shone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A strange light, and the scene as sudden changed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was awake:&mdash;It was an open plain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Illimitable,&mdash;stretching, stretching&mdash;oh, so far!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And o'er it that strange light,&mdash;a glorious light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like that the stars shed over fields of snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a clear, cloudless, frosty winter night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only intenser in its brilliance calm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the midst of that vast plain, I saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I was wide awake,&mdash;it was no dream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tree with spreading branches and with leaves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of divers kinds,&mdash;dead silver and live gold,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Shimmering in radiance that no words may tell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beside the tree an Angel stood; he plucked<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A few small sprays, and bound them round my head.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, the delicious touch of those strange leaves!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No longer throbbed my brows, no more I felt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fever in my limbs&mdash;"And oh," I cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Bind too my father's forehead with these leaves."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One leaf the Angel took and therewith touched<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His forehead, and then gently whispered "Nay!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never, oh never had I seen a face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More beautiful than that Angel's, or more full<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of holy pity and of love divine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wondering I looked awhile,&mdash;then, all at once<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Opened my tear-dimmed eyes&mdash;When lo! the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was gone&mdash;the light as of the stars when snow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lies deep upon the ground. No more, no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was seen the Angel's face. I only found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My father watching patient by my bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And holding in his own, close-prest, my hand.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ON THE FLY-LEAF OF ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN'S<br />NOVEL ENTITLED
+"MADAME TH&Eacute;R&Egrave;SE."</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 20em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wavered the foremost soldiers,&mdash;then fell back.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fallen was their leader, and loomed right before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sullen Prussian cannon, grim and black,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lighted matches waving. Now, once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Patriots and veterans!&mdash;Ah! 'Tis in vain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back they recoil, though bravest of the brave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No human troops may stand that murderous rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But who is this&mdash;that rushes to a grave?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is a woman,&mdash;slender, tall, and brown!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She snatches up the standard as it falls,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In her hot haste tumbles her dark hair down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the drummer-boy aloud she calls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To beat the charge; then forwards on the <i>pont</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They dash together;&mdash;who could bear to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman and a child, thus Death confront,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor burn to follow them to victory?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I read the story and my heart beats fast!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well might all Europe quail before thee, France,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Battling against oppression! Years have past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet of that time men speak with moistened glance.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Va-nu-pieds!</i> When rose high your Marseillaise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Man knew his rights to earth's remotest bound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tyrants trembled. Yours alone the praise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah, had a Washington but then been found!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SONNET.&mdash;BAUGMAREE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A sea of foliage girds our garden round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But not a sea of dull unvaried green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The light-green graceful tamarinds abound<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Red,&mdash;red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into a cup of silver. One might swoon<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">On a primeval Eden, in amaze.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SONNET.&mdash;THE LOTUS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love came to Flora asking for a flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That would of flowers be undisputed queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The lily and the rose, long, long had been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rivals for that high honour. Bards of power<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had sung their claims. "The rose can never tower<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like the pale lily with her Juno mien"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"But is the lily lovelier?" Thus between<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche's bower.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Give me a flower delicious as the rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And stately as the lily in her pride"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"But of what colour?"&mdash;"Rose-red," Love first chose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then prayed,&mdash;"No, lily-white,&mdash;or, both provide;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Flora gave the lotus, "rose-red" dyed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And "lily-white,"&mdash;the queenliest flower that blows.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p>
+<h2>OUR CASUARINA TREE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="cpoem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like a huge Python, winding round and round<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Up to its very summit near the stars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No other tree could live. But gallantly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In crimson clusters all the boughs among,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oft at nights the garden overflows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With one sweet song that seems to have no close,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When first my casement is wide open thrown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sometimes, and most in winter,&mdash;on its crest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A grey baboon sits statue-like alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His puny offspring leap about and play;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And far and near kokilas hail the day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But not because of its magnificence<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dear is the Casuarina to my soul:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O sweet companions, loved with love intense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blent with your images, it shall arise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is the tree's lament, an eerie speech,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That haply to the unknown land may reach.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the waves gently kissed the classic shore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">When earth lay tranc&egrave;d in a dreamless swoon:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And every time the music rose,&mdash;before<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unto thy honour, Tree, beloved of those<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dearer than life to me, alas! were they!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mayst thou be numbered when my days are done<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With deathless trees&mdash;like those in Borrowdale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under whose awful branches lingered pale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Time the shadow;" and though weak the verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May Love defend thee from Oblivion's curse.<br /></span>
+</div></div></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p class="center"><small>CHISWICK PRESS:<br />
+C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT,<br />
+CHANCERY LANE.</small></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="trans1"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b>
+Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+Archaic spellings have been retained. Punctuation has been normalised.</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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+Project Gutenberg's Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan, by Toru Dutt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan
+
+Author: Toru Dutt
+
+Contributor: Edmund Gosse
+
+Release Date: October 29, 2007 [EBook #23245]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT BALLADS AND LEGENDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+              _ANCIENT BALLADS
+                  AND LEGENDS
+                     OF HINDUSTAN_
+
+                        BY
+
+                     TORU DUTT
+
+ AUTHOR OF "A SHEAF GLEANED IN FRENCH FIELDS," AND
+      "LE JOURNAL DE MADEMOISELLE D'ARVERS."
+
+
+            WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR
+                  BY EDMUND GOSSE.
+
+                  [Illustration]
+
+
+                      LONDON
+             KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO.
+                    MDCCCLXXXV
+
+
+
+
+    "I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not
+    my heart moved, more than with a trumpet: and yet it is sung but by
+    some blinde crowder, with no rougher voice, than rude style."
+
+                                                    SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic
+    spellings have been retained. Punctuation has been normalised. The
+    oe ligature has been transcribed as [oe].
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                             Page
+
+    I. Savitri                                  1
+   II. Lakshman                                46
+  III. Jogadhya Uma                            54
+   IV. The Royal Ascetic and the Hind          65
+    V. Dhruva                                  71
+   VI. Buttoo                                  77
+  VII. Sindhu                                  89
+ VIII. Prehlad                                107
+   IX. Sita                                   122
+
+
+ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
+
+ Near Hastings                                127
+ France--1870                                 129
+ The Tree of Life                             131
+ On the Fly Leaf of Erckmann-Chatrian's
+    novel entitled _Madame Therese_           133
+ Sonnet--Baugmaree                            135
+ Sonnet--The Lotus                            136
+ Our Casuarina Tree                           137
+
+
+
+
+TORU DUTT.
+
+INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR.
+
+
+If Toru Dutt were alive, she would still be younger than any recognized
+European writer, and yet her fame, which is already considerable, has
+been entirely posthumous. Within the brief space of four years which now
+divides us from the date of her decease, her genius has been revealed to
+the world under many phases, and has been recognized throughout France
+and England. Her name, at least, is no longer unfamiliar in the ear of
+any well-read man or woman. But at the hour of her death she had
+published but one book, and that book had found but two reviewers in
+Europe. One of these, M. Andre Theuriet, the well-known poet and
+novelist, gave the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" adequate praise in
+the "Revue des Deux Mondes;" but the other, the writer of the present
+notice, has a melancholy satisfaction in having been a little earlier
+still in sounding the only note of welcome which reached the dying
+poetess from England. It was while Professor W. Minto was editor of the
+"Examiner," that one day in August, 1876, in the very heart of the dead
+season for books, I happened to be in the office of that newspaper, and
+was upbraiding the whole body of publishers for issuing no books worth
+reviewing. At that moment the postman brought in a thin and sallow
+packet with a wonderful Indian postmark on it, and containing a most
+unattractive orange pamphlet of verse, printed at Bhowanipore, and
+entitled "A Sheaf gleaned in French Fields, by Toru Dutt." This shabby
+little book of some two hundred pages, without preface or introduction,
+seemed specially destined by its particular providence to find its way
+hastily into the waste-paper basket. I remember that Mr. Minto thrust it
+into my unwilling hands, and said "There! see whether you can't make
+something of that." A hopeless volume it seemed, with its queer type,
+published at Bhowanipore, printed at the Saptahiksambad Press! But when
+at last I took it out of my pocket, what was my surprise and almost
+rapture to open at such verse as this:--
+
+    Still barred thy doors! The far east glows,
+      The morning wind blows fresh and free
+    Should not the hour that wakes the rose
+              Awaken also thee?
+
+    All look for thee, Love, Light, and Song,
+      Light in the sky deep red above,
+    Song, in the lark of pinions strong,
+              And in my heart, true Love.
+
+    Apart we miss our nature's goal,
+      Why strive to cheat our destinies?
+    Was not my love made for thy soul?
+      Thy beauty for mine eyes?
+            No longer sleep,
+              Oh, listen now!
+            I wait and weep,
+              But where art thou?
+
+When poetry is as good as this it does not much matter whether Rouveyre
+prints it upon Whatman paper, or whether it steals to light in blurred
+type from some press in Bhowanipore.
+
+Toru Dutt was the youngest of the three children of a high-caste Hindu
+couple in Bengal. Her father, who survives them all, the Baboo Govin
+Chunder Dutt, is himself distinguished among his countrymen for the
+width of his views and the vigour of his intelligence. His only son,
+Abju, died in 1865, at the age of fourteen, and left his two younger
+sisters to console their parents. Aru, the elder daughter, born in 1854,
+was eighteen months senior to Toru, the subject of this memoir, who was
+born in Calcutta on the 4th of March, 1856. With the exception of one
+year's visit to Bombay, the childhood of these girls was spent in
+Calcutta, at their father's garden-house. In a poem now printed for the
+first time, Toru refers to the scene of her earliest memories, the
+circling wilderness of foliage, the shining tank with the round leaves
+of the lilies, the murmuring dusk under the vast branches of the central
+casuarina-tree. Here, in a mystical retirement more irksome to an
+European in fancy than to an Oriental in reality, the brain of this
+wonderful child was moulded. She was pure Hindu, full of the typical
+qualities of her race and blood, and, as the present volume shows us for
+the first time, preserving to the last her appreciation of the poetic
+side of her ancient religion, though faith itself in Vishnu and Siva had
+been cast aside with childish things and been replaced by a purer
+faith. Her mother fed her imagination with the old songs and legends of
+their people, stories which it was the last labour of her life to weave
+into English verse; but it would seem that the marvellous faculties of
+Toru's mind still slumbered, when, in her thirteenth year, her father
+decided to take his daughters to Europe to learn English and French. To
+the end of her days Toru was a better French than English scholar. She
+loved France best, she knew its literature best, she wrote its language
+with more perfect elegance. The Dutts arrived in Europe at the close of
+1869, and the girls went to school, for the first and last time, at a
+French pension. They did not remain there very many months; their father
+took them to Italy and England with him, and finally they attended for a
+short time, but with great zeal and application, the lectures for women
+at Cambridge. In November, 1873, they went back again to Bengal, and
+the four remaining years of Toru's life were spent in the old
+garden-house at Calcutta, in a feverish dream of intellectual effort and
+imaginative production. When we consider what she achieved in these
+forty-five months of seclusion, it is impossible to wonder that the
+frail and hectic body succumbed under so excessive a strain.
+
+She brought with her from Europe a store of knowledge that would have
+sufficed to make an English or French girl seem learned, but which in
+her case was simply miraculous. Immediately on her return she began to
+study Sanskrit with the same intense application which she gave to all
+her work, and mastering the language with extraordinary swiftness, she
+plunged into its mysterious literature. But she was born to write, and
+despairing of an audience in her own language, she began to adopt ours
+as a medium for her thought. Her first essay, published when she was
+eighteen, was a monograph, in the "Bengal Magazine," on Leconte de
+Lisle, a writer with whom she had a sympathy which is very easy to
+comprehend. The austere poet of "La Mort de Valmiki" was, obviously, a
+figure to whom the poet of "Sindhu" must needs be attracted on
+approaching European literature. This study, which was illustrated by
+translations into English verse, was followed by another on Josephin
+Soulary, in whom she saw more than her maturer judgment might have
+justified. There is something very interesting and now, alas! still more
+pathetic in these sturdy and workmanlike essays in unaided criticism.
+Still more solitary her work became, in July, 1874, when her only
+sister, Aru, died, at the age of twenty. She seems to have been no less
+amiable than her sister, and if gifted with less originality and a less
+forcible ambition, to have been finely accomplished. Both sisters were
+well-trained musicians, with full contralto voices, and Aru had a
+faculty for design which promised well. The romance of "Mlle. D'Arvers"
+was originally projected for Aru to illustrate, but no page of this book
+did Aru ever see.
+
+In 1876, as we have said, appeared that obscure first volume at
+Bhowanipore. The "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" is certainly the most
+imperfect of Toru's writings, but it is not the least interesting. It is
+a wonderful mixture of strength and weakness, of genius overriding great
+obstacles and of talent succumbing to ignorance and inexperience. That
+it should have been performed at all is so extraordinary that we forget
+to be surprised at its inequality. The English verse is sometimes
+exquisite; at other times the rules of our prosody are absolutely
+ignored, and it is obvious that the Hindu poetess was chanting to
+herself a music that is discord in an English ear. The notes are no
+less curious, and to a stranger no less bewildering. Nothing could be
+more naive than the writer's ignorance at some points, or more startling
+than her learning at others. On the whole, the attainment of the book
+was simply astounding. It consisted of a selection of translations from
+nearly one hundred French poets, chosen by the poetess herself on a
+principle of her own which gradually dawned upon the careful reader. She
+eschewed the Classicist writers as though they had never existed. For
+her Andre Chenier was the next name in chronological order after Du
+Bartas. Occasionally she showed a profundity of research that would have
+done no discredit to Mr. Saintsbury or "le doux Assellineau." She was
+ready to pronounce an opinion on Napol le Pyrenean or to detect a
+plagiarism in Baudelaire. But she thought that Alexander Smith was still
+alive, and she was curiously vague about the career of Saint Beuve.
+This inequality of equipment was a thing inevitable to her isolation,
+and hardly worth recording, except to show how laborious her mind was,
+and how quick to make the best of small resources.
+
+We have already seen that the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" attracted
+the very minimum of attention in England. In France it was talked about
+a little more. M. Garcin de Tassy, the famous Orientalist, who scarcely
+survived Toru by twelve months, spoke of it to Mlle. Clarisse Bader,
+author of a somewhat remarkable book on the position of women in ancient
+Indian society. Almost simultaneously this volume fell into the hands of
+Toru, and she was moved to translate it into English, for the use of
+Hindus less instructed than herself. In January, 1877, she accordingly
+wrote to Mlle. Bader requesting her authorization, and received a prompt
+and kind reply. On the 18th of March Toru wrote again to this, her
+solitary correspondent in the world of European literature, and her
+letter, which has been preserved, shows that she had already descended
+into the valley of the shadow of death:--
+
+    Ma constitution n'est pas forte; j'ai contracte une toux opiniatre,
+    il y a plus de deux ans, qui ne me quitte point. Cependant j'espere
+    mettre la main a l'[oe]uvre bientot. Je ne peux dire, mademoiselle,
+    combien votre affection,--car vous les aimez, votre livre et votre
+    lettre en temoignent assez,--pour mes compatriotes et mon pays me
+    touche; et je suis fiere de pouvoir le dire que les heroines de nos
+    grandes epopees sont dignes de tout honneur et de tout amour. Y
+    a-ti-il d'heroine plus touchante, plus aimable que Sita? Je ne le
+    crois pas. _Quand j'entends ma mere chanter, le soir, les vieux
+    chants de notre pays, je pleure presque toujours._ La plainte de
+    Sita, quand, bannie pour la seconde fois, elle erre dans la vaste
+    foret, seule, le desespoir et l'effroi dans l'ame, est si pathetique
+    qu'il n'y a personne, je crois, qui puisse l'entendre sans verser
+    des larmes. Je vous envois sous ce pli deux petites traductions du
+    Sanscrit, cette belle langue antique. Malheureusement j'ai ete
+    obligee de faire cesser mes traductions de Sanscrit, il y a six
+    mois. Ma sante ne me permet pas de les continuer.
+
+These simple and pathetic words, in which the dying poetess pours out
+her heart to the one friend she had, and that one gained too late, seem
+as touching and as beautiful as any strain of Marceline Valmore's
+immortal verse. In English poetry I do not remember anything that
+exactly parallels their resigned melancholy. Before the month of March
+was over, Toru had taken to her bed. Unable to write, she continued to
+read, strewing her sick-room with the latest European books, and
+entering with interest into the questions raised by the Societe
+Asiatique of Paris in its printed Transactions. On the 30th of July she
+wrote her last letter to Mlle. Clarisse Bader, and a month later, on the
+30th of August, 1877, at the age of twenty-one years, six months, and
+twenty-six days, she breathed her last in her father's house in
+Maniktollah Street, Calcutta.
