THECURSE OF KEHAMA.I.THE FUNERAL.1.Midnight, and yet no eyeThrough all the Imperial City clos’d in sleep!Behold her streets a-blazeWith light that seems to kindle the red sky,Her myriads swarming through the crowded ways!Master and slave, old age and infancy,All, all abroad to gaze;House-top and balconyClustered with women, who throw back their veils,With unimpeded and insatiate sightTo view the funeral pomp which passes by,As if the mournful riteWere but to them a scene of joyance and delight.2.Vainly, ye blessed twinklers of the night,Your feeble beams ye shed,Quench’d in the unnatural light which might out-stareEven the broad eye of day;And thou from thy celestial wayPourest, O Moon, an ineffectual ray!For lo! ten thousand torches flame and flareUpon the midnight air,Blotting the lights of heavenWith one portentous glare.Behold the fragrant smoke in many a fold,Ascending floats along the fiery sky,And hangeth visible on high,A dark and waving canopy.3.Hark! ’tis the funeral trumpet’s breath!’Tis the dirge of death!At once ten thousand drums begin,With one long thunder-peal the ear assailing;Ten thousand voices then join in,And with one deep and general dinPour their wild wailing.The song of praise is drown’dAmid that deafening sound;You hear no more the trumpet’s tone,You hear no more the mourner’s moan,Though the trumpet’s breath, and the dirge of death,Mingle and swell the funeral yell.But rising over all in one acclaimIs heard the echoed and re-echoed name,From all that countless rout:Arvalan! Arvalan!Arvalan! Arvalan!Ten times ten thousand voices in one shoutCall Arvalan! The overpowering soundFrom house to house repeated rings about,From tower to tower rolls round.4.The death-procession moves along;Their bald heads shining to the torches’ ray,The Bramins lead the way,Chaunting the funeral song.And now at once they shoutArvalan! Arvalan!With quick rebound of sound,All in accordant cry,Arvalan! Arvalan!The universal multitude reply.In vain ye thunder on his ear the name!Would ye awake the dead?Borne upright in his palankeen,There Arvalan is seen!A glow is on his face, . . . a lively red;’Tis but the crimson canopyWhich o’er his cheek the reddening shade hath shed.He moves, . . . he nods his head; . . .But the motion comes from the bearers’ tread,As the body, borne aloft in state,Sways with the impulse of its own dead weight.5.Close following his dead son, Kehama came,Nor joining in the ritual song,Nor calling the dear name;With head deprest and funeral vest,And arms enfolded on his breast,Silent and lost in thought he moves along.King of the world, his slaves unenvying nowBehold their wretched Lord; rejoiced they seeThe mighty Rajah’s misery;For nature in his pride hath dealt the blow,And taught the master of mankind to knowEven he himself is man, and not exempt from woe.6.O sight of grief! the wives of Arvalan,Young Azla, young Nealliny, are seen!Their widow-robes of white,With gold and jewels bright,Each like an Eastern queen.Woe! woe! around their palankeen,As on a bridal day,With symphony, and dance, and song,Their kindred and their friends come on, . . .The dance of sacrifice! the funeral song!And next the victim slaves in long array,Richly bedight to grace the fatal day,Move onward to their death;The clarions’ stirring breathLifts their thin robes in every flowing fold,And swells the woven gold,That on the agitated airTrembles, and glitters to the torches’ glare.7.A man and maid of aspect wan and wild,Then, side by side, by bowmen guarded, came.O wretched father! O unhappy child!Them were all eyes of all the throng exploring; . . .Is this the daring manWho raised his fatal hand at Arvalan?Is this the wretch condemned to feelKehama’s dreadful wrath?Them were all hearts of all the throng deploring,For not in that innumerable throngWas one who lov’d the dead; for who could knowWhat aggravated wrongProvok’d the desperate blow!Far, far behind, beyond all reach of sight,In ordered files the torches flow along,One ever-lengthening line of gliding light:Far . . . far behind,Rolls on the undistinguishable clamour,Of horn, and trump, and tambour;Incessant at the roarOf streams which down the wintry