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.

THE END