+
+In the first distraction of grief it seemed as though her unequalled
+promise had been entirely blighted, and as though she would be
+remembered only by her single book. But as her father examined her
+papers, one completed work after another revealed itself. First a
+selection from the sonnets of the Comte de Grammont, translated into
+English, turned up, and was printed in a Calcutta magazine; then some
+fragments of an English story, which were printed in another Calcutta
+magazine. Much more important, however, than any of these was a complete
+romance, written in French, being the identical story for which her
+sister Aru had proposed to make the illustrations. In the meantime Toru
+was no sooner dead than she began to be famous. In May, 1878, there
+appeared a second edition of the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields," with
+a touching sketch of her death, by her father; and in 1879 was
+published, under the editorial care of Mlle. Clarisse Bader, the romance
+of "Le Journal de Mlle. D'Arvers," forming a handsome volume of 259
+pages. This book, begun, as it appears, before the family returned from
+Europe, and finished nobody knows when, is an attempt to describe scenes
+from modern French society, but it is less interesting as an experiment
+of the fancy, than as a revelation of the mind of a young Hindu woman of
+genius. The story is simple, clearly told, and interesting; the studies
+of character have nothing French about them, but they are full of vigour
+and originality. The description of the hero is most characteristically
+Indian.--
+
+    Il est beau en effet. Sa taille est haute, mais quelques-uns la
+    trouveraient mince, sa chevelure noire est bouclee et tombe jusqu'a
+    la nuque; ses yeux noirs sont profonds et bien fendus, le front est
+    noble; la levre superieure, couverte par une moustache naissante et
+    noire, est parfaitement modelee; son menton a quelque chose de
+    severe; son teint est d'un blanc presque feminin, ce qui denote sa
+    haute naissance.
+
+In this description we seem to recognize some Surya or Soma of Hindu
+mythology, and the final touch, meaningless as applied to an European,
+reminds us that in India whiteness of skin has always been a sign of
+aristocratic birth, from the days when it originally distinguished the
+conquering Aryas from the indigenous race of the Dasyous.
+
+As a literary composition "Mlle. D'Arvers" deserves high commendation.
+It deals with the ungovernable passion of two brothers for one placid
+and beautiful girl, a passion which leads to fratricide and madness.
+That it is a very melancholy and tragical story is obvious from this
+brief sketch of its contents, but it is remarkable for coherence and
+self-restraint no less than for vigour of treatment. Toru Dutt never
+sinks to melodrama in the course of her extraordinary tale, and the
+wonder is that she is not more often fantastic and unreal.
+
+But we believe that the original English poems, which we present to the
+public for the first time to-day, will be ultimately found to
+constitute Toru's chief legacy to posterity. These ballads form the last
+and most matured of her writings, and were left so far fragmentary at
+her death that the fourth and fifth in her projected series of nine were
+not to be discovered in any form among her papers. It is probable that
+she had not even commenced them. Her father, therefore, to give a
+certain continuity to the series, has filled up these blanks with two
+stories from the "Vishnupurana," which originally appeared respectively
+in the "Calcutta Review" and in the "Bengal Magazine." These are
+interesting, but a little rude in form, and they have not the same
+peculiar value as the rhymed octo-syllabic ballads. In these last we see
+Toru no longer attempting vainly, though heroically, to compete with
+European literature on its own ground, but turning to the legends of her
+own race and country for inspiration. No modern Oriental has given us
+so strange an insight into the conscience of the Asiatic as is presented
+in the stories of "Prehlad" and of "Savitri," or so quaint a piece of
+religious fancy as the ballad of "Jogadhya Uma." The poetess seems in
+these verses to be chanting to herself those songs of her mother's race
+to which she always turned with tears of pleasure. They breathe a Vedic
+solemnity and simplicity of temper, and are singularly devoid of that
+littleness and frivolity which seem, if we may judge by a slight
+experience, to be the bane of modern India.
+
+As to the merely technical character of these poems, it may be suggested
+that in spite of much in them that is rough and inchoate, they show that
+Toru was advancing in her mastery of English verse. Such a stanza as
+this, selected out of many no less skilful, could hardly be recognized
+as the work of one by whom the language was a late acquirement:--
+
+    What glorious trees! The sombre saul,
+      On which the eye delights to rest,--
+    The betel-nut, a pillar tall,
+      With feathery branches for a crest,--
+    The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide,--
+      The pale faint-scented bitter neem,
+    The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,
+      With flowers that have the ruby's gleam.
+
+In other passages, of course, the text reads like a translation from
+some stirring ballad, and we feel that it gives but a faint and
+discordant echo of the music welling in Toru's brain. For it must
+frankly be confessed that in the brief May-day of her existence she had
+not time to master our language as Blanco White did, or as Chamisso
+mastered German. To the end of her days, fluent and graceful as she was,
+she was not entirely conversant with English, especially with the
+colloquial turns of modern speech. Often a very fine thought is spoiled
+for hypercritical ears by the queer turn of expression which she has
+innocently given to it. These faults are found to a much smaller degree
+in her miscellaneous poems. Her sonnets, here printed for the first
+time, seem to me to be of great beauty, and her longer piece entitled
+"Our Casuarina Tree," needs no apology for its rich and mellifluous
+numbers.
+
+It is difficult to exaggerate when we try to estimate what we have lost
+in the premature death of Toru Dutt. Literature has no honours which
+need have been beyond the grasp of a girl who at the age of twenty-one,
+and in languages separated from her own by so deep a chasm, had produced
+so much of lasting worth. And her courage and fortitude were worthy of
+her intelligence. Among "last words" of celebrated people, that which
+her father has recorded, "It is only the physical pain that makes me
+cry," is not the least remarkable, or the least significant of strong
+character. It was to a native of our island, and to one ten years senior
+to Toru, to whom it was said, in words more appropriate, surely, to her
+than to Oldham,
+
+    Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime,
+    Still showed a quickness, and maturing time
+    But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of Rime.
+
+That mellow sweetness was all that Toru lacked to perfect her as an
+English poet, and of no other Oriental who has ever lived can the same
+be said. When the history of the literature of our country comes to be
+written, there is sure to be a page in it dedicated to this fragile
+exotic blossom of song.
+
+                                                      EDMUND W. GOSSE.
+ 1881.
+
+
+
+
+ANCIENT BALLADS OF HINDUSTAN.
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+SAVITRI.
+
+
+PART I.
+
+    Savitri was the only child
+      Of Madra's wise and mighty king;
+    Stern warriors, when they saw her, smiled,
+      As mountains smile to see the spring.
+    Fair as a lotus when the moon
+      Kisses its opening petals red,
+    After sweet showers in sultry June!
+      With happier heart, and lighter tread,
+    Chance strangers, having met her, past,
+      And often would they turn the head
+    A lingering second look to cast,
+      And bless the vision ere it fled.
+
+    What was her own peculiar charm?
+      The soft black eyes, the raven hair,
+    The curving neck, the rounded arm,
+      All these are common everywhere.
+    Her charm was this--upon her face
+      Childlike and innocent and fair,
+    No man with thought impure or base
+      Could ever look;--the glory there,
+    The sweet simplicity and grace,
+      Abashed the boldest; but the good
+    God's purity there loved to trace,
+      Mirrored in dawning womanhood.
+
+    In those far-off primeval days
+      Fair India's daughters were not pent
+    In closed zenanas. On her ways
+      Savitri at her pleasure went
+    Whither she chose,--and hour by hour
+      With young companions of her age,
+    She roamed the woods for fruit or flower,
+      Or loitered in some hermitage,
+    For to the Munis gray and old
+      Her presence was as sunshine glad,
+    They taught her wonders manifold
+      And gave her of the best they had.
+
+    Her father let her have her way
+      In all things, whether high or low;
+    He feared no harm; he knew no ill
+      Could touch a nature pure as snow.
+    Long childless, as a priceless boon
+      He had obtained this child at last
+    By prayers, made morning, night, and noon
+      With many a vigil, many a fast;
+    Would Shiva his own gift recall,
+      Or mar its perfect beauty ever?--
+    No, he had faith,--he gave her all
+      She wished, and feared and doubted never.
+
+    And so she wandered where she pleased
+      In boyish freedom. Happy time!
+    No small vexations ever teased,
+      Nor crushing sorrows dimmed her prime.
+    One care alone, her father felt--
+      Where should he find a fitting mate
+    For one so pure?--His thoughts long dwelt
+      On this as with his queen he sate.
+    "Ah, whom, dear wife, should we select?"
+      "Leave it to God," she answering cried,
+    "Savitri, may herself elect
+      Some day, her future lord and guide."
+
+    Months passed, and lo, one summer morn
+      As to the hermitage she went
+    Through smiling fields of waving corn,
+      She saw some youths on sport intent,
+    Sons of the hermits, and their peers,
+      And one among them tall and lithe
+    Royal in port,--on whom the years
+      Consenting, shed a grace so blithe,
+    So frank and noble, that the eye
+      Was loth to quit that sun-browned face;
+    She looked and looked,--then gave a sigh,
+      And slackened suddenly her pace.
+
+    What was the meaning--was it love?
+      Love at first sight, as poets sing,
+    Is then no fiction? Heaven above
+      Is witness, that the heart its king
+    Finds often like a lightning flash;
+      We play,--we jest,--we have no care,--
+    When hark a step,--there comes no crash,--
+      But life, or silent slow despair.
+    Their eyes just met,--Savitri past
+      Into the friendly Muni's hut,
+    Her heart-rose opened had at last--
+      Opened no flower can ever shut.
+
+    In converse with the gray-haired sage
+      She learnt the story of the youth,
+    His name and place and parentage--
+      Of royal race he was in truth.
+    Satyavan was he hight,--his sire
+      Dyoumatsen had been Salva's king,
+    But old and blind, opponents dire
+      Had gathered round him in a ring
+    And snatched the sceptre from his hand;
+      Now,--with his queen and only son
+    He lived a hermit in the land,
+      And gentler hermit was there none.
+
+    With many tears was said and heard
+      The story,--and with praise sincere
+    Of Prince Satyavan; every word
+      Sent up a flush on cheek and ear,
+    Unnoticed. Hark! The bells remind
+      'Tis time to go,--she went away,
+    Leaving her virgin heart behind,
+      And richer for the loss. A ray,
+    Shot down from heaven, appeared to tinge
+      All objects with supernal light,
+    The thatches had a rainbow fringe,
+      The cornfields looked more green and bright.
+
+    Savitri's first care was to tell
+      Her mother all her feelings new;
+    The queen her own fears to dispel
+      To the king's private chamber flew.
+    "Now what is it, my gentle queen,
+      That makes thee hurry in this wise?"
+    She told him, smiles and tears between,
+      All she had heard; the king with sighs
+    Sadly replied:--"I fear me much!
+      Whence is his race and what his creed?
+    Not knowing aught, can we in such
+      A matter delicate, proceed?"
+
+    As if the king's doubts to allay,
+      Came Narad Muni to the place
+    A few days after. Old and gray,
+      All loved to see the gossip's face,
+    Great Brahma's son,--adored of men,
+      Long absent, doubly welcome he
+    Unto the monarch, hoping then
+      By his assistance, clear to see.
+    No god in heaven, nor king on earth,
+      But Narad knew his history,--
+    The sun's, the moon's, the planets' birth
+      Was not to him a mystery.
+
+    "Now welcome, welcome, dear old friend,
+      All hail, and welcome once again!"
+    The greeting had not reached its end,
+      When glided like a music-strain
+    Savitri's presence through the room.--
+      "And who is this bright creature, say,
+    Whose radiance lights the chamber's gloom--
+      Is she an Apsara or fay?"
+    "No son thy servant hath, alas!
+      This is my one,--my only child;"--
+    "And married?"--"No."--"The seasons pass,
+      Make haste, O king,"--he said, and smiled.
+
+    "That is the very theme, O sage,
+      In which thy wisdom ripe I need;
+    Seen hath she at the hermitage
+      A youth to whom in very deed
+    Her heart inclines."--"And who is he?"
+      "My daughter, tell his name and race,
+    Speak as to men who best love thee."
+      She turned to them her modest face,
+    And answered quietly and clear.--
+      "Ah, no! ah, no!--It cannot be--
+    Choose out another husband, dear,"--
+      The Muni cried,--"or woe is me!"
+
+    "And why should I? When I have given
+      My heart away, though but in thought,
+    Can I take back? Forbid it, Heaven!
+      It were a deadly sin, I wot.
+    And why should I? I know no crime
+      In him or his."--"Believe me, child,
+    My reasons shall be clear in time,
+      I speak not like a madman wild;
+    Trust me in this."--"I cannot break
+      A plighted faith,--I cannot bear
+    A wounded conscience."--"Oh, forsake
+      This fancy, hence may spring despair."--
+
+    "It may not be."--The father heard
+      By turns the speakers, and in doubt
+    Thus interposed a gentle word,--
+      "Friend should to friend his mind speak out,
+    Is he not worthy? tell us."--"Nay,
+      All worthiness is in Satyavan,
+    And no one can my praise gainsay:
+      Of solar race--more god than man!
+    Great Soorasen, his ancestor,
+      And Dyoumatsen his father blind
+    Are known to fame: I can aver
+      No kings have been so good and kind."
+
+    "Then where, O Muni, is the bar?
+      If wealth be gone, and kingdom lost,
+    His merit still remains a star,
+      Nor melts his lineage like the frost.
+    For riches, worldly power, or rank
+      I care not,--I would have my son
+    Pure, wise, and brave,--the Fates I thank
+      I see no hindrance, no, not one."
+    "Since thou insistest, King, to hear
+      The fatal truth,--I tell you,--I,
+    Upon this day as rounds the year
+      The young Prince Satyavan shall die."
+
+    This was enough. The monarch knew
+      The future was no sealed book
+    To Brahma's son. A clammy dew
+      Spread on his brow,--he gently took
+    Savitri's palm in his, and said:
+      "No child can give away her hand,
+    A pledge is nought unsanctioned;
+      And here, if right I understand,
+    There was no pledge at all,--a thought,
+      A shadow,--barely crossed the mind--
+    Unblamed, it may be clean forgot,
+      Before the gods it cannot bind.
+
+    "And think upon the dreadful curse
+      Of widowhood; the vigils, fasts,
+    And penances; no life is worse
+      Than hopeless life,--the while it lasts.
+    Day follows day in one long round,
+      Monotonous and blank and drear;
+    Less painful were it to be bound
+      On some bleak rock, for aye to hear--
+    Without one chance of getting free--
+      The ocean's melancholy voice!
+    Mine be the sin,--if sin there be,
+      But thou must make a different choice."
+
+    In the meek grace of virginhood
+      Unblanched her cheek, undimmed her eye,
+    Savitri, like a statue, stood,
+      Somewhat austere was her reply.
+    "Once, and once only, all submit
+      To Destiny,--'tis God's command;
+    Once, and once only, so 'tis writ,
+      Shall woman pledge her faith and hand;
+    Once, and once only, can a sire
+      Unto his well-loved daughter say,
+    In presence of the witness fire,
+      I give thee to this man away.
+
+    "Once, and once only, have I given
+      My heart and faith--'tis past recall;
+    With conscience none have ever striven,
+      And none may strive, without a fall.
+    Not the less solemn was my vow
+      Because unheard, and oh! the sin
+    Will not be less, if I should now
+      Deny the feeling felt within.
+    Unwedded to my dying day
+      I must, my father dear, remain;
+    'Tis well, if so thou will'st, but say
+      Can man balk Fate, or break its chain?
+
+    "If Fate so rules, that I should feel
+      The miseries of a widow's life,
+    Can man's device the doom repeal?
+      Unequal seems to be a strife,
+    Between Humanity and Fate;
+      None have on earth what they desire;
+    Death comes to all or soon or late;
+      And peace is but a wandering fire;
+    Expediency leads wild astray;
+      The Right must be our guiding star;
+    Duty our watchword, come what may;
+      Judge for me, friends,--as wiser far."
+
+    She said, and meekly looked to both.
+      The father, though he patient heard,
+    To give the sanction still seemed loth,
+      But Narad Muni took the word.
+    "Bless thee, my child! 'Tis not for us
+      To question the Almighty will,
+    Though cloud on cloud loom ominous,
+      In gentle rain they may distil."
+    At this, the monarch--"Be it so!
+      I sanction what my friend approves;
+    All praise to Him, whom praise we owe;
+      My child shall wed the youth she loves."
+
+
+PART II.
+
+    Great joy in Madra. Blow the shell
+      The marriage over to declare!