mountain pour,And louder than the dread commotionOf stormy billows on a rocky shore,When the winds rage over the wares,And Ocean to the Tempest raves.8.And now toward the bank they go,Where, winding on their way below,Deep and strong the waters flow.Here doth the funeral pile appearWith myrrh and ambergris bestrew’d,And built of precious sandal wood.They cease their music and their outcry here;Gently they rest the bier:They wet the face of Arvalan,No sign of life the sprinkled drops excite.They feel his breast, . . . no motion there;They feel his lips, . . . no breath;For not with feeble, nor with erring hand,The stern avenger dealt the blow of death.Then with a doubling peal and deeper blast,The tambours and the trumpets sound on high,And with a last and loudest cryThey call on Arvalan.9.Woe! woe! for Azla takes her seatUpon the funeral pile!Calmly she took her seat,Calmly the whole terrific pomp survey’d;As on her lap the whileThe lifeless head of Arvalan was laid.Woe! woe! Nealliny,The young Nealliny!They strip her ornaments away,Bracelet and anklet, ring, and chain, and zone;Around her neck they leaveThe marriage knot alone, . . .That marriage band, which whenYon waning moon was young,Around her virgin neckWith bridal joy was hung.Then with white flowers, the coronal of death,Her jetty locks they crown.O sight of misery!Yon cannot hear her cries, . . . all other soundIn that wild dissonance is drown’d; . . .But in her face you seeThe supplication and the agony, . . .See in her swelling throat the desperate strengthThat with vain effort struggles yet for life;Her arms contracted now in fruitless strife,Now wildly at full lengthTowards the crowd in vain for pity spread, . . .They force her on, they bind her to the dead.10.Then all around retire;Circling the pile, the ministring Bramins stand,Each lifting in his hand a torch on fire.Alone the Father of the dead advancedAnd lit the funeral pyre.11.At once on every sideThe circling torches drop;At once on every sideThe fragrant oil is pour’d;At once on every sideThe rapid flames rush up.Then hand in hand the victim bandRoll in the dance around the funeral pyre;Their garments’ flying foldsFloat inward to the fire.In drunken whirl they wheel around;One drops, . . . another plunges in;And still with overwhelming dinThe tambours and the trumpets sound;And clap of hand, and shouts, and cries,From all the multitude arise:While round and round, in giddy wheel,Intoxicate they roll and reel,Till one by one whirl’d in they fall,And the devouring flames have swallowed all.12.Then all was still; the drums and clarions ceas’d;The multitude were hush’d in silent awe;Only the roaring of the flames was heard.II.THE CURSE.1.Alone towards the Table of the dead,Kehama mov’d; there on the altar-stoneHoney and rice he spread,There with collected voice and painful toneHe call’d upon his son.Lo! Arvalan appears.Only Kehama’s powerful eye beheldThe thin etherial spirit hovering nigh;Only the Rajah’s earReceiv’d his feeble breath.And is this all? the mournful spirit said,This all that thou canst give me after death?This unavailing pomp,These empty pageantries that mock the dead!2.In bitterness the Rajah heard,And groan’d, and smote his breast, and o’er his faceCowl’d the white mourning vest.Arvalan.Art thou not powerful, . . . even like a God?And must I, through my years of wandering,Shivering and naked to the elements,In wretchedness awaitThe hour of Yamen’s wrath?I thought thou wouldst embody me anew.Undying as I am, . . .Yea, re-create me! . . . Father, is this all!This all! and thou Almighty!3.But in that wrongful and upbraiding tone,Kehama found relief,For rising anger half supprest his grief.Reproach not me! he cried;Had I not spell-secur’d thee from disease,Fire, sword, . . . all common accidents of man, . . .And thou! . . . fool, fool, . . . to perish by a stake!And by a peasant’s arm! . . .Even now, when from reluctant HeavenForcing new gifts and mightier attributes,So soon I should have quell’d the Death-God’s power.4.Waste not thy wrath on me, quoth Arvalan,It was my hour of folly! Fate prevail’d,Nor boots it to reproach me that I fell.I am in misery, Father! Other