+    And now to forest-shades where dwell
+      The hermits, wend the wedded pair.
+    The doors of every house are hung
+      With gay festoons of leaves and flowers;
+    And blazing banners broad are flung,
+      And trumpets blown from castle towers!
+    Slow the procession makes its ground
+      Along the crowded city street:
+    And blessings in a storm of sound
+      At every step the couple greet.
+
+    Past all the houses, past the wall,
+      Past gardens gay, and hedgerows trim,
+    Past fields, where sinuous brooklets small
+      With molten silver to the brim
+    Glance in the sun's expiring light,
+      Past frowning hills, past pastures wild,
+    At last arises on the sight,
+      Foliage on foliage densely piled,
+    The woods primeval, where reside
+      The holy hermits;--henceforth here
+    Must live the fair and gentle bride:
+      But this thought brought with it no fear.
+
+    Fear! With her husband by her still?
+      Or weariness! Where all was new?
+    Hark! What a welcome from the hill!
+      There gathered are a hermits few.
+    Screaming the peacocks upward soar;
+      Wondering the timid wild deer gaze;
+    And from Briarean fig-trees hoar
+      Look down the monkeys in amaze
+    As the procession moves along;
+      And now behold, the bridegroom's sire
+    With joy comes forth amid the throng;--
+      What reverence his looks inspire!
+
+    Blind! With his partner by his side!
+      For them it was a hallowed time!
+    Warmly they greet the modest bride
+      With her dark eyes and front sublime!
+    One only grief they feel.--Shall she
+      Who dwelt in palace halls before,
+    Dwell in their huts beneath the tree?
+      Would not their hard life press her sore;--
+    The manual labour, and the want
+      Of comforts that her rank became,
+    Valkala robes, meals poor and scant,
+      All undermine the fragile frame?
+
+    To see the bride, the hermits' wives
+      And daughters gathered to the huts,
+    Women of pure and saintly lives!
+      And there beneath the betel-nuts
+    Tall trees like pillars, they admire
+      Her beauty, and congratulate
+    The parents, that their hearts' desire
+      Had thus accorded been by Fate,
+    And Satyavan their son had found
+      In exile lone, a fitting mate:
+    And gossips add,--good signs abound;
+      Prosperity shall on her wait.
+
+    Good signs in features, limbs, and eyes,
+      That old experience can discern,
+    Good signs on earth and in the skies,
+      That it could read at every turn.
+    And now with rice and gold, all bless
+      The bride and bridegroom,--and they go
+    Happy in others' happiness,
+      Each to her home, beneath the glow
+    Of the late risen moon that lines
+      With silver, all the ghost-like trees,
+    Sals, tamarisks, and South-Sea pines,
+      And palms whose plumes wave in the breeze.
+
+    False was the fear, the parents felt,
+      Savitri liked her new life much;
+    Though in a lowly home she dwelt
+      Her conduct as a wife was such
+    As to illumine all the place;
+      She sickened not, nor sighed, nor pined;
+    But with simplicity and grace
+      Discharged each household duty kind.
+    Strong in all manual work,--and strong
+      To comfort, cherish, help, and pray,
+    The hours past peacefully along
+      And rippling bright, day followed day.
+
+    At morn Satyavan to the wood
+      Early repaired and gathered flowers
+    And fruits, in its wild solitude,
+      And fuel,--till advancing hours
+    Apprised him that his frugal meal
+      Awaited him. Ah, happy time!
+    Savitri, who with fervid zeal
+      Had said her orisons sublime,
+    And fed the Bramins and the birds,
+      Now ministered. Arcadian love,
+    With tender smiles and honeyed words,
+      All bliss of earth thou art above!
+
+    And yet there was a spectre grim,
+      A skeleton in Savitri's heart,
+    Looming in shadow, somewhat dim,
+      But which would never thence depart.
+    It was that fatal, fatal speech
+      Of Narad Muni. As the days
+    Slipt smoothly past, each after each,
+      In private she more fervent prays.
+    But there is none to share her fears,
+      For how could she communicate
+    The sad cause of her bidden tears?
+      The doom approached, the fatal date.
+
+    No help from man. Well, be it so!
+      No sympathy,--it matters not!
+    God can avert the heavy blow!
+      He answers worship. Thus she thought.
+    And so, her prayers, by day and night,
+      Like incense rose unto the throne;
+    Nor did she vow neglect or rite
+      The Veds enjoin or helpful own.
+    Upon the fourteenth of the moon,
+      As nearer came the time of dread,
+    In Joystee, that is May or June,
+      She vowed her vows and Bramins fed.
+
+    And now she counted e'en the hours,
+      As to Eternity they past;
+    O'er head the dark cloud darker lowers,
+      The year is rounding full at last.
+    To-day,--to-day,--with doleful sound
+      The word seem'd in her ear to ring!
+    O breaking heart,--thy pain profound
+      Thy husband knows not, nor the king,
+    Exiled and blind, nor yet the queen;
+      But One knows in His place above.
+    To-day,--to-day,--it will be seen
+      Which shall be victor, Death or Love!
+
+    Incessant in her prayers from morn,
+      The noon is safely tided,--then
+    A gleam of faint, faint hope is born,
+      But the heart fluttered like a wren
+    That sees the shadow of the hawk
+      Sail on,--and trembles in affright,
+    Lest a down-rushing swoop should mock
+      Its fortune, and o'erwhelm it quite.
+    The afternoon has come and gone
+      And brought no change;--should she rejoice?
+    The gentle evening's shades come on,
+      When hark!--She hears her husband's voice!
+
+    "The twilight is most beautiful!
+      Mother, to gather fruit I go,
+    And fuel,--for the air is cool
+      Expect me in an hour or so."
+    "The night, my child, draws on apace,"
+      The mother's voice was heard to say,
+    "The forest paths are hard to trace
+      In darkness,--till the morrow stay."
+    "Not hard for me, who can discern
+      The forest-paths in any hour,
+    Blindfold I could with ease return,
+      And day has not yet lost its power."
+
+    "He goes then," thought Savitri, "thus
+      With unseen bands Fate draws us on
+    Unto the place appointed us;
+      We feel no outward force,--anon
+    We go to marriage or to death
+      At a determined time and place;
+    We are her playthings; with her breath
+      She blows us where she lists in space.
+    What is my duty? It is clear,
+      My husband I must follow; so,
+    While he collects his forest gear
+      Let me permission get to go."
+
+    His sire she seeks,--the blind old king,
+      And asks from him permission straight.
+    "My daughter, night with ebon wing
+      Hovers above; the hour is late.
+    My son is active, brave, and strong,
+      Conversant with the woods, he knows
+    Each path; methinks it would be wrong
+      For thee to venture where he goes,
+    Weak and defenceless as thou art,
+      At such a time. If thou wert near
+    Thou might'st embarrass him, dear heart,
+      Alone, he would not have a fear."
+
+    So spake the hermit-monarch blind,
+      His wife too, entering in, exprest
+    The self-same thoughts in words as kind,
+      And begged Savitri hard, to rest.
+    "Thy recent fasts and vigils, child,
+      Make thee unfit to undertake
+    This journey to the forest wild."
+      But nothing could her purpose shake.
+    She urged the nature of her vows,
+      Required her now the rites were done
+    To follow where her loving spouse
+      Might e'en a chance of danger run.
+
+    "Go then, my child,--we give thee leave,
+      But with thy husband quick return,
+    Before the flickering shades of eve
+      Deepen to night, and planets burn,
+    And forest-paths become obscure,
+      Lit only by their doubtful rays.
+    The gods, who guard all women pure,
+      Bless thee and kept thee in thy ways,
+    And safely bring thee and thy lord!"
+      On this she left, and swiftly ran
+    Where with his saw in lieu of sword,
+      And basket, plodded Satyavan.
+
+    Oh, lovely are the woods at dawn,
+      And lovely in the sultry noon,
+    But loveliest, when the sun withdrawn
+      The twilight and a crescent moon
+    Change all asperities of shape,
+      And tone all colours softly down,
+    With a blue veil of silvered crape!
+      Lo! By that hill which palm-trees crown,
+    Down the deep glade with perfume rife
+      From buds that to the dews expand,
+    The husband and the faithful wife
+      Pass to dense jungle,--hand in hand.
+
+    Satyavan bears beside his saw
+      A forked stick to pluck the fruit,
+    His wife, the basket lined with straw;
+      He talks, but she is almost mute,
+    And very pale. The minutes pass;
+      The basket has no further space,
+    Now on the fruits they flowers amass
+      That with their red flush all the place
+    While twilight lingers; then for wood
+      He saws the branches of the trees,
+    The noise, heard in the solitude,
+      Grates on its soft, low harmonies.
+
+    And all the while one dreadful thought
+      Haunted Savitri's anxious mind,
+    Which would have fain its stress forgot;
+      It came as chainless as the wind,
+    Oft and again: thus on the spot
+      Marked with his heart-blood oft comes back
+    The murdered man, to see the clot!
+      Death's final blow,--the fatal wrack
+    Of every hope, whence will it fall?
+      For fall, by Narad's words, it must;
+    Persistent rising to appall
+      This thought its horrid presence thrust.
+
+    Sudden the noise is hushed,--a pause!
+      Satyavan lets the weapon drop--
+    Too well Savitri knows the cause,
+      He feels not well, the work must stop.
+    A pain is in his head,--a pain
+      As if he felt the cobra's fangs,
+    He tries to look around,--in vain,
+      A mist before his vision hangs;
+    The trees whirl dizzily around
+      In a fantastic fashion wild;
+    His throat and chest seem iron-bound,
+      He staggers, like a sleepy child.
+
+    "My head, my head!--Savitri, dear,
+      This pain is frightful. Let me lie
+    Here on the turf." Her voice was clear
+      And very calm was her reply,
+    As if her heart had banished fear:
+      "Lean, love, thy head upon my breast,"
+    And as she helped him, added--"here,
+      So shall thou better breathe and rest."
+    "Ah me, this pain,--'tis getting dark,
+      I see no more,--can this be death?
+    What means this, gods?--Savitri, mark,
+      My hands wax cold, and fails my breath."
+
+    "It may be but a swoon." "Ah! no--
+      Arrows are piercing through my heart,--
+    Farewell my love! for I must go,
+      This, this is death." He gave one start
+    And then lay quiet on her lap,
+      Insensible to sight and sound,
+    Breathing his last.... The branches flap
+      And fireflies glimmer all around;
+    His head upon her breast; his frame
+      Part on her lap, part on the ground,
+    Thus lies he. Hours pass. Still the same,
+      The pair look statues, magic-bound.
+
+
+PART III.
+
+    Death in his palace holds his court,
+      His messengers move to and fro,
+    Each of his mission makes report,
+      And takes the royal orders,--Lo,
+    Some slow before his throne appear
+      And humbly in the Presence kneel:
+    "Why hath the Prince not been brought here?
+      The hour is past; nor is appeal
+    Allowed against foregone decree;
+      There is the mandate with the seal!
+    How comes it ye return to me
+      Without him? Shame upon your zeal!"
+
+    "O King, whom all men fear,--he lies
+      Deep in the dark Medhya wood,
+    We fled from thence in wild surprise,
+      And left him in that solitude.
+    We dared not touch him, for there sits,
+      Beside him, lighting all the place,
+    A woman fair, whose brow permits
+      In its austerity of grace
+    And purity,--no creatures foul
+      As we seemed, by her loveliness,
+    Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul,
+      To venture close, and far, far less
+
+    "To stretch a hand, and bear the dead;
+      We left her leaning on her hand,
+    Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed,
+      But looked the goddess of the land,
+    With her meek air of mild command."--
+      "Then on this errand I must go
+    Myself, and bear my dreaded brand,
+      This duty unto Fate I owe;
+    I know the merits of the prince,
+      But merit saves not from the doom
+    Common to man; his death long since
+      Was destined in his beauty's bloom."
+
+
+PART IV.
+
+    As still Savitri sat beside
+      Her husband dying,--dying fast,
+    She saw a stranger slowly glide
+      Beneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.
+    Upon his head he wore a crown
+      That shimmered in the doubtful light;
+    His vestment scarlet reached low down,
+      His waist, a golden girdle dight.
+    His skin was dark as bronze; his face
+      Irradiate, and yet severe;
+    His eyes had much of love and grace,
+      But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.
+
+    A string was in the stranger's hand
+      Noosed at its end. Her terrors now
+    Savitri scarcely could command.
+      Upon the sod beneath a bough,
+    She gently laid her husband's head,
+      And in obeisance bent her brow.
+    "No mortal form is thine,"--she said,
+      "Beseech thee say what god art thou?
+    And what can be thine errand here?"
+      "Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith,
+    Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe,
+      I answer,--list,--my name is Death.
+
+    "And I am come myself to take
+      Thy husband from this earth away,
+    And he shall cross the doleful lake
+      In my own charge, and let me say
+    To few such honours I accord,
+      But his pure life and thine require
+    No less from me." The dreadful sword
+      Like lightning glanced one moment dire;
+    And then the inner man was tied,
+      The soul no bigger than the thumb,
+    To be borne onwards by his side:--
+      Savitri all the while stood dumb.
+
+    But when the god moved slowly on
+      To gain his own dominions dim,
+    Leaving the body there--anon
+      Savitri meekly followed him,
+    Hoping against all hope; he turned
+      And looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"
+    Pale, pale the stars above them burned,
+      More weird the scene had grown and wild;
+    "It is not for the living--hear!
+      To follow where the dead must go,
+    Thy duty lies before thee clear,
+      What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show.
+
+    "The funeral rites that they ordain
+      And sacrifices must take up
+    Thy first sad moments; not in vain
+      Is held to thee this bitter cup;
+    Its lessons thou shall learn in time!
+      All that thou _canst_ do, thou hast done
+    For thy dear lord. Thy love sublime
+      My deepest sympathy hath won.
+    Return, for thou hast come as far
+      As living creature may. Adieu!
+    Let duty be thy guiding star,
+      As ever. To thyself be true!"
+
+    "Where'er my husband dear is led,
+      Or journeys of his own free will,
+    I too must go, though darkness spread
+      Across my path, portending ill,
+    'Tis thus my duty I have read!
+      If I am wrong, oh! with me bear;
+    But do not bid me backward tread
+      My way forlorn,--for I can dare
+    All things but that; ah! pity me,
+      A woman frail, too sorely tried!
+    And let me, let me follow thee,
+      O gracious god,--whate'er betide.
+
+    "By all things sacred, I entreat,
+      By Penitence that purifies,
+    By prompt Obedience, full, complete,
+      To spiritual masters, in the eyes
+    Of gods so precious, by the love
+      I bear my husband, by the faith
+    That looks from earth to heaven above,
+      And by thy own great name O Death,
+    And all thy kindness, bid me not
+      To leave thee, and to go my way,
+    But let me follow as I ought
+      Thy steps and his, as best I may.
+
+    "I know that in this transient world
+      All is delusion,--nothing true;
+    I know its shows are mists unfurled
+      To please and vanish. To renew
+    Its bubble joys, be magic bound
+      In _Maya's_ network frail and fair,
+    Is not my aim! The gladsome sound
+      Of husband, brother, friend, is air
+    To such as know that all must die,
+      And that at last the time must come,
+    When eye shall speak no more to eye
+      And Love cry,--Lo, this is my sum.
+
+    "I know in such a world as this
+      No one can gain his heart's desire,
+    Or pass the years in perfect bliss;
+      Like gold we must be tried by fire;
+    And each shall suffer as he acts
+      And thinks,--his own sad burden bear;
+    No friends can help,--his sins are facts
+      That nothing can annul or square,
+    And he must bear their consequence.
+      Can I my husband save by rites?
+    Ah, no,--that were a vain pretence,
+      Justice eternal strict requites.
+
+    "He for his deeds shall get his due
+      As I for mine: thus here each soul
+    Is its own friend if it pursue
+      The right, and run straight for the goal;
+    But its own worst and direst foe
+      If it choose evil, and in tracks
+    Forbidden, for its pleasure go.
+      Who knows not this, true wisdom lacks,
+    Virtue should be the turn and end
+      Of every life, all else is vain,
+    Duty should be its dearest friend
+      If higher life, it would attain."
+
+    "So sweet thy words ring on mine ear,
+      Gentle Savitri, that I fain
+    Would give some sign to make it clear
+      Thou hast not prayed to me in vain.
+    Satyavan's life I may not grant,
+      Nor take before its term thy life,
+    But I am not all adamant,
+      I feel for thee, thou faithful wife!
+    Ask thou aught else, and let it be
+      Some good thing for thyself or thine,
+    And I shall give it, child, to thee,
+      If any power on earth be mine."