soulsPredoom’d to Indra’s Heaven, enjoy the dawnOf bliss: . . . to them the tempered elementsMinister joy, genial delight the sunSheds on their happy being, and the starsEffuse on them benignant influencies;And thus o’er earth and air they roam at will,And when the number of their days is full,Go fearlessly before the awful throne.But I, . . . all naked feeling and raw life, . . .What worse than this hath Yamen’s hell in store?If ever thou didst love me, mercy, Father!Save me, for thou canst save: . . . the ElementsKnow and obey thy voice.Kehama.The ElementsShall torture thee no more; even while I speakAlready dost then feel their power is gone.Fear not! I cannot call again the past,Fate hath made that its own; but Fate shall yieldTo me the future; and thy doom be fix’dBy mine, not Yamen’s will. Meantime, all powerWhereof thy feeble spirit can be madeParticipant, I give. Is there aught elseTo mitigate thy lot?Arvalan.Only the sight of vengeance. Give me that!Vengeance, full, worthy vengeance! . . . not the strokeOf sodden punishment, . . . no agonyThat spends itself and leaves the wretch at rest,But lasting long revenge.Kehama.What, boy? is that cup sweet? then take thy fill!5.So as he spake, a glow of dreadful prideInflam’d his cheek: with quick and angry strideHe mov’d toward the pile,And rais’d his hand to hush the crowd, and criedBring forth the murderer! At the Rajah’s voice,Calmly, and like a man whom fear had stunn’d,Ladurlad came, obedient to the call.But Kailyal started at the sound,And gave a womanly shriek, and back she drew,And eagerly she roll’d her eyes around,As if to seek for aid, albeit she knewNo aid could there be found.6.It chanced that near her, on the river-brink,The sculptur’d form of Marriataly stood;It was an idol roughly hewn of wood,Artless, and poor, and rude.The Goddess of the poor was she;None else regarded her with piety.But when that holy image Kailyal view’d,To that she sprung, to that she clung,On her own goddess with close-clasping arms,For life the maiden hung.They seiz’d the maid; with unrelenting graspThey bruis’d her tender limbs;She, nothing yielding, to this only hopeClings with the strength of frenzy and despair.She screams not now, she breathes not now,She sends not up one vow,She forms not in her soul one secret prayer,All thought, all feeling, and all powers’ of lifeIn the one effort centering. Wrathful theyWith tug and strain would force the maid away. . . .Didst thou, O Marriataly, see their strife?In pity didst thou see the suffering maid?Or was thine anger kindled, that rude handsAssail’d thy holy image? . . . for beholdThe holy image shakes!Irreverently bold, they deem the maidRelax’d her stubborn hold,And now with force redoubled drag their prey;And now the rooted idol to their swayBends, . . . yields, . . . and now it falls. But then they scream,For lo! they feel the crumbling bank give way,And all are plunged into the stream.7.She hath escap’d my will, Kehama cried,She hath escap’d, . . . but thou art here,I have thee still,The worser criminal!And on Ladurlad, while he spake, severeHe fix’d his dreadful frown.The strong reflection of the pileLit his dark lineaments,Lit the protruded brow, the gathered front,The steady eye of wrath.8.But while the fearful silence yet endur’d,Ladurlad rous’d his soul;Ere yet the voice of destinyWhich trembled on the Rajah’s lips was loos’d,Eager he interpos’d,As if despair had waken’d him to hope;Mercy! oh mercy! only in defence . . .Only instinctively, . . .Only to save my child, I smote the Prince.King of the world, be merciful!Crush me, . . . but torture not!9.The Man-Almighty deign’d him no reply,Still he stood silent; in no human moodOf mercy, in no hesitating thoughtOf right and justice. At the length he rais’dHis brow yet unrelax’d, . . . his lips unclos’d,And utter’d from the heart,With the whole feeling of his soul enforced,The gather’d vengeance came.10.I charm thy lifeFrom the weapons of strife,From stone and from wood,From fire and from flood,From the serpent’s tooth,And the beasts of blood:From Sickness I charm thee,And Time shall not harm thee;But Earth, which is mine,Its fruits shall deny