+
+    "Well be it so. My husband's sire,
+      Hath lost his sight and fair domain,
+    Give to his eyes their former fire,
+      And place him on his throne again."
+    "It shall be done. Go back, my child,
+      The hour wears late, the wind feels cold,
+    The path becomes more weird and wild,
+      Thy feet are torn, there's blood, behold!
+    Thou feelest faint from weariness,
+      Oh try to follow me no more;
+    Go home, and with thy presence bless
+      Those who thine absence there deplore."
+
+    "No weariness, O Death, I feel,
+      And how should I, when by the side
+    Of Satyavan? In woe and weal
+      To be a helpmate swears the bride.
+    This is my place; by solemn oath
+      Wherever thou conductest him
+    I too must go, to keep my troth;
+      And if the eye at times should brim,
+    'Tis human weakness, give me strength
+      My work appointed to fulfil,
+    That I may gain the crown at length
+      The gods give those who do their will.
+
+    "The power of goodness is so great
+      We pray to feel its influence
+    For ever on us. It is late,
+      And the strange landscape awes my sense;
+    But I would fain with thee go on,
+      And hear thy voice so true and kind;
+    The false lights that on objects shone
+      Have vanished, and no longer blind,
+    Thanks to thy simple presence. Now
+      I feel a fresher air around,
+    And see the glory of that brow
+      With flashing rubies fitly crowned.
+
+    "Men call thee Yama--conqueror,
+      Because it is against their will
+    They follow thee,--and they abhor
+      The Truth which thou wouldst aye instil.
+    If they thy nature knew aright,
+      O god, all other gods above!
+    And that thou conquerest in the fight
+      By patience, kindness, mercy, love,
+    And not by devastating wrath,
+      They would not shrink in childlike fright
+    To see thy shadow on their path,
+      But hail thee as sick souls the light."
+
+    "Thy words, Savitri, greet mine ear
+      As sweet as founts that murmur low
+    To one who in the deserts drear
+      With parched tongue moves faint and slow,
+    Because thy talk is heart-sincere,
+      Without hypocrisy or guile;
+    Demand another boon, my dear,
+      But not of those forbad erewhile,
+    And I shall grant it, ere we part:
+      Lo, the stars pale,--the way is long,
+    Receive thy boon, and homewards start,
+      For ah, poor child, thou art not strong."
+
+    "Another boon! My sire the king
+      Beside myself hath children none,
+    Oh grant that from his stock may spring
+      A hundred boughs." "It shall be done.
+    He shall be blest with many a son
+      Who his old palace shall rejoice."
+    "Each heart-wish from thy goodness won,
+      If I am still allowed a choice,
+    I fain thy voice would ever hear,
+      Reluctant am I still to part,
+    The way seems short when thou art near
+      And Satyavan, my heart's dear heart.
+
+    "Of all the pleasures given on earth
+      The company of the good is best,
+    For weariness has never birth
+      In such a commerce sweet and blest;
+    The sun runs on its wonted course,
+      The earth its plenteous treasure yields,
+    All for their sake, and by the force
+      Their prayer united ever wields.
+    Oh let me, let me ever dwell
+      Amidst the good, where'er it be,
+    Whether in lowly hermit-cell
+      Or in some spot beyond the sea.
+
+    "The favours man accords to men
+      Are never fruitless, from them rise
+    A thousand acts beyond our ken
+      That float like incense to the skies;
+    For benefits can ne'er efface,
+      They multiply and widely spread,
+    And honour follows on their trace.
+      Sharp penances, and vigils dread,
+    Austerities, and wasting fasts,
+      Create an empire, and the blest
+    Long as this spiritual empire lasts
+      Become the saviours of the rest."
+
+    "O thou endowed with every grace
+      And every virtue,--thou whose soul
+    Appears upon thy lovely face,
+      May the great gods who all control
+    Send thee their peace. I too would give
+      One favour more before I go;
+    Ask something for thyself, and live
+      Happy, and dear to all below,
+    Till summoned to the bliss above.
+      Savitri ask, and ask unblamed."--
+    She took the clue, felt Death was Love,
+      For no exceptions now he named,
+
+    And boldly said,--"Thou knowest, Lord,
+      The inmost hearts and thoughts of all!
+    There is no need to utter word,
+      Upon thy mercy sole, I call.
+    If speech be needful to obtain
+      Thy grace,--oh hear a wife forlorn,
+    Let my Satyavan live again
+      And children unto us be born,
+    Wise, brave, and valiant." "From thy stock
+      A hundred families shall spring
+    As lasting as the solid rock,
+      Each son of thine shall be a king."
+
+    As thus he spoke, he loosed the knot
+      The soul of Satyavan that bound,
+    And promised further that their lot
+      In pleasant places should be found
+    Thenceforth, and that they both should live
+      Four centuries, to which the name
+    Of fair Savitri, men would give,--
+      And then he vanished in a flame.
+    "Adieu, great god!" She took the soul,
+      No bigger than the human thumb,
+    And running swift, soon reached her goal,
+      Where lay the body stark and dumb.
+
+    She lifted it with eager hands
+      And as before, when he expired,
+    She placed the head upon the bands
+      That bound her breast which hope new-fired,
+    And which alternate rose and fell;
+      Then placed his soul upon his heart
+    Whence like a bee it found its cell,
+      And lo, he woke with sudden start!
+    His breath came low at first, then deep,
+      With an unquiet look he gazed,
+    As one awaking from a sleep
+      Wholly bewildered and amazed.
+
+
+PART V.
+
+    As consciousness came slowly back
+      He recognised his loving wife--
+    "Who was it, Love, through regions black
+      Where hardly seemed a sign of life
+    Carried me bound? Methinks I view
+      The dark face yet--a noble face,
+    He had a robe of scarlet hue,
+      And ruby crown; far, far through space
+    He bore me, on and on, but now,"--
+      "Thou hast been sleeping, but the man
+    With glory on his kingly brow,
+      Is gone, thou seest, Satyavan!
+
+    "O my beloved,--thou art free!
+      Sleep which had bound thee fast, hath left
+    Thine eyelids. Try thyself to be!
+      For late of every sense bereft
+    Thou seemedst in a rigid trance;
+      And if thou canst, my love, arise,
+    Regard the night, the dark expanse
+      Spread out before us, and the skies."
+    Supported by her, looked he long
+      Upon the landscape dim outspread,
+    And like some old remembered song
+      The past came back,--a tangled thread.
+
+    "I had a pain, as if an asp
+      Gnawed in my brain, and there I lay
+    Silent, for oh! I could but gasp,
+      Till someone came that bore away
+    My spirit into lands unknown:
+      Thou, dear, who watchedst beside me,--say
+    Was it a dream from elfland blown,
+      Or very truth,--my doubts to stay."
+    "O Love, look round,--how strange and dread
+      The shadows of the high trees fall,
+    Homeward our path now let us tread,
+      To-morrow I shall tell thee all.
+
+    "Arise! Be strong! Gird up thy loins!
+      Think of our parents, dearest friend!
+    The solemn darkness haste enjoins,
+      Not likely is it soon to end.
+    Hark! Jackals still at distance howl,
+      The day, long, long will not appear,
+    Lo, wild fierce eyes through bushes scowl,
+      Summon thy courage, lest I fear.
+    Was that the tiger's sullen growl?
+      What means this rush of many feet?
+    Can creatures wild so near us prowl?
+      Rise up, and hasten homewards, sweet!"
+
+    He rose, but could not find the track,
+      And then, too well, Savitri knew
+    His wonted force had not come back.
+      She made a fire, and from the dew
+    Essayed to shelter him. At last
+      He nearly was himself again,--
+    Then vividly rose all the past,
+      And with the past, new fear and pain.
+    "What anguish must my parents feel
+      Who wait for me the livelong hours!
+    Their sore wound let us haste to heal
+      Before it festers, past our powers:
+
+    "For broken-hearted, they may die!
+      Oh hasten dear,--now I am strong,
+    No more I suffer, let us fly,
+      Ah me! each minute seems so long.
+    They told me once, they could not live
+      Without me, in their feeble age,
+    Their food and water I must give
+      And help them in the last sad stage
+    Of earthly life, and that Beyond
+      In which a son can help by rites.
+    Oh what a love is theirs--how fond!
+      Whom now Despair, perhaps, benights.
+
+    "Infirm herself, my mother dear
+      Now guides, methinks, the tottering feet
+    Of my blind father, for they hear
+      And hasten eagerly to meet
+    Our fancied steps. O faithful wife
+      Let us on wings fly back again,
+    Upon their safety hangs my life!"
+      He tried his feelings to restrain,
+    But like some river swelling high
+      They swept their barriers weak and vain,
+    Sudden there burst a fearful cry,
+      Then followed tears,--like autumn rain.
+
+    Hush! Hark, a sweet voice rises clear!
+      A voice of earnestness intense,
+    "If I have worshipped Thee in fear
+      And duly paid with reverence
+    The solemn sacrifices,--hear!
+      Send consolation, and thy peace
+    Eternal, to our parents dear,
+      That their anxieties may cease.
+    Oh, ever hath I loved Thy truth,
+      Therefore on Thee I dare to call,
+    Help us, this night, and them, for sooth
+      Without thy help, we perish all."
+
+    She took in hers Satyavan's hand,
+      She gently wiped his falling tears,
+    "This weakness, Love, I understand!
+      Courage!" She smiled away his fears.
+    "Now we shall go, for thou art strong."
+      She helped him rise up by her side
+    And led him like a child along,
+      He, wistfully the basket eyed
+    Laden with fruit and flowers. "Not now,
+      To-morrow we shall fetch it hence."
+    And so, she hung it on a bough,
+      "I'll bear thy saw for our defence."
+
+    In one fair hand the saw she took,
+      The other with a charming grace
+    She twined around him, and her look
+      She turned upwards to his face.
+    Thus aiding him she felt anew
+      His bosom beat against her own--
+    More firm his step, more clear his view,
+      More self-possessed his words and tone
+    Became, as swift the minutes past,
+      And now the pathway he discerns,
+    And 'neath the trees, they hurry fast,
+      For Hope's fair light before them burns.
+
+    Under the faint beams of the stars
+      How beautiful appeared the flowers,
+    Light scarlet, flecked with golden bars
+      Of the palasas,[1] in the bowers
+    That Nature there herself had made
+      Without the aid of man. At times
+    Trees on their path cast densest shade,
+      And nightingales sang mystic rhymes
+    Their fears and sorrows to assuage.
+      Where two paths met, the north they chose,
+    As leading to the hermitage,
+      And soon before them, dim it rose.
+
+    Here let us end. For all may guess
+      The blind old king received his sight,
+    And ruled again with gentleness
+      The country that was his by right;
+    And that Savitri's royal sire
+      Was blest with many sons,--a race
+    Whom poets praised for martial fire,
+      And every peaceful gift and grace.
+    As for Savitri, to this day
+      Her name is named, when couples wed,
+    And to the bride the parents say,
+      Be thou like her, in heart and head.
+
+
+[1] _Butea frondosa._
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+LAKSHMAN.
+
+
+    "Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!
+      It is,--it is my husband's voice!
+    Oh hasten, to his succour fly,
+      No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.
+    He calls on thee, perhaps his foes
+      Environ him on all sides round,
+    That wail,--it means death's final throes!
+      Why standest thou, as magic-bound?
+
+    "Is this a time for thought,--oh gird
+      Thy bright sword on, and take thy bow!
+    He heeds not, hears not any word,
+      Evil hangs over us, I know!
+    Swift in decision, prompt in deed,
+      Brave unto rashness, can this be,
+    The man to whom all looked at need?
+      Is it my brother, that I see!
+
+    "Ah no, and I must run alone,
+      For further here I cannot stay;
+    Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!
+      Wherefore this impious, strange delay!
+    That cry,--that cry,--it seems to ring
+      Still in my ears,--I cannot bear
+    Suspense; if help we fail to bring
+      His death at least we both can share."
+
+    "Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,
+      No cause is there for any fear,
+    Hast thou his prowess never seen?
+      Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!
+    What being of demonian birth
+      Could ever brave his mighty arm?
+    Is there a creature on the earth
+      That dares to work our hero harm?
+
+    "The lion and the grisly bear
+      Cower when they see his royal look,
+    Sun-staring eagles of the air
+      His glance of anger cannot brook,
+    Pythons and cobras at his tread
+      To their most secret coverts glide,
+    Bowed to the dust each serpent head
+      Erect before in hooded pride.
+
+    "Rakshases, Danavs, demons, ghosts,
+      Acknowledge in their hearts his might,
+    And slink to their remotest coasts,
+      In terror at his very sight.
+    Evil to him! Oh fear it not,
+      Whatever foes against him rise!
+    Banish for aye, the foolish thought,
+      And be thyself,--bold, great, and wise.
+
+    "He call for help! Canst thou believe
+      He like a child would shriek for aid
+    Or pray for respite or reprieve--
+      Not of such metal is he made!
+    Delusive was that piercing cry,--
+      Some trick of magic by the foe;
+    He has a work,--he cannot die,
+      Beseech me not from hence to go.
+
+    "For here beside thee, as a guard
+      'Twas he commanded me to stay,
+    And dangers with my life to ward
+      If they should come across thy way.
+    Send me not hence, for in this wood
+      Bands scattered of the giants lurk,
+    Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,
+      And wait the hour their will to work."
+
+    "Oh shame! And canst thou make my weal
+      A plea for lingering! Now I know
+    What thou art Lakshman! And I feel
+      Far better were an open foe.
+    Art thou a coward? I have seen
+      Thy bearing in the battle-fray
+    Where flew the death-fraught arrows keen,
+      Else had I judged thee so to-day.
+
+    "But then thy leader stood beside!
+      Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,
+    Reft of his radiance, see it glide
+      A shapeless mass of vapours dun;
+    So of thy courage,--or if not,
+      The matter is far darker dyed,
+    What makes thee loth to leave this spot?
+      Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?
+
+    "He perishes--well, let him die!
+      His wife henceforth shall be mine own!
+    Can that thought deep imbedded lie
+      Within thy heart's most secret zone!
+    Search well and see! one brother takes
+      His kingdom,--one would take his wife!
+    A fair partition!--But it makes
+      Me shudder, and abhor my life.
+
+    "Art thou in secret league with those
+      Who from his hope the kingdom rent?
+    A spy from his ignoble foes
+      To track him in his banishment?
+    And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?
+      I know thou wouldst, or sure ere now
+    When first thou heardst that well-known voice
+      Thou shouldst have run to aid, I trow.
+
+    "Learn this,--whatever comes may come,
+      But I shall not survive my Love,--
+    Of all my thoughts here is the sum!
+      Witness it gods in heaven above.
+    If fire can burn, or water drown,
+      I follow him:--choose what thou wilt,
+    Truth with its everlasting crown,
+      Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt.
+
+    "Remain here, with a vain pretence
+      Of shielding me from wrong and shame,
+    Or go and die in his defence
+      And leave behind a noble name.
+    Choose what thou wilt,--I urge no more,
+      My pathway lies before me clear,
+    I did not know thy mind before,
+      I know thee now,--and have no fear."
+
+    She said and proudly from him turned,--
+      Was this the gentle Sita? No.
+    Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,
+      The tears therein had ceased to flow.
+    "Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,
+      No longer can I bear thy words,
+    They lacerate my inmost heart
+      And torture me, like poisoned swords.
+
+    "Have I deserved this at thine hand?
+      Of lifelong loyalty and truth
+    Is this the meed? I understand
+      Thy feelings, Sita, and in sooth
+    I blame thee not,--but thou mightst be
+      Less rash in judgement. Look! I go,
+    Little I care what comes to me
+      Wert thou but safe,--God keep thee so!
+
+    "In going hence I disregard
+      The plainest orders of my chief,
+    A deed for me,--a soldier,--hard
+      And deeply painful, but thy grief
+    And language, wild and wrong, allow
+      No other course. Mine be the crime,
+    And mine alone,--but oh, do thou
+      Think better of me from this time.
+
+    "Here with an arrow, lo, I trace
+      A magic circle ere I leave,
+    No evil thing within this space
+      May come to harm thee or to grieve.
+    Step not, for aught, across the line,
+      Whatever thou mayst see or hear,
+    So shalt thou balk the bad design
+      Of every enemy I fear.
+
+    "And now farewell! What thou hast said,
+      Though it has broken quite my heart,
+    So that I wish that I were dead--
+      I would before, O Queen, we part
+    Freely forgive, for well I know
+      That grief and fear have made thee wild,
+    We part as friends,--is it not so?"
+      And speaking thus,--he sadly smiled.