thee;And Water shall hear me,And know thee and fly thee;And the Winds shall not touch theeWhen they pass by thee,And the Dews shall not wet thee,When they fall nigh thee:And thou shalt seek DeathTo release thee, in vain;Thou shalt live in thy pain,While Kehama shall reign,With a fire in thy heart,And a fire in thy brain;And sleep shall obey me,And visit thee never,And the Curse shall be on theeFor ever and ever.11.There where the Curse had stricken him,There stood the miserable man,There stood Ladurlad, with loose-hanging arms,And eyes of idiot wandering.Was it a dream? alas,He heard the river flow,He heard the crumbling of the pile,He heard the wind which shower’dThe thin white ashes round.There motionless he stood,As if he hop’d it were a dream,And fear’d to move, lest he should proveThe actual misery;And still at times he met Kehama’s eye,Kehama’s eye that fasten’d on him still.III.THE RECOVERY.1.The Rajah turn’d toward the pile again,Loud rose the song of death from all the crowd;Their din the instruments begin,And once again join inWith overwhelming sound.Ladurlad starts, . . . he looks around.What hast thou here in view,O wretched man, in this disastrous scene?The soldier train, the Bramins who renewTheir ministry around the funeral pyre,The empty palankeens,The dimly-fading fire.Where too is she whom most his heart held dear,His best-beloved Kailyal, where is she,The solace and the joy of many a yearOf widowhood! is she then gone,And is he left all-utterly alone,To bear his blasting curse, and noneTo succour or deplore him?He staggers from the dreadful spot; the throngGive way in fear before him;Like one who carries pestilence about,Shuddering they shun him, where he moves along.And now he wanders onBeyond the noisy rout;He cannot fly and leave his curse behind,Yet doth he seem to findA comfort in the change of circumstance.Adown the shore he strays,Unknowing where his wretched feet may rest,But farthest from the fatal place is best.2.By this in the orient sky appears the gleamOf day. Lo! what is yonder in the stream,Down the slow river floating slow,In distance indistinct and dimly seen?The childless one with idle eyeFollowed its motion thoughtlessly;Idly he gaz’d, unknowing why,And half unconscious that he watch’d its way.Belike it is a treeWhich some rude tempest, in its sudden sway,Tore from the rock, or from the hollow shoreThe undermining stream hath swept away.3.But when anon outswelling by its side,A woman’s robe he spied,Oh then Ladurlad started,As one, who in his graveHad heard an angel’s call.Yea, Marriataly, then hast deign’d to save!Yea, Goddess! it is she,To thy dear image clinging senselessly,And thus in happy hourUpborne amid the waveBy that preserving power.4.Headlong in hope and in joyLadurlad dash’d in the water.The water knew Kehama’s spell,The water shrunk before him.Blind to the miracle,He rushes to his daughter,And treads the river-depths in transport wild,And clasps and saves his child.5.Upon the farther side a level shoreOf sand was spread: thither Ladurlad boreHis daughter, holding still with senseless handThe saving Goddess; there upon the sandHe laid the livid maid,Rais’d up against his knees her drooping head;Bent to her lips, . . . her lips as pale as death, . . .If he might feel her breath,His own the while in hope and dread suspended;Chaf’d her cold breast, and ever and anonLet his hand rest upon her heart extended.6.Soon did his touch perceive, or fancy there,The first faint motion of returning life.He chafes her feet, and lays them bareIn the sun; and now again upon her breastLays his hot hand; and now her lips he prest,For now the stronger throb of life he knew:And her lips tremble too!The breath comes palpably,Her quivering lids uncloseFeebly and feebly fell,Relapsing as it seem’d to dead repose.7.So in her father’s arms thus languidly,While over her with earnest gaze he hung,Silent and motionless she lay,And painfully and slowly writh’d at fits,At fits to short convulsive starts was stung.Till when the struggle and strong agonyHad left her, quietly she lay repos’d:Her eyes now resting on Ladurlad’s face,Relapsing now, and now again unclos’d.The look she fix’d