+
+    "And oh ye sylvan gods that dwell
+      Among these dim and sombre shades,
+    Whose voices in the breezes swell
+      And blend with noises of cascades,
+    Watch over Sita, whom alone
+      I leave, and keep her safe from harm,
+    Till we return unto our own,
+      I and my brother, arm in arm.
+
+    "For though ill omens round us rise
+      And frighten her dear heart, I feel
+    That he is safe. Beneath the skies
+      His equal is not,--and his heel
+    Shall tread all adversaries down,
+      Whoever they may chance to be.--
+    Farewell, O Sita! Blessings crown
+      And Peace for ever rest with thee!"
+
+    He said, and straight his weapons took
+      His bow and arrows pointed keen,
+    Kind,--nay, indulgent,--was his look,
+      No trace of anger there was seen,
+    Only a sorrow dark, that seemed
+      To deepen his resolve to dare
+    All dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,
+      As out he strode with dauntless air.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+JOGADHYA UMA.
+
+
+    "Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!
+      Fair maids and matrons come and buy!"
+    Along the road, in morning's glow,
+      The pedlar raised his wonted cry.
+    The road ran straight, a red, red line,
+      To Khirogram, for cream renowned,
+    Through pasture-meadows where the kine,
+      In knee-deep grass, stood magic bound
+    And half awake, involved in mist,
+      That floated in dun coils profound,
+    Till by the sudden sunbeams kist
+      Rich rainbow hues broke all around.
+
+    "Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!"
+      The roadside trees still dripped with dew,
+    And hung their blossoms like a show.
+      Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few,
+    A ragged herd-boy, here and there,
+      With his long stick and naked feet;
+    A ploughman wending to his care,
+      The field from which he hopes the wheat;
+    An early traveller, hurrying fast
+      To the next town; an urchin slow
+    Bound for the school; these heard and past,
+      Unheeding all,--"Shell-bracelets ho!"
+
+    Pellucid spread a lake-like tank
+      Beside the road now lonelier still,
+    High on three sides arose the bank
+      Which fruit-trees shadowed at their will;
+    Upon the fourth side was the Ghat,
+      With its broad stairs of marble white,
+    And at the entrance-arch there sat,
+      Full face against the morning light,
+    A fair young woman with large eyes,
+      And dark hair falling to her zone,
+    She heard the pedlar's cry arise,
+      And eager seemed his ware to own.
+
+    "Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see!
+      The rich enamel sunbeam-kist!
+    Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be,
+      Let them but clasp that slender wrist;
+    These bracelets are a mighty charm,
+      They keep a lover ever true,
+    And widowhood avert, and harm,
+      Buy them, and thou shalt never rue.
+    Just try them on!"--She stretched her hand,
+      "Oh what a nice and lovely fit!
+    No fairer hand, in all the land,
+      And lo! the bracelet matches it."
+
+    Dazzled the pedlar on her gazed
+      Till came the shadow of a fear,
+    While she the bracelet arm upraised
+      Against the sun to view more clear.
+    Oh she was lovely, but her look
+      Had something of a high command
+    That filled with awe. Aside she shook
+      Intruding curls by breezes fanned
+    And blown across her brows and face,
+      And asked the price, which when she heard
+    She nodded, and with quiet grace
+      For payment to her home referred.
+
+    "And where, O maiden, is thy house?
+      But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue,
+    No maiden art thou, but a spouse,
+      Happy, and rich, and fair, and young."
+    "Far otherwise, my lord is poor,
+      And him at home thou shalt not find;
+    Ask for my father; at the door
+      Knock loudly; he is deaf, but kind.
+    Seest thou that lofty gilded spire
+      Above these tufts of foliage green?
+    That is our place; its point of fire
+      Will guide thee o'er the tract between."
+
+    "That is the temple spire."--"Yes, there
+      We live; my father is the priest,
+    The manse is near, a building fair
+      But lowly, to the temple's east.
+    When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,
+      His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,
+    Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,
+      And he must pay so much for that.
+    Be sure, he will not let thee pass
+      Without the value, and a meal,
+    If he demur, or cry alas!
+      No money hath he,--then reveal,
+
+    "Within the small box, marked with streaks
+      Of bright vermilion, by the shrine,
+    The key whereof has lain for weeks
+      Untouched, he'll find some coin,--'tis mine.
+    That will enable him to pay
+      The bracelet's price, now fare thee well!"
+    She spoke, the pedlar went away,
+      Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;
+    While she left lonely there, prepared
+      To plunge into the water pure,
+    And like a rose her beauty bared,
+      From all observance quite secure.
+
+    Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,
+      Strong was each limb of flexile grace,
+    And full the bust; the mien elate,
+      Like hers, the goddess of the chase
+    On Latmos hill,--and oh, the face
+      Framed in its cloud of floating hair,
+    No painter's hand might hope to trace
+      The beauty and the glory there!
+    Well might the pedlar look with awe,
+      For though her eyes were soft, a ray
+    Lit them at times, which kings who saw
+      Would never dare to disobey.
+
+    Onwards through groves the pedlar sped
+      Till full in front the sunlit spire
+    Arose before him. Paths which led
+      To gardens trim in gay attire
+    Lay all around. And lo! the manse,
+      Humble but neat with open door!
+    He paused, and blest the lucky chance
+      That brought his bark to such a shore.
+    Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,
+      Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,
+    Spoke in a language sweet and plain,
+      "Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell."
+
+    Unconsciously he raised his cry,
+      "Shell-bracelets ho!" And at his voice
+    Looked out the priest, with eager eye,
+      And made his heart at once rejoice.
+    "Ho, _Sankha_ pedlar! Pass not by,
+      But step thou in, and share the food
+    Just offered on our altar high,
+      If thou art in a hungry mood.
+    Welcome are all to this repast!
+      The rich and poor, the high and low!
+    Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,
+      Then on thy journey strengthened go."
+
+    "Oh thanks, good priest! Observance due
+      And greetings! May thy name be blest!
+    I came on business, but I knew,
+      Here might be had both food and rest
+    Without a charge; for all the poor
+      Ten miles around thy sacred shrine
+    Know that thou keepest open door,
+      And praise that generous hand of thine:
+    But let my errand first be told,
+      For bracelets sold to thine this day,
+    So much thou owest me in gold,
+      Hast thou the ready cash to pay?
+
+    "The bracelets were enamelled,--so
+      The price is high."--"How! Sold to mine?
+    Who bought them, I should like to know."
+      "Thy daughter, with the large black eyne,
+    Now bathing at the marble ghat."
+      Loud laughed the priest at this reply,
+    "I shall not put up, friend, with that;
+      No daughter in the world have I,
+    An only son is all my stay;
+      Some minx has played a trick, no doubt,
+    But cheer up, let thy heart be gay.
+      Be sure that I shall find her out."
+
+    "Nay, nay, good father, such a face
+      Could not deceive, I must aver;
+    At all events, she knows thy place,
+      'And if my father should demur
+    To pay thee'--thus she said,--'or cry
+      He has no money, tell him straight
+    The box vermilion-streaked to try,
+      That's near the shrine.'" "Well, wait, friend, wait!"
+    The priest said thoughtful, and he ran
+      And with the open box came back,
+    "Here is the price exact, my man,
+      No surplus over, and no lack.
+
+    "How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thou
+      To have beheld her, touched her hand,
+    Before whom Vishnu's self must bow,
+      And Brahma and his heavenly band!
+    Here have I worshipped her for years
+      And never seen the vision bright;
+    Vigils and fasts and secret tears
+      Have almost quenched my outward sight;
+    And yet that dazzling form and face
+      I have not seen, and thou, dear friend,
+    To thee, unsought for, comes the grace,
+      What may its purport be, and end?
+
+    "How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!
+      And couldst thou ask no other boon
+    Than thy poor bracelet's price? That brow
+      Resplendent as the autumn moon
+    Must have bewildered thee, I trow,
+      And made thee lose thy senses all."
+    A dim light on the pedlar now
+      Began to dawn; and he let fall
+    His bracelet basket in his haste,
+      And backward ran the way he came;
+    What meant the vision fair and chaste,
+      Whose eyes were they,--those eyes of flame?
+
+    Swift ran the pedlar as a hind,
+      The old priest followed on his trace,
+    They reached the Ghat but could not find
+      The lady of the noble face.
+    The birds were silent in the wood,
+      The lotus flowers exhaled a smell
+    Faint, over all the solitude,
+      A heron as a sentinel
+    Stood by the bank. They called,--in vain,
+      No answer came from hill or fell,
+    The landscape lay in slumber's chain,
+      E'en Echo slept within her cell.
+
+    Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound!
+      They turned with saddened hearts to go;
+    Then from afar there came a sound
+      Of silver bells;--the priest said low,
+    "O Mother, Mother, deign to hear,
+      The worship-hour has rung; we wait
+    In meek humility and fear.
+      Must we return home desolate?
+    Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought,
+      Or was it but an idle dream?
+    Give us some sign if it was not,
+      A word, a breath, or passing gleam."
+
+    Sudden from out the water sprung
+      A rounded arm, on which they saw
+    As high the lotus buds among
+      It rose, the bracelet white, with awe.
+    Then a wide ripple tost and swung
+      The blossoms on that liquid plain,
+    And lo! the arm so fair and young
+      Sank in the waters down again.
+    They bowed before the mystic Power,
+      And as they home returned in thought,
+    Each took from thence a lotus flower
+      In memory of the day and spot.
+
+    Years, centuries, have passed away,
+      And still before the temple shrine
+    Descendants of the pedlar pay
+      Shell bracelets of the old design
+    As annual tribute. Much they own
+      In lands and gold,--but they confess
+    From that eventful day alone
+      Dawned on their industry,--success.
+    Absurd may be the tale I tell,
+      Ill-suited to the marching times,
+    I loved the lips from which it fell,
+      So let it stand among my rhymes.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+THE ROYAL ASCETIC AND THE HIND.
+
+_From the Vishnu Purana. B. II. Chap. XIII._
+
+
+      MAITREYA. Of old thou gav'st a promise to relate
+    The deeds of Bharat, that great hermit-king:
+    Beloved Master, now the occasion suits,
+    And I am all attention.
+      PARASARA.             Brahman, hear.
+      With a mind fixed intently on his gods
+    Long reigned in Saligram of ancient fame,
+    The mighty monarch of the wide, wide world.
+    Chief of the virtuous, never in his life
+    Harmed he, or strove to harm, his fellow-man,
+    Or any creature sentient. But he left
+    His kingdom in the forest-shades to dwell,
+    And changed his sceptre for a hermit's staff,
+    And with ascetic rites, privations rude,
+    And constant prayers, endeavoured to attain
+    Perfect dominion on his soul. At morn,
+    Fuel, and flowers, and fruit, and holy grass,
+    He gathered for oblations; and he passed
+    In stern devotions all his other hours;
+    Of the world heedless, and its myriad cares,
+    And heedless too of wealth, and love, and fame.
+
+      Once on a time, while living thus, he went
+    To bathe where through the wood the river flows:
+    And his ablutions done, he sat him down
+    Upon the shelving bank to muse and pray.
+    Thither impelled by thirst a graceful hind,
+    Big with its young, came fearlessly to drink.
+    Sudden, while yet she drank, the lion's roar,
+    Feared by all creatures, like a thunder-clap
+    Burst in that solitude from a thicket nigh.
+    Startled, the hind leapt up, and from her womb
+    Her offspring tumbled in the rushing stream.
+    Whelmed by the hissing waves and carried far
+    By the strong current swoln by recent rain,
+    The tiny thing still struggled for its life,
+    While its poor mother, in her fright and pain,
+    Fell down upon the bank, and breathed her last.
+    Up rose the hermit-monarch at the sight
+    Full of keen anguish; with his pilgrim staff
+    He drew the new-born creature from the wave;
+    'Twas panting fast, but life was in it still.
+    Now, as he saw its luckless mother dead,
+    He would not leave it in the woods alone,
+    But with the tenderest pity brought it home.
+
+    There, in his leafy hut, he gave it food,
+    And daily nourished it with patient care,
+    Until it grew in stature and in strength,
+    And to the forest skirts could venture forth
+    In search of sustenance. At early morn
+    Thenceforth it used to leave the hermitage
+    And with the shades of evening come again,
+    And in the little courtyard of the hut
+    Lie down in peace, unless the tigers fierce,
+    Prowling about, compelled it to return
+    Earlier at noon. But whether near or far,
+    Wandering abroad, or resting in its home,
+    The monarch-hermit's heart was with it still,
+    Bound by affection's ties; nor could he think
+    Of anything besides this little hind,
+    His nursling. Though a kingdom he had left,
+    And children, and a host of loving friends,
+    Almost without a tear, the fount of love
+    Sprang out anew within his blighted heart,
+    To greet this dumb, weak, helpless foster-child,
+    And so, whene'er it lingered in the wilds,
+    Or at the 'customed hour could not return,
+    His thoughts went with it; "And alas!" he cried,
+    "Who knows, perhaps some lion or some wolf,
+    Or ravenous tiger with relentless jaws
+    Already hath devoured it,--timid thing!
+    Lo, how the earth is dinted with its hoofs,
+    And variegated. Surely for my joy
+    It was created. When will it come back,
+    And rub its budding antlers on my arms
+    In token of its love and deep delight
+    To see my face? The shaven stalks of grass,
+    Kusha and kasha, by its new teeth clipped,
+    Remind me of it, as they stand in lines
+    Like pious boys who chant the Samga Veds
+    Shorn by their vows of all their wealth of hair."
+    Thus passed the monarch-hermit's time; in joy,
+    With smiles upon his lips, whenever near
+    His little favourite; in bitter grief
+    And fear, and trouble, when it wandered far.
+    And he who had abandoned ease and wealth,
+    And friends and dearest ties, and kingly power,
+    Found his devotions broken by the love
+    He had bestowed upon a little hind
+    Thrown in his way by chance. Years glided on....
+    And Death, who spareth none, approached at last
+    The hermit-king to summon him away;
+    The hind was at his side, with tearful eyes
+    Watching his last sad moments, like a child
+    Beside a father. He too, watched and watched
+    His favourite through a blinding film of tears,
+    And could not think of the Beyond at hand,
+    So keen he felt the parting, such deep grief
+    O'erwhelmed him for the creature he had reared.
+    To it devoted was his last, last thought,
+    Reckless of present and of future both!
+
+      Thus far the pious chronicle, writ of old
+    By Brahman sage; but we, who happier, live
+    Under the holiest dispensation, know
+    That God is Love, and not to be adored
+    By a devotion born of stoic pride,
+    Or with ascetic rites, or penance hard,
+    But with a love, in character akin
+    To His unselfish, all-including love.
+    And therefore little can we sympathize
+    With what the Brahman sage would fain imply
+    As the concluding moral of his tale,
+    That for the hermit-king it was a sin
+    To love his nursling. What! a sin to love!
+    A sin to pity! Rather should we deem
+    Whatever Brahmans wise, or monks may hold,
+    That he had sinned in _casting off_ all love
+    By his retirement to the forest-shades;
+    For that was to abandon duties high,
+    And, like a recreant soldier, leave the post
+    Where God had placed him as a sentinel.
+
+    This little hind brought strangely on his path,
+    This love engendered in his withered heart,
+    This hindrance to his rituals,--might these not
+    Have been ordained to teach him? Call him back
+    To ways marked out for him by Love divine?
+    And with a mind less self-willed to adore?
+
+    Not in seclusion, not apart from all,
+    Not in a place elected for its peace,
+    But in the heat and bustle of the world,
+    'Mid sorrow, sickness, suffering and sin,
+    Must he still labour with a loving soul
+    Who strives to enter through the narrow gate.
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+THE LEGEND OF DHRUVA.
+
+_Vishnu Purana. Book I. Chapter XI._
+
+
+    Sprung from great Brahma, Manu had two sons,
+    Heroic and devout, as I have said,
+    Pryavrata and Uttanapado,--names
+    Known in legends; and of these the last
+    Married two wives, Suruchee, his adored,
+    The mother of a handsome petted boy
+    Uttama; and Suneetee, less beloved,
+    The mother of another son whose name
+    Was Dhruva. Seated on his throne the king
+    Uttanapado, on his knee one day
+    Had placed Uttama; Dhruva, who beheld
+    His brother in that place of honour, longed
+    To clamber up and by his playmate sit;
+    Led on by Love he came, but found, alas!
+    Scant welcome and encouragement; the king
+    Saw fair Suruchee sweep into the hall
+    With stately step,--aye, every inch a queen,
+    And dared not smile upon her co-wife's son.
+    Observing him,--her rival's boy,--intent
+    To mount ambitious to his father's knee,
+    Where sat her own, thus fair Suruchee spake:
+    "Why hast thou, child, formed such a vain design?
+    Why harboured such an aspiration proud,
+    Born from another's womb and not from mine?
+    Oh thoughtless! To desire the loftiest place,
+    The throne of thrones, a royal father's lap!
+    It is an honour to the destined given,
+    And not within thy reach. What though thou art
+    Born of the king; those sleek and tender limbs
+    Hold of my blood no portion; I am queen.
+    To be the equal of mine only son
+    Were in thee vain ambition. Know'st thou not,
+    Fair prattler, thou art sprung,--not, not from mine,
+    But from Suneetee's bowels? Learn thy place."
+
+    Repulsed in silence from his father's lap,
+    Indignant, furious, at the words that fell
+    From his step-mother's lips, poor Dhruva ran
+    To his own mother's chambers, where he stood
+    Beside her with his pale, thin, trembling lips,
+    (Trembling with an emotion ill-suppressed)
+    And hair in wild disorder, till she took
+    And raised him to her lap, and gently said:
+    "Oh, child, what means this? What can be the cause
+    Of this great anger? Who hath given thee pain?
+    He that hath vexed thee, hath despised thy sire,
+    For in these veins thou hast the royal blood."
+
+    Thus conjured, Dhruva, with a swelling heart
+    Repeated to his mother every word
+    That proud Suruchee spake, from first to last,
+    Even in the very presence of the king.
+
+    His speech oft broken by his tears and sobs,
+    Helpless Suneetee, languid-eyed from care,
+    Heard sighing deeply, and then soft replied:
+    "Oh son, to lowly fortune thou wert born,
+    And what my co-wife said to thee is truth;
+    No enemy to Heaven's favoured ones may say
+    Such words as thy step-mother said to thee.
+    Yet, son, it is not meet that thou shouldst grieve
+    Or vex thy soul. The deeds that thou hast done,
+    The evil, haply, in some former life,
+    Long, long ago, who may alas! annul,
+    Or who the good works not done, supplement!
+    The sins of previous lives must bear their fruit.
+    The ivory throne, the umbrella of gold,
+    The best steed, and the royal elephant
+    Rich caparisoned, must be his by right
+    Who has deserved them by his virtuous acts
+    In times long past. Oh think on this, my son,
+    And be content. For glorious actions done
+    Not in this life, but in some previous birth,
+    Suruchee by the monarch is beloved.
+    Women, unfortunate like myself, who bear
+    Only the name of wife without the powers,
+    But pine and suffer for our ancient sins.
+    Suruchee raised her virtues pile on pile,
+    Hence Uttama her son, the fortunate!
+    Suneetee heaped but evil,--hence her son
+    Dhruva the luckless! But for all this, child,
+    It is not meet that thou shouldst ever grieve
+    As I have said. That man is truly wise
+    Who is content with what he has, and seeks
+    Nothing beyond, but in whatever sphere,
+    Lowly or great, God placed him, works in faith;
+    My son, my son, though proud Suruchee spake
+    Harsh words indeed, and hurt thee to the quick,
+    Yet to thine eyes thy duty should be plain.
+    Collect a large sum of the virtues; thence
+    A goodly harvest must to thee arise.
+    Be meek, devout, and friendly, full of love,
+    Intent to do good to the human race
+    And to all creatures sentient made of God;
+    And oh, be humble, for on modest worth
+    Descends prosperity, even as water flows
+    Down to low grounds."
+
+                      She finished, and her son,
+    Who patiently had listened, thus replied:--
+
+    "Mother, thy words of consolation find
+    Nor resting-place, nor echo in this heart
+    Broken by words severe, repulsing Love
+    That timidly approached to worship. Hear
+    My resolve unchangeable. I shall try
+    The highest good, the loftiest place to win,
+    Which the whole world deems priceless and desires.
+    There is a crown above my father's crown,
+    I shall obtain it, and at any cost
+    Of toil, or penance, or unceasing prayer.
+    Not born of proud Suruchee, whom the king
+    Favours and loves, but grown up from a germ
+    In thee, O mother, humble as thou art,
+    I yet shall show thee what is in my power.
+    Thou shalt behold my glory and rejoice.
+    Let Uttama my brother,--not thy son,--
+    Receive the throne and royal titles,--all
+    My father pleases to confer on him.
+    I grudge them not. Not with another's gifts
+    Desire I, dearest mother, to be rich,
+    But with my own work would acquire a name.
+    And I shall strive unceasing for a place
+    Such as my father hath not won,--a place
+    That would not know him even,--aye, a place
+    Far, far above the highest of this earth."
+
+    He said, and from his mother's chambers past,
+    And went into the wood where hermits live,
+    And never to his father's house returned.
+
+    Well kept the boy his promise made that day!
+    By prayer and penance Dhruva gained at last
+    The highest heavens, and there he shines a star!
+    Nightly men see him in the firmament.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+BUTTOO.
+
+
+    "Ho! Master of the wondrous art!
+    Instruct me in fair archery,
+    And buy for aye,--a grateful heart
+    That will not grudge to give thy fee."
+    Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes,
+    A hunter's low-born son was he,--
+    To Dronacharjya, great and wise,
+    Who sat with princes round his knee.
+
+    Up Time's fair stream far back,--oh far,
+    The great wise teacher must be sought!
+    The Kurus had not yet in war
+    With the Pandava brethren fought.
+    In peace, at Dronacharjya's feet,
+    Magic and archery they learned,
+    A complex science, which we meet
+    No more, with ages past inurned.
+
+    "And who art thou," the teacher said,
+    "My science brave to learn so fain?
+    Which many kings who wear the thread
+    Have asked to learn of me in vain."
+    "My name is Buttoo," said the youth,
+    "A hunter's son, I know not Fear;"
+    The teacher answered, smiling smooth,
+    "Then know him from this time, my dear."
+
+    Unseen the magic arrow came,
+    Amidst the laughter and the scorn
+    Of royal youths,--like lightning flame
+    Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn,
+    As down upon the ground he fell,
+    Not hurt, but made a jest and game;--
+    He rose,--and waved a proud farewell,
+    But cheek and brow grew red with shame.
+
+    And lo,--a single, single tear
+    Dropped from his eyelash as he past,
+    "My place I gather is not here;
+    No matter,--what is rank or caste?
+    In us is honour, or disgrace,
+    Not out of us," 'twas thus he mused,
+    "The question is,--not wealth or place,
+    But gifts well used, or gifts abused."
+
+    "And I shall do my best to gain
+    The science that man will not teach,
+    For life is as a shadow vain,
+    Until the utmost goal we reach
+    To which the soul points. I shall try
+    To realize my waking dream,
+    And what if I should chance to die?
+    None miss one bubble from a stream."
+
+    So thinking, on and on he went,
+    Till he attained the forest's verge,
+    The garish day was well-nigh spent,
+    Birds had already raised its dirge.
+    Oh what a scene! How sweet and calm!
+    It soothed at once his wounded pride,
+    And on his spirit shed a balm
+    That all its yearnings purified.
+
+    What glorious trees! The sombre saul
+    On which the eye delights to rest,
+    The betel-nut,--a pillar tall,
+    With feathery branches for a crest,
+    The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide,
+    The pale faint-scented bitter neem,
+    The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,
+    With flowers that have the ruby's gleam,
+
+    The Indian fig's pavilion tent
+    In which whole armies might repose,
+    With here and there a little rent,
+    The sunset's beauty to disclose,
+    The bamboo boughs that sway and swing
+    'Neath bulbuls as the south wind blows,
+    The mangoe-tope, a close dark ring,
+    Home of the rooks and clamorous crows,
+
+    The champac, bok, and South-sea pine,
+    The nagessur with pendant flowers
+    Like ear-rings,--and the forest vine
+    That clinging over all, embowers,
+    The sirish famed in Sanscrit song
+    Which rural maidens love to wear,
+    The peepul giant-like and strong,
+    The bramble with its matted hair,
+
+    All these, and thousands, thousands more,
+    With helmet red, or golden crown,
+    Or green tiara, rose before
+    The youth in evening's shadows brown.
+    He passed into the forest,--there
+    New sights of wonder met his view,
+    A waving Pampas green and fair
+    All glistening with the evening dew.
+
+    How vivid was the breast-high grass!
+    Here waved in patches, forest corn,--
+    Here intervened a deep morass,--
+    Here arid spots of verdure shorn
+    Lay open,--rock or barren sand,--
+    And here again the trees arose
+    Thick clustering,--a glorious band
+    Their tops still bright with sunset glows.--
+
+    Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs,
+    And seemed to welcome him with signs,
+    Onwards and on,--till Buttoo's brows
+    Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines.
+    Then in a grassy open space
+    He sits and leans against a tree,
+    To let the wind blow on his face
+    And look around him leisurely.
+
+    Herds, and still herds, of timid deer
+    Were feeding in the solitude,
+    They knew not man, and felt no fear,
+    And heeded not his neighbourhood,
+    Some young ones with large eyes and sweet
+    Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth
+    Against his arms, and licked his feet,
+    As if they wished his cares to soothe.
+
+    "They touch me," he exclaimed with joy,
+    "They have no pride of caste like men,
+    They shrink not from the hunter-boy,
+    Should not my home be with them then?
+    Here in this forest let me dwell,
+    With these companions innocent,
+    And learn each science and each spell
+    All by myself in banishment.
+
+    "A calm, calm life,--and it shall be
+    Its own exceeding great reward!
+    No thoughts to vex in all I see,
+    No jeers to bear or disregard;--
+    All creatures and inanimate things
+    Shall be my tutors; I shall learn
+    From beast, and fish, and bird with wings,
+    And rock, and stream, and tree, and fern."
+
+    With this resolve, he soon began
+    To build a hut, of reeds and leaves,
+    And when that needful work was done
+    He gathered in his store, the sheaves
+    Of forest corn, and all the fruit,
+    Date, plum, guava, he could find,
+    And every pleasant nut and root
+    By Providence for man designed,
+
+    A statue next of earth he made,
+    An image of the teacher wise,
+    So deft he laid, the light and shade,
+    On figure, forehead, face and eyes,
+    That any one who chanced to view
+    That image tall might soothly swear,
+    If he great Dronacharjya knew,
+    The teacher in his flesh was there.
+
+    Then at the statue's feet he placed
+    A bow, and arrows tipped with steel,
+    With wild-flower garlands interlaced,
+    And hailed the figure in his zeal
+    As Master, and his head he bowed,
+    A pupil reverent from that hour
+    Of one who late had disallowed
+    The claim, in pride of place and power.
+
+    By strained sense, by constant prayer,
+    By steadfastness of heart and will,
+    By courage to confront and dare,
+    All obstacles he conquered still;
+    A conscience clear,--a ready hand,
+    Joined to a meek humility,
+    Success must everywhere command,
+    How could he fail who had all three!
+
+    And now, by tests assured, he knows
+    His own God-gifted wondrous might,
+    Nothing to any man he owes,
+    Unaided he has won the fight;
+    Equal to gods themselves,--above
+    Wishmo and Drona,--for his worth
+    His name, he feels, shall be with love
+    Reckoned with great names of the earth.
+
+    Yet lacks he not, in reverence
+    To Dronacharjya, who declined
+    To teach him,--nay, with e'en offence
+    That well might wound a noble mind,
+    Drove him away;--for in his heart
+    Meek, placable, and ever kind,
+    Resentment had not any part,
+    And Malice never was enshrined.
+
+    One evening, on his work intent,
+    Alone he practised Archery,
+    When lo! the bow proved false and sent
+    The arrow from its mark awry;
+    Again he tried,--and failed again;
+    Why was it? Hark!--A wild dog's bark!
+    An evil omen:--it was plain
+    Some evil on his path hung dark!
+
+    Thus many times he tried and failed,
+    And still that lean, persistent dog
+    At distance, like some spirit wailed,
+    Safe in the cover of a fog.
+    His nerves unstrung, with many a shout
+    He strove to frighten it away,
+    It would not go,--but roamed about,
+    Howling, as wolves howl for their prey.
+
+    Worried and almost in a rage,
+    One magic shaft at last he sent,
+    A sample of his science sage,
+    To quiet but the noises meant.
+    Unerring to its goal it flew,
+    No death ensued, no blood was dropped,
+    But by the hush the young man knew
+    At last that howling noise had stopped.
+
+    It happened on this very day
+    That the Pandava princes came
+    With all the Kuru princes gay
+    To beat the woods and hunt the game.
+    Parted from others in the chase,
+    Arjuna brave the wild dog found,--
+    Stuck still the shaft,--but not a trace
+    Of hurt, though tongue and lip were bound.
+
+    "Wonder of wonders! Didst not thou
+    O Dronacharjya, promise me
+    Thy crown in time should deck my brow
+    And I be first in archery?
+    Lo! here, some other thou hast taught
+    A magic spell,--to all unknown;
+    Who has in secret from thee bought
+    The knowledge, in this arrow shown!"
+
+    Indignant thus Arjuna spake
+    To his great Master when they met--
+    "My word, my honour, is at stake,
+    Judge not, Arjuna, judge not yet.
+    Come, let us see the dog,"--and straight
+    They followed up the creature's trace.
+    They found it, in the selfsame state,
+    Dumb, yet unhurt,--near Buttoo's place.
+
+    A hut,--a statue,--and a youth
+    In the dim forest,--what mean these?
+    They gazed in wonder, for in sooth
+    The thing seemed full of mysteries.
+    "Now who art thou that dar'st to raise
+    Mine image in the wilderness?
+    Is it for worship and for praise?
+    What is thine object? speak, confess."
+
+    "Oh Master, unto thee I came
+    To learn thy science. Name or pelf
+    I had not, so was driven with shame,
+    And here I learn all by myself.
+    But still as Master thee revere,
+    For who so great in archery!
+    Lo, all my inspiration here,
+    And all my knowledge is from thee."
+
+    "If I am Master, now thou hast
+    Finished thy course, give me my due.
+    Let all the past, be dead and past,
+    Henceforth be ties between us new."
+    "All that I have, O Master mine,
+    All I shall conquer by my skill,
+    Gladly shall I to thee resign,
+    Let me but know thy gracious will."
+
+    "Is it a promise?" "Yea, I swear
+    So long as I have breath and life
+    To give thee all thou wilt." "Beware!
+    Rash promise ever ends in strife."
+    "Thou art my Master,--ask! oh ask!
+    From thee my inspiration came,
+    Thou canst not set too hard a task,
+    Nor aught refuse I, free from blame."
+
+    "If it be so,--Arjuna hear!"
+    Arjuna and the youth were dumb,
+    "For thy sake, loud I ask and clear,
+    Give me, O youth, thy right-hand thumb.
+    I promised in my faithfulness
+    No equal ever shall there be
+    To thee, Arjuna,--and I press
+    For this sad recompense--for thee."
+
+    Glanced the sharp knife one moment high,
+    The severed thumb was on the sod,
+    There was no tear in Buttoo's eye,
+    He left the matter with his God.
+    "For this,"--said Dronacharjya,--"Fame
+    Shall sound thy praise from sea to sea,
+    And men shall ever link thy name
+    With Self-help, Truth, and Modesty."
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+SINDHU.
+
+
+PART I.
+
+    Deep in the forest shades there dwelt
+      A _Muni_ and his wife,
+    Blind, gray-haired, weak, they hourly felt
+      Their slender hold on life.
+
+    No friends had they, no help or stay,
+      Except an only boy,
+    A bright-eyed child, his laughter gay,
+      Their leaf-hut filled with joy.
+
+    Attentive, duteous, loving, kind,
+      Thoughtful, sedate, and calm,
+    He waited on his parents blind,
+      Whose days were like a psalm.
+
+    He roamed the woods for luscious fruits,
+      He brought them water pure,
+    He cooked their simple mess of roots,
+      Content to live obscure.
+
+    To fretful questions, answers mild
+      He meekly ever gave,
+    If they reproved, he only smiled,
+      He loved to be their slave.
+
+    Not that to him they were austere,
+      But age is peevish still,
+    Dear to their hearts he was,--so dear,
+      That none his place might fill.
+
+    They called him Sindhu, and his name
+      Was ever on their tongue,
+    And he, nor cared for wealth nor fame,
+      Who dwelt his own among.
+
+    A belt of _Bela_ trees hemmed round
+      The cottage small and rude,
+    If peace on earth was ever found
+      'Twas in that solitude.
+
+
+PART II.
+
+    Great Dasarath, the King of Oude,
+      Whom all men love and fear,
+    With elephants and horses proud
+      Went forth to hunt the deer.
+
+    Oh gallant was the long array!
+      Pennons and plumes were seen,
+    And swords that mirrored back the day,
+      And spears and axes keen.
+
+    Rang trump, and conch, and piercing fife,
+      Woke Echo from her bed!