upon his face, impliesNor thought nor feeling; senselessly she lies,Compos’d like one who sleeps with open eyes.8.Long he leant over her,In silence and in fear.Kailyal! . . . at length he cried in such a tone,As a poor mother ventures who draws near,With silent footstep, to her child’s sick bed.My Father! cried the maid, and rais’d her head,Awakening then to life and thought, . . . thou here?For when his voice she heard,The dreadful past recurr’d,Which dimly, like a dream of pain,Till now with troubled sense confus’d her brain.9.And hath he spar’d us then? she cried,Half rising as she spake,For hope and joy the sudden strength supplied;In mercy hath he curb’d his cruel will,That still thou livest? But as thus she said,Impatient of that look of hope, her sireShook hastily his head;Oh! he hath laid a Curse upon my life,A clinging curse, quoth he;Hath sent a fire into my heart and brain,A burning fire, for ever there to be!The winds of Heaven must never breathe on me;The rains and dews must never fall on me;Water must mock my thirst and shrink from me;The common earth must yield no fruit to me;Sleep, blessed Sleep! must never light on me;And Death, who comes to all, must fly from me;And never, never set Ladurlad free.10.This is a dream! exclaim’d the incredulous maid,Yet in her voice the while a fear exprest,Which in her larger eye was manifest.This is a dream! she rose and laid her handUpon her father’s brow, to try the charm;He could not bear the pressure there; . . . he shrunk, . . .He warded off her arm,As though it were an enemy’s blow, he smoteHis daughter’s arm aside.Her eye glanced down, his mantle she espiedAnd caught it up; . . . Oh misery! Kailyal cried,He bore me from the river-depths, and yetHis garment is not wet!IV.THE DEPARTURE.1.Reclin’d beneath a Cocoa’s feathery shadeLadurlad lies,And Kailyal on his lap her head hath laid,To hide her streaming eyes.The boatman, sailing on his easy way,With envious eye beheld them where they lay;For every herb and flowerWas fresh and fragrant with the early dew;Sweet sung the birds in that delicious hour,And the cool gale of morning as it blew,Not yet subdued by day’s increasing power,Ruffling the surface of the silvery stream,Swept o’er the moisten’d sand, and rais’d no shower.Telling their tale of love,The boatman thought they layAt that lone hour, and who so blest as they!2.But now the sun in heaven is high,The little songsters of the skySit silent in the sultry hour,They pant and palpitate with heat;Their bills are open languidlyTo catch the passing air;They hear it not, they feel it not,It murmurs not, it moves not.The boatman, as he looks to land,Admires what men so mad to linger there,For yonder Cocoa’s shade behind them falls,A single spot upon the burning sand.3.There all the morning was Ladurlad laid,Silent and motionless, like one at ease;There motionless upon her father’s knees,Reclin’d the silent maid.The man was still, pondering with steady mind,As if it were another’s Curse,His own portentous lot;Scanning it o’er and o’er in busy thought,As though it were a last night’s tale of woe,Before the cottage door,By some old beldame sung,While young and old assembled round,Listened, as if by witchery bound,In fearful pleasure to her wonderous tongue.4.Musing so long he lay, that all things seemUnreal to his sense, even like a dream,A monstrous dream of things which could not be.That beating, burning brow, . . . why it was nowThe height of noon, and he was lying thereIn the broad sun, all bare!What if he felt no wind? the air was still,That was the general willOf nature, not his own peculiar doom;Yon rows of rice erect and silent stand,The shadow of the Cocoa’s lightest plumeIs steady on the sand.5.Is it indeed a dream? he rose to try,Impatient to the water-side he went,And down he bent,And in the stream he plung’d his hasty armTo break the visionary charm.With fearful eye and fearful heart,His daughter watch’d the event;She saw the start and shudder,She heard the in-drawn groan,For the Water knew Kehama’s charm,The water shrunk before his arm.His dry hand mov’d about unmoisten’d there;As easily might that dry hand availTo stop the passing gale,Or grasp the impassive air.He is Almighty then!Exclaim’d the wretched man in his despair;Air knows him, Water knows him; SleepHis dreadful word will keep;Even in the grave there is no rest for me,Cut off from that last hope, . . . the wretches’ joy;And Veeshnoo hath no power to save,Nor Seeva to destroy.6.Oh! wrong not them! quoth Kailyal,Wrong not the Heavenly Powers!Our hope is all in them: They are not blind!And lighter wrongs than ours,And lighter crimes than his,Have drawn the Incarnate down among mankind;Already have the Immortals heard our cries,And in the mercy of their righteousnessBeheld us in the hour of our distress!She spake with streaming eyes,Where pious love and ardent feeling beam;And turning to the Image, threwHer grateful arms around it, . . . It was thouWho saved’st me from the stream!My Marriataly, it was thou!I had not else been hereTo share my Father’s Curse,To suffer now, . . . and yet to thank thee thus!7.Here then, the maiden cried, dear Father, hereRaise our own Goddess, our divine Preserver!The mighty of the earth despise her rites,She loves the poor who serve her.Set up her image here,With heart and voice the guardian Goddess bless,For jealously would she resentNeglect and thanklessness. . . .Set up her image here,And bless her for her aid with tongue and soul sincere.8.So saying, on her knees the maidBegan the pious toil.Soon their joint labour scoops the easy soil;They raise the image up with reverent hand,And round its rooted base they heap the sand.O Thou whom we adore,O Marriataly, thee do I implore,The virgin cried; my Goddess, pardon thouThe unwilling wrong, that I no more,With dance and song,Can do thy daily service, as of yore!The flowers which last I wreath’d around thy brow,Are withering there; and never nowShall I at eve adore thee,And swimming round with arms outspread,Poise the full pitcher on my head,In dextrous dance before thee;White underneath the reedy shed, at rest,My father sate the evening rites to view,And blest thy name, and blestHis daughter too.9.Then heaving from her heart a heavy sigh,O Goddess! from that happy home, cried she,The Almighty Man hath forced us!And homeward with the thought unconsciouslyShe turn’d her dizzy eye. . . . But there on high,With many a dome, and pinnacle, and spire,The summits of, the Golden PalacesBlaz’d in the dark blue sky, aloft, like fire.Father, away! she cried, away!Why linger we so nigh?For not to him hath Nature givenThe thousand eyes of Deity,Always and every where with open sight,To persecute our flight!Away . . . away! she said,And took her father’s hand, and like a childHe followed where she led.V.THE SEPARATION.1.Evening comes on: arising from the stream,Homeward the tall flamingo wings his flight;And where he sails athwart the setting beam,His scarlet plumage glows with deeper light.The watchman, at the wish’d approach of night,Gladly forsakes the field, where he all day,To scare the winged plunderers from their prey,With shout and sling, on yonder clay-built height,Hath borne the sultry ray.Hark! at the Golden Palaces,The Bramin strikes the hour.For leagues and leagues around, the brazen soundRolls through the stillness of departing day,Like thunder far away.2.Behold them wandering on their hopeless way,Unknowing where they stray,Yet sure where’er they stop to find no rest.The evening gale is blowing,It plays among the trees;Like plumes upon a warrior’s crest,They see yon cocoas tossing to the breeze.Ladurlad views them with impatient mind,Impatiently he hearsThe gale of evening blowing,The sound of waters flowing,As if all sights and sounds combin’dTo mock his irremediable woe:For not for him the blessed waters flow,For not for him the gales of evening blow,A fire is in his heart and brain,And Nature hath no healing for his pain.3.The Moon is up, still paleAmid the lingering light.A cloud ascending in the eastern sky,Sails slowly o’er the vale,And darkens round and closes-in the night.No hospitable house is nigh,No traveller’s home the wanderers to invite.Forlorn, and with long watching overworn,The wretched father and the wretched childLie down amid the wild.4.Before them full in sight,A white