+    The solemn woods with sounds were rife
+      As on the pageant sped.
+
+    Hundreds, nay thousands, on they went!
+      The wild beasts fled away!
+    Deer ran in herds, and wild boars spent
+      Became an easy prey.
+
+    Whirring the peacocks from the brake
+      With Argus wings arose,
+    Wild swans abandoned pool and lake
+      For climes beyond the snows.
+
+    From tree to tree the monkeys sprung,
+      Unharmed and unpursued,
+    As louder still the trumpets rung
+      And startled all the wood.
+
+    The porcupines and such small game
+      Unnoted fled at will,
+    The weasel only caught to tame
+      From fissures in the hill.
+
+    Slunk light the tiger from the bank,
+      But sudden turned to bay!
+    When he beheld the serried rank
+      That barred his tangled way.
+
+    Uprooting fig-trees on their path,
+      And trampling shrubs and flowers,
+    Wild elephants, in fear and wrath,
+      Burst through, like moving towers.
+
+    Lowering their horns in crescents grim
+      Whene'er they turned about,
+    Retreated into coverts dim
+      The bisons' fiercer rout.
+
+    And in this mimic game of war
+      In bands dispersed and past
+    The royal train,--some near, some far,
+      As day closed in at last.
+
+    Where was the king? He left his friends
+      At midday, it was known,
+    And now that evening fast descends
+      Where was he? All alone.
+
+    Curving, the river formed a lake,
+      Upon whose bank he stood,
+    No noise the silence there to break,
+      Or mar the solitude.
+
+    Upon the glassy surface fell
+      The last beams of the day,
+    Like fiery darts, that lengthening swell,
+      As breezes wake and play.
+
+    Osiers and willows on the edge
+      And purple buds and red,
+    Leant down,--and 'mid the pale green sedge
+      The lotus raised its head.
+
+    And softly, softly, hour by hour
+      Light faded, and a veil
+    Fell over tree, and wave, and flower,
+      On came the twilight pale.
+
+    Deeper and deeper grew the shades,
+      Stars glimmered in the sky,
+    The nightingale along the glades
+      Raised her preluding cry.
+
+    What is that momentary flash?
+      A gleam of silver scales
+    Reveals the _Mahseer_;--then a splash,
+      And calm again prevails.
+
+    As darkness settled like a pall
+      The eye would pierce in vain,
+    The fireflies gemmed the bushes all,
+      Like fiery drops of rain.
+
+    Pleased with the scene,--and knowing not
+      Which way, alas! to go,
+    The monarch lingered on the spot,--
+      The lake spread bright below.
+
+    He lingered, when--oh hark! oh hark
+      What sound salutes his ear!
+    A roebuck drinking in the dark,
+      Not hunted, nor in fear.
+
+    Straight to the stretch his bow he drew,
+      That bow ne'er missed its aim,
+    Whizzing the deadly arrow flew,
+      Ear-guided, on the game!
+
+    Ah me! What means this?--Hark, a cry,
+      A feeble human wail,
+    "Oh God!" it said--"I die,--I die,
+      Who'll carry home the pail?"
+
+    Startled, the monarch forward ran,
+      And then there met his view
+    A sight to freeze in any man
+      The warm blood coursing true.
+
+    A child lay dying on the grass,
+      A pitcher by his side,
+    Poor Sindhu was the child, alas!
+      His parents' stay and pride.
+
+    His bow and quiver down to fling,
+      And lift the wounded boy,
+    A moment's work was with the king.
+      Not dead,--that was a joy!
+
+    He placed the child's head on his lap,
+      And ranged the blinding hair,
+    The blood welled fearful from the gap
+      On neck and bosom fair.
+
+    He dashed cold water on the face,
+      He chafed the hands, with sighs,
+    Till sense revived, and he could trace
+      Expression in the eyes.
+
+    Then mingled with his pity, fear--
+      In all this universe
+    What is so dreadful as to hear
+      A Bramin's dying curse!
+
+    So thought the king, and on his brow
+      The beads of anguish spread,
+    And Sindhu, fully conscious now,
+      The anguish plainly read.
+
+    "What dost thou fear, O mighty king?
+      For sure a king thou art!
+    Why should thy bosom anguish wring?
+      No crime was in thine heart!
+
+    "Unwittingly the deed was done;
+      It is my destiny,
+    O fear not thou, but pity one
+      Whose fate is thus to die.
+
+    "No curses, no!--I bear no grudge,
+      Not thou my blood hast spilt,
+    Lo! here before the unseen Judge,
+      Thee I absolve from guilt.
+
+    "The iron, red-hot as it burns,
+      Burns those that touch it too,
+    Not such my nature,--for it spurns,
+      Thank God, the like to do.
+
+    "Because I suffer, should I give
+      Thee, king, a needless pain?
+    Ah, no! I die, but mayst thou live,
+      And cleansed from every stain!"
+
+    Struck with these words, and doubly grieved
+      At what his hands had done,
+    The monarch wept, as weeps bereaved
+      A man his only son.
+
+    "Nay, weep not so," resumed the child,
+      "But rather let me say
+    My own sad story, sin-defiled.
+      And why I die to day!
+
+    "Picking a living in our sheaves,
+      And happy in their loves,
+    Near, 'mid a peepul's quivering leaves,
+      There lived a pair of doves.
+
+    "Never were they two separate,
+      And lo, in idle mood,
+    I took a sling and ball, elate
+      In wicked sport and rude,--
+
+    "And killed one bird,--it was the male,
+      Oh cruel deed and base!
+    The female gave a plaintive wail
+      And looked me in the face!
+
+    "The wail and sad reproachful look
+      In plain words seemed to say,
+    A widowed life I cannot brook,
+      The forfeit thou must pay.
+
+    "What was my darling's crime that thou
+      Him wantonly shouldst kill?
+    The curse of blood is on thee now,
+      Blood calls for red blood still.
+
+    "And so I die--a bloody death--
+      But not for this I mourn,
+    To feel the world pass with my breath
+      I gladly could have borne,
+
+    "But for my parents, who are blind,
+      And have no other stay,--
+    This, this, weighs sore upon my mind
+      And fills me with dismay.
+
+    "Upon the eleventh day of the moon
+      They keep a rigorous fast,
+    All yesterday they fasted; soon
+      For water and repast
+
+    "They shall upon me feebly call!
+      Ah, must they call in vain?
+    Bear thou the pitcher, friend--'tis all
+      I ask--down that steep lane."
+
+    He pointed,--ceased,--then sudden died!
+      The king took up the corpse,
+    And with the pitcher slowly hied,
+      Attended by Remorse,
+
+    Down the steep lane--unto the hut
+      Girt round with _Bela_ trees;
+    Gleamed far a light-the door not shut
+      Was open to the breeze.
+
+
+PART III.
+
+    "Oh why does not our child return?
+      Too long he surely stays."--
+    Thus to the _Muni_, blind and stern,
+      His partner gently says.
+
+    "For fruits and water when he goes
+      He never stays so long,
+    Oh can it be, beset by foes,
+      He suffers cruel wrong?
+
+    "Some distance he has gone, I fear,
+      A more circuitous round,--
+    Yet why should he? The fruits are near,
+      The river near our bound.
+
+    "I die of thirst,--it matters not
+      If Sindhu be but safe,
+    What if he leave us, and this spot,
+      Poor birds in cages chafe.
+
+    "Peevish and fretful oft we are,--
+      Ah, no--that cannot be:
+    Of our blind eyes he is the star,
+      Without him, what were we?
+
+    "Too much he loves us to forsake,
+      But something ominous,
+    Here in my heart, a dreadful ache,
+      Says, he is gone from us.
+
+    "Why do my bowels for him yearn,
+      What ill has crossed his path?
+    Blind, helpless, whither shall we turn,
+      Or how avert the wrath?
+
+    "Lord of my soul--what means my pain?
+      This horrid terror,--like
+    Some cloud that hides a hurricane;
+      Hang not, O lightning,--strike!"
+
+    Thus while she spake, the king drew near
+      With haggard look and wild,
+    Weighed down with grief, and pale with fear,
+      Bearing the lifeless child.
+
+    Rustled the dry leaves neath his foot,
+      And made an eerie sound,
+    A neighbouring owl began to hoot,
+      All else was still around.
+
+    At the first rustle of the leaves
+      The _Muni_ answered clear,
+    "Lo, here he is--oh wherefore grieves
+      Thy soul, my partner dear?"
+
+    The words distinct, the monarch heard,
+      He could no further go,
+    His nature to its depths was stirred,
+      He stopped in speechless woe.
+
+    No steps advanced,--the sudden pause
+      Attention quickly drew,
+    Rolled sightless orbs to learn the cause,
+      But, hark!--the steps renew.
+
+    "Where art thou, darling--why so long
+      Hast thou delayed to-night?
+    We die of thirst,--we are not strong,
+      This fasting kills outright.
+
+    "Speak to us, dear one,--only speak,
+      And calm our idle fears,
+    Where hast thou been, and what to seek?
+      Have pity on these tears."
+
+    With head bent low the monarch heard,
+      Then came a cruel throb
+    That tore his heart,--still not a word,
+      Only a stifled sob!
+
+    "It is not Sindhu--who art thou?
+      And where is Sindhu gone?
+    There's blood upon thy hands--avow!"
+      "There is."--"Speak on, speak on."
+
+    The dead child in their arms he placed,
+      And briefly told his tale,
+    The parents their dead child embraced,
+      And kissed his forehead pale.
+
+    "Our hearts are broken. Come, dear wife,
+      On earth no more we dwell;
+    Now welcome Death, and farewell Life,
+      And thou, O king, farewell!
+
+    "We do not curse thee, God forbid
+      But to my inner eye
+    The future is no longer hid,
+      Thou too shalt like us die.
+
+    "Die--for a son's untimely loss!
+      Die--with a broken heart!
+    Now help us to our bed of moss,
+      And let us both depart."
+
+    Upon the moss he laid them down,
+      And watched beside the bed;
+    Death gently came and placed a crown
+      Upon each reverend head.
+
+    Where the Sarayu's waves dash free
+      Against a rocky bank,
+    The monarch had the corpses three
+      Conveyed by men of rank;
+
+    There honoured he with royal pomp
+      Their funeral obsequies,--
+    Incense and sandal, drum and tromp,
+      And solemn sacrifice.
+
+    What is the sequel of the tale?
+      How died the king?--Oh man,
+    A prophet's words can never fail--
+      Go, read the Ramayan.
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+PREHLAD.
+
+
+    A terror both of gods and men
+    Was Heerun Kasyapu, the king;
+    No bear more sullen in its den,
+    No tiger quicker at the spring.
+    In strength of limb he had not met,
+    Since first his black flag he unfurled,
+    Nor in audacious courage, yet,
+    His equal in the wide, wide world.
+
+    The holy Veds he tore in shreds;
+    Libations, sacrifices, rites,
+    He made all penal; and the heads
+    Of Bramins slain, he flung to kites,
+    "I hold the sceptre in my hand,
+    I sit upon the ivory throne,
+    Bow down to me--'tis my command,
+    And worship me, and me alone.
+
+    "No god has ever me withstood,
+    Why raise ye altars?--cease your pains!
+    I shall protect you, give you food,
+    If ye obey,--or else the chains."
+    Fled at such edicts, self-exiled,
+    The Bramins and the pundits wise,
+    To live thenceforth in forests wild,
+    Or caves in hills that touch the skies.
+
+    In secret there, they altars raised,
+    And made oblations due by fire,
+    Their gods, their wonted gods, they praised,
+    Lest these should earth destroy in ire;
+    They read the Veds, they prayed and mused,
+    Full well they knew that Time would bring
+    For favours scorned, and gifts misused,
+    Undreamt of changes on his wing.
+
+    Time changes deserts bare to meads,
+    And fertile meads to deserts bare,
+    Cities to pools, and pools with reeds
+    To towns and cities large and fair.
+    Time changes purple into rags,
+    And rags to purple. Chime by chime,
+    Whether it flies, or runs, or drags--
+    The wise wait patiently on Time.
+
+    Time brought the tyrant children four,
+    Rahd, Onoorahd, Prehlad, Sunghrad,
+    Who made his castle gray and hoar,
+    Once full of gloom, with sunshine glad.
+    No boys were e'er more beautiful,
+    No brothers e'er loved more each other,
+    No sons were e'er more dutiful,
+    Nor ever kissed a fonder mother.
+
+    Nor less beloved were they of him
+    Who gave them birth, Kasyapu proud,
+    But made by nature stern and grim,
+    His love was covered by a cloud
+    From which it rarely e'er emerged,
+    To gladden these sweet human flowers.
+    They grew apace, and now Time urged
+    The education of their powers.
+
+    Who should their teacher be? A man
+    Among the flatterers in the court
+    Was found, well-suited to the plan
+    The tyrant had devised. Report
+    Gave him a wisdom owned by few,
+    And certainly to trim his sail,
+    And veer his bark, none better knew,
+    Before a changing adverse gale.
+
+    And Sonda Marco,--such his name,--
+    Took home the four fair boys to teach
+    All knowledge that their years became,
+    Science, and war, and modes of speech,
+    But he was told, if death he feared,
+    Never to tell them of the soul,
+    Of vows, and prayers, and rites revered,
+    And of the gods who all control.
+
+    The sciences the boys were taught
+    They mastered with a quickness strange,
+    But Prehlad was the one for thought,
+    He soared above the lesson's range.
+    One day the tutor unseen heard
+    The boy discuss forbidden themes,
+    As if his inmost heart were stirred,
+    And he of truth from heaven had gleams.
+
+    "O Prince, what mean'st thou?" In his fright
+    The teacher thus in private said--
+    "Talk on such subjects is not right,
+    Wouldst thou bring ruin on my head?
+    There are no gods except the king,
+    The ruler of the world is he!
+    Look up to him, and do not bring
+    Destruction by a speech too free.
+
+    "Be wary for thy own sake, child,
+    If he should hear thee talking so,
+    Thou shalt for ever be exiled,
+    And I shall die, full well I know.
+    Worthy of worship, honour, praise,
+    Is thy great father. Things unseen,
+    What _are_ they?--Themes of poets' lays!
+    They _are_ not and have never been."
+
+    Smiling, the boy, with folded hands,
+    As sign of a submission meek,
+    Answered his tutor. "Thy commands
+    Are ever precious. Do not seek
+    To lay upon me what I feel
+    Would be unrighteous. Let me hear
+    Those inner voices that reveal
+    Long vistas in another sphere.
+
+    "The gods that rule the earth and sea,
+    Shall I abjure them and adore
+    A man? It may not, may not be;
+    Though I should lie in pools of gore
+    My conscience I would hurt no more;
+    But I shall follow what my heart
+    Tells me is right, so I implore
+    My purpose fixed no longer thwart.
+
+    "The coward calls black white, white black,
+    At bidding, or in fear of death;
+    Such suppleness, thank God, I lack,
+    To die is but to lose my breath.
+    Is death annihilation? No.
+    New worlds will open on my view,
+    When persecuted hence I go,
+    The right is right,--the true is true."
+
+    All's over now, the teacher thought,
+    Now let this reach the monarch's ear!
+    And instant death shall be my lot.
+    They parted, he in abject fear.
+    And soon he heard a choral song
+    Sung by young voices in the praise
+    Of gods unseen, who right all wrong,
+    And rule the worlds from primal days.
+
+    "What progress have thy charges made?
+    Let them be called, that I may see."
+    And Sonda Marco brought as bade
+    His pupils to the royal knee.
+    Three passed the monarch's test severe,
+    The fourth remained: then spake the king,
+    "Now, Prehlad, with attention hear,
+    I know thou hast the strongest wing!
+
+    "What is the cream of knowledge, child,
+    Which men take such great pains to learn?"
+    With folded hands he answered mild:
+    "Listen, O Sire! To speak I yearn.
+    All sciences are nothing worth,--
+    Astronomy that tracks the star,
+    Geography that maps the earth,
+    Logic, and Politics, and War,--
+
+    "And Medicine, that strives to heal
+    But only aggravates disease,
+    All, all are futile,--so I feel,
+    For me, O father, none of these.
+    That is true knowledge which can show
+    The glory of the living gods,--
+    Divest of pride, make men below
+    Humble and happy, though but clods.
+
+    "That is true knowledge which can make
+    Us mortals, saintlike, holy, pure,
+    The strange thirst of the spirit slake
+    And strengthen suffering to endure.
+    That is true knowledge which can change
+    Our very natures, with its glow;
+    The sciences whate'er their range
+    Feed but the flesh, and make a show."
+
+    "Where hast thou learnt this nonsense, boy?
+    Where live these gods believed so great?
+    Can they like me thy life destroy?
+    Have they such troops and royal state?
+    Above all gods is he who rules
+    The wide, wide earth, from sea to sea,
+    Men, devils, gods,--yea, all but fools
+    Bow down in fear and worship me!
+
+    "And dares an atom from my loins
+    Against my kingly power rebel?
+    Though heaven itself to aid him joins,
+    His end is death--the infidel!
+    I warn thee yet,--bow down, thou slave,
+    And worship me, or thou shalt die!
+    We'll see what gods descend to save--
+    What gods with me their strength will try!"
+
+    Thus spake the monarch in his ire,
+    One hand outstretched, in menace rude,
+    And eyes like blazing coals of fire.
+    And Prehlad, in unruffled mood
+    Straight answered him; his head bent low,
+    His palms joined meekly on his breast
+    As ever, and his cheeks aglow
+    His rock-firm purpose to attest.
+
+    "Let not my words, Sire, give offence,
+    To thee, and to my mother, both
+    I give as due all reverence,
+    And to obey thee am not loth.
+    But higher duties sometimes clash
+    With lower,--then these last must go,--
+    Or there will come a fearful crash
+    In lamentation, fear, and woe!
+
+    "The gods who made us are the life
+    Of living creatures, small and great;
+    We see them not, but space is rife
+    With their bright presence and their state.
+    They are the parents of us all,
+    'Tis they create, sustain, redeem,
+    Heaven, earth and hell, they hold in thrall,
+    And shall we these high gods blaspheme?
+
+    "Blest is the man whose heart obeys
+    And makes their law of life his guide,
+    He shall be led in all his ways,
+    His footsteps shall not ever slide;
+    In forests dim, on raging seas,
+    In certain peace shall he abide,
+    What though he all the world displease,
+    His gods shall all his wants provide!"
+
+    "Cease, babbler! 'tis enough! I know
+    Thy proud, rebellious nature well.
+    Ho! Captain of our lifeguards, ho!
+    Take down this lad to dungeon-cell,
+    And bid the executioner wait
+    Our orders." All unmoved and calm,
+    He went, as reckless of his fate,
+    Erect and stately as a palm.
+
+    Hushed was the hall, as down he past,
+    No breath, no whisper, not a sign,
+    Through ranks of courtiers, all aghast
+    Like beaten hounds that dare not whine.
+    Outside the door, the Captain spoke,
+    "Recant," he said beneath his breath;
+    "The lion's anger to provoke
+    Is death, O prince, is certain death."
+
+    "Thanks," said the prince,--"I have revolved
+    The question in my mind with care,
+    Do what you will,--I am resolved,
+    To do the right, all deaths I dare.
+    The gods, perhaps, may please to spare
+    My tender years; if not,--why, still
+    I never shall my faith forswear,
+    I can but say, be done their will."
+
+    Whether in pity for the youth,
+    The headsman would not rightly ply
+    The weapon, or the gods in truth
+    Had ordered that he should not die,
+    Soon to the king there came report
+    The sword would not destroy his son,
+    The council held thereon was short,
+    The king's look frightened every one.
+
+    "There is a spell against cold steel
+    Which known, the steel can work no harm,
+    Some sycophant with baneful zeal
+    Hath taught this foolish boy the charm.
+    It would be wise, O king, to deal
+    Some other way, or else I fear
+    Much damage to the common weal."
+    Thus spake the wily-tongued vizier.
+
+    Dark frowned the king.--"Enough of this,--
+    Death, instant death, is my command!
+    Go throw him down some precipice,
+    Or bury him alive in sand."
+    With terror dumb, from that wide hall
+    Departed all the courtier band,
+    But not one man amongst them all
+    Dared raise against the prince his hand.
+
+    And now vague rumours ran around,
+    Men talked of them with bated breath:
+    The river has a depth profound,
+    The elephants trample down to death,
+    The poisons kill, the firebrands burn.
+    Had every means in turn been tried?
+    Some said they had,--but soon they learn
+    The brave young prince had not yet died.
+
+    For once more in the Council-Hall
+    He had been cited to appear,
+    'Twas open to the public all,
+    And all the people came in fear.
+    Banners were hung along the wall,
+    The King sat on his peacock throne,
+    And now the hoary Marechal
+    Brings in the youth,--bare skin and bone.
+
+    "Who shall protect thee, Prehlad, now?
+    Against steel, poison, water, fire,
+    Thou art protected, men avow
+    Who treason, if but bold, admire.
+    In our own presence thou art brought
+    That we and all may know the truth--
+    Where are thy gods?--I long have sought
+    But never found them, hapless youth.
+
+    "Will they come down, to prove their strength?
+    Will they come down, to rescue thee?
+    Let them come down, for once, at length,
+    Come one, or all, to fight with me.
+    Where are thy gods? Or are they dead,
+    Or do they hide in craven fear?
+    There lies my gage. None ever said
+    I hide from any,--far or near."
+
+    "My gracious Liege, my Sire, my King!
+    If thou indeed wouldst deign to hear,
+    In humble mood, my words would spring
+    Like a pellucid fountain clear,
+    For I have in my dungeon dark
+    Learnt more of truth than e'er I knew,
+    There is one God--One only,--mark!
+    To Him is all our service due.
+
+    "Hath He a shape, or hath He none?
+    I know not this, nor care to know,
+    Dwelling in light, to which the sun
+    Is darkness,--He sees all below,
+    Himself unseen! In Him I trust,
+    He can protect me if He will,
+    And if this body turn to dust,
+    He can new life again instil.
+
+    "I fear not fire, I fear not sword,
+    All dangers, father, I can dare;
+    Alone, I can confront a horde,
+    For oh! my God is everywhere!"
+    "What! everywhere? Then in this hall,
+    And in this crystal pillar bright?
+    Now tell me plain, before us all,
+    Is He herein, thy God of light?"
+
+    The monarch placed his steel-gloved hand
+    Upon a crystal pillar near,
+    In mockful jest was his demand,
+    The answer came, low, serious, clear:
+    "Yes, father, God is even here,
+    And if He choose this very hour
+    Can strike us dead, with ghastly fear,
+    And vindicate His name and power."
+
+    "Where is this God? Now let us see."
+    He spumed the pillar with his foot,
+    Down, down it tumbled, like a tree
+    Severed by axes from the root,
+    And from within, with horrid clang
+    That froze the blood in every vein,
+    A stately sable warrior sprang,
+    Like some phantasma of the brain.
+
+    He had a lion head and eyes,
+    A human body, feet and hands,
+    Colossal,--such strange shapes arise
+    In clouds, when Autumn rules the lands!
+    He gave a shout;--the boldest quailed,
+    Then struck the tyrant on the helm,
+    And ripped him down; and last, he hailed
+    Prehlad as king of all the realm!
+
+    A thunder clap--the shape was gone!
+    One king lay stiff, and stark, and dead,
+    Another on the peacock throne
+    Bowed reverently his youthful head.
+    Loud rang the trumpets; louder still
+    A sovereign people's wild acclaim.
+    The echoes ran from hill to hill,
+    "Kings rule for us and in our name."
+
+    Tyrants of every age and clime
+    Remember this,--that awful shape
+    Shall startle you when comes the time,
+    And send its voice from cape to cape.
+    As human, peoples suffer pain,
+    But oh, the lion strength is theirs,
+    Woe to the king when galls the chain!
+    Woe, woe, their fury when he dares!
+
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+SITA.
+
+
+    Three happy children in a darkened room!
+    What do they gaze on with wide-open eyes?
+    A dense, dense forest, where no sunbeam pries,
+    And in its centre a cleared spot.--There bloom
+    Gigantic flowers on creepers that embrace
+    Tall trees; there, in a quiet lucid lake
+    The white swans glide; there, "whirring from the brake,"
+    The peacock springs; there, herds of wild deer race;
+    There, patches gleam with yellow waving grain;
+    There, blue smoke from strange altars rises light,
+    There, dwells in peace, the poet-anchorite.
+    But who is this fair lady? Not in vain
+    She weeps,--for lo! at every tear she sheds
+    Tears from three pairs of young eyes fall amain,
+    And bowed in sorrow are the three young heads.
+    It is an old, old story, and the lay
+    Which has evoked sad Sita from the past
+    Is by a mother sung.... 'Tis hushed at last
+    And melts the picture from their sight away,
+    Yet shall they dream of it until the day!
+    When shall those children by their mother's side
+    Gather, ah me! as erst at eventide?
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
+
+
+
+
+NEAR HASTINGS.
+
+
+    Near Hastings, on the shingle-beach,
+      We loitered at the time
+    When ripens on the wall the peach,
+      The autumn's lovely prime.
+    Far off,--the sea and sky seemed blent,
+      The day was wholly done,
+    The distant town its murmurs sent,
+      Strangers,--we were alone.
+
+    We wandered slow; sick, weary, faint,
+      Then one of us sat down,
+    No nature hers, to make complaint;--
+      The shadows deepened brown.
+    A lady past,--she was not young,
+      But oh! her gentle face
+    No painter-poet ever sung,
+      Or saw such saintlike grace.
+
+    She past us,--then she came again,
+      Observing at a glance
+    That we were strangers; one, in pain,--
+      Then asked,--Were we from France?
+    We talked awhile,--some roses red
+      That seemed as wet with tears,
+    She gave my sister, and she said,
+      "God bless you both, my dears!"
+
+    Sweet were the roses,--sweet and full,
+      And large as lotus flowers
+    That in our own wide tanks we cull
+      To deck our Indian bowers.
+    But sweeter was the love that gave
+      Those flowers to one unknown,
+    I think that He who came to save
+      The gift a debt will own.
+
+    The lady's name I do not know,
+      Her face no more may see,
+    But yet, oh yet I love her so!
+      Blest, happy, may she be!
+    Her memory will not depart,
+      Though grief my years should shade,
+    Still bloom her roses in my heart!
+      And they shall never fade!
+
+
+
+
+FRANCE.
+
+1870.
+
+
+    Not dead,--oh no,--she cannot die!
+      Only a swoon, from loss of blood!
+    Levite England passes her by,
+    Help, Samaritan! None is nigh;
+      Who shall stanch me this sanguine flood?
+
+    Range the brown hair, it blinds her eyne,
+      Dash cold water over her face!
+    Drowned in her blood, she makes no sign,
+    Give her a draught of generous wine.
+      None heed, none hear, to do this grace.
+
+    Head of the human column, thus
+      Ever in swoon wilt thou remain?
+    Thought, Freedom, Truth, quenched ominous,
+    Whence then shall Hope arise for us,
+      Plunged in the darkness all again!
+
+    No, she stirs!--There's a fire in her glance,
+      Ware, oh ware of that broken sword!
+    What, dare ye for an hour's mischance,
+    Gather around her, jeering France,
+      Attila's own exultant horde?
+
+    Lo, she stands up,--stands up e'en now,
+      Strong once more for the battle-fray,
+    Gleams bright the star, that from her brow
+    Lightens the world. Bow, nations, bow,
+      Let her again lead on the way!
+
+
+
+
+THE TREE OF LIFE.
+
+
+    Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness!
+    Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep,
+    My hand was in my father's, and I felt
+    His presence near me. Thus we often past
+    In silence, hour by hour. What was the need
+    Of interchanging words when every thought
+    That in our hearts arose, was known to each,
+    And every pulse kept time? Suddenly there shone
+    A strange light, and the scene as sudden changed.
+    I was awake:--It was an open plain
+    Illimitable,--stretching, stretching--oh, so far!
+    And o'er it that strange light,--a glorious light
+    Like that the stars shed over fields of snow
+    In a clear, cloudless, frosty winter night,
+    Only intenser in its brilliance calm.
+    And in the midst of that vast plain, I saw,
+    For I was wide awake,--it was no dream,
+    A tree with spreading branches and with leaves
+    Of divers kinds,--dead silver and live gold,
+    Shimmering in radiance that no words may tell!
+    Beside the tree an Angel stood; he plucked
+    A few small sprays, and bound them round my head.
+    Oh, the delicious touch of those strange leaves!
+    No longer throbbed my brows, no more I felt
+    The fever in my limbs--"And oh," I cried,
+    "Bind too my father's forehead with these leaves."
+    One leaf the Angel took and therewith touched
+    His forehead, and then gently whispered "Nay!"
+    Never, oh never had I seen a face
+    More beautiful than that Angel's, or more full
+    Of holy pity and of love divine.
+    Wondering I looked awhile,--then, all at once
+    Opened my tear-dimmed eyes--When lo! the light
+    Was gone--the light as of the stars when snow
+    Lies deep upon the ground. No more, no more,
+    Was seen the Angel's face. I only found
+    My father watching patient by my bed,
+    And holding in his own, close-prest, my hand.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE FLY-LEAF OF ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN'S NOVEL ENTITLED "MADAME THERESE."
+
+
+    Wavered the foremost soldiers,--then fell back.
+    Fallen was their leader, and loomed right before
+    The sullen Prussian cannon, grim and black,
+    With lighted matches waving. Now, once more,
+    Patriots and veterans!--Ah! 'Tis in vain!
+    Back they recoil, though bravest of the brave;
+    No human troops may stand that murderous rain;
+    But who is this--that rushes to a grave?
+
+    It is a woman,--slender, tall, and brown!
+    She snatches up the standard as it falls,--
+    In her hot haste tumbles her dark hair down,
+    And to the drummer-boy aloud she calls
+    To beat the charge; then forwards on the _pont_
+    They dash together;--who could bear to see
+    A woman and a child, thus Death confront,
+    Nor burn to follow them to victory?
+
+    I read the story and my heart beats fast!
+    Well might all Europe quail before thee, France,
+    Battling against oppression! Years have past,
+    Yet of that time men speak with moistened glance.
+    _Va-nu-pieds!_ When rose high your Marseillaise
+    Man knew his rights to earth's remotest bound,
+    And tyrants trembled. Yours alone the praise!
+    Ah, had a Washington but then been found!
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--BAUGMAREE.
+
+
+    A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
+      But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
+      Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;
+    The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
+    Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,
+      And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
+      And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
+    Red,--red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
+    But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
+      Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
+    Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
+      Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
+        Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
+        On a primeval Eden, in amaze.
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--THE LOTUS.
+
+
+    Love came to Flora asking for a flower
+      That would of flowers be undisputed queen,
+      The lily and the rose, long, long had been
+    Rivals for that high honour. Bards of power
+    Had sung their claims. "The rose can never tower
+      Like the pale lily with her Juno mien"--
+      "But is the lily lovelier?" Thus between
+    Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche's bower.
+    "Give me a flower delicious as the rose
+      And stately as the lily in her pride"--
+    "But of what colour?"--"Rose-red," Love first chose,
+      Then prayed,--"No, lily-white,--or, both provide;"
+      And Flora gave the lotus, "rose-red" dyed,
+    And "lily-white,"--the queenliest flower that blows.
+
+
+
+
+OUR CASUARINA TREE.
+
+
+    Like a huge Python, winding round and round
+      The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars
+      Up to its very summit near the stars,
+    A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound
+      No other tree could live. But gallantly
+    The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung
+    In crimson clusters all the boughs among,
+      Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;
+    And oft at nights the garden overflows
+    With one sweet song that seems to have no close,
+    Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.
+
+    When first my casement is wide open thrown
+      At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;
+      Sometimes, and most in winter,--on its crest
+    A grey baboon sits statue-like alone
+      Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs
+    His puny offspring leap about and play;
+    And far and near kokilas hail the day;
+      And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;
+    And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast
+    By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,
+    The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.
+
+    But not because of its magnificence
+      Dear is the Casuarina to my soul:
+      Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,
+    O sweet companions, loved with love intense,
+      For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear!
+    Blent with your images, it shall arise
+    In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!
+      What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear
+    Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?
+    It is the tree's lament, an eerie speech,
+    That haply to the unknown land may reach.
+
+    Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!
+      Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away
+      In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,
+    When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith
+      And the waves gently kissed the classic shore
+    Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,
+    When earth lay tranced in a dreamless swoon:
+      And every time the music rose,--before
+    Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,
+    Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime
+    I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.
+
+    Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay
+      Unto thy honour, Tree, beloved of those
+      Who now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose,
+    Dearer than life to me, alas! were they!
+      Mayst thou be numbered when my days are done
+    With deathless trees--like those in Borrowdale,
+    Under whose awful branches lingered pale
+      "Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,
+    And Time the shadow;" and though weak the verse
+    That would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse,
+    May Love defend thee from Oblivion's curse.
+
+
+
+
+ CHISWICK PRESS:
+ C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT,
+ CHANCERY LANE.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ancient Ballads and Legends of
+Hindustan, by Toru Dutt
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