flag flapping to the winds of night,Marks where the tyger seiz’d his human prey.Far, far away with natural dread,Shunning the perilous spot,At other times abhorrent had they fled;But now they heed it not.Nothing they care; the boding death-flag nowIn vain for them may gleam and flutter there.Despair and agony in him,Prevent all other thought;And Kailyal hath no heart or sense for aught,Save her dear father’s strange and miserable lot.5.There in the woodland shade,Upon the lap of that unhappy maid,His head Ladurlad laid,And never word he spake;Nor heav’d he one complaining sigh,Nor groan’d he with his misery,But silently for her dear sakeEndur’d the raging pain.And now the moon was hid on high,No stars were glimmering in the sky;She could not see her father’s eye,How red with burning agony.Perhaps he may be cooler now;She hoped, and long’d to touch his browWith gentle hand, yet did not dareTo lay the painful pressure there.Now forward from the tree she bent,And anxiously her head she leant,And listened to his breath.Ladurlad’s breath was short and quick,Yet regular it came,And like the slumber of the sick,In pantings still the same.Oh if he sleeps! . . . her lips unclose,Intently listening to the sound,That equal sound so like repose.Still quietly the sufferer lies,Bearing his torment now with resolute will;He neither moves, nor groans, nor sighs.Doth satiate cruelty bestowThis little respite to his woe,She thought, or are there Gods who look below!6.Perchance, thought Kailyal, willingly deceiv’d,Our Marriataly hath his pain reliev’d,And she hath bade the blessed sleep assuageHis agony, despite the Rajah’s rage.That was a hope which fill’d her gushing eyes,And made her heart in silent yearnings rise,To bless the Power divine in thankfulness.And yielding to that joyful thought her mind,Backward the maid her aching head reclin’dAgainst the tree, and to her father’s breathIn fear she hearken’d still with earnest ear.But soon forgetful fits the effort broke:In starts of recollection then she woke;Till now benignant Nature overcameThe Virgin’s weary and exhausted frame,Nor able more her painful watch to keep,She clos’d her heavy lids, and sunk to sleep.7.Vain was her hope! he did not rest from pain,The Curse was burning in his brain.Alas! the innocent maiden thought he slept,But Sleep the Rajah’s dread commandment kept,Sleep knew Kehama’s Curse.The dews of night fell round them now,They never bath’d Ladurlad’s brow,They knew Kehama’s Curse.The night-wind is abroad,Aloft it moves among the stirring trees.He only heard the breeze, . . .No healing aid to him it brought,It play’d around his head and touch’d him not,It knew Kehama’s Curse.8.Listening, Ladurlad lay in his despair,If Kailyal slept, for wherefore should she shareHer father’s wretchedness which none could cure?Better alone to suffer; he must bearThe burthen of his Curse, but why endureThe unavailing presence of her grief?She too, apart from him, might find relief;For dead the Rajah deem’d her, and as thusAlready she his dread revenge had fled,So might she still escape and live secure.9.Gently he lifts his head,And Kailyal does not feel;Gently he rises up, . . . she slumbers still;Gently he steals away with silent tread.Anon she started, for she felt him gone;She call’d, and through the stillness of the night,His step was heard in flight.Mistrustful for a moment of the sound,She listens! till the step is heard no more;But then she knows that he indeed is gone,And with a thrilling shriek she rushes on.The darkness and the wood impede her speed;She lifts her voice again,Ladurlad! . . . and again, alike in vain,And with a louder cryStraining its tone to hoarseness; . . . far away,Selfish in misery,He heard the call and faster did he fly.10.She leans against that tree whose jutting boughSmote her so rudely. Her poor heartHow audibly it panted,With sudden stop and start:Her breath how short and painfully it came!Hark! all is still around her, . . .And the night so utterly dark,She opened her eyes and she closed them,And the blackness and blank were the same.11.’Twas like a dream of horror, and she stoodHalf doubting whether all indeed were true.A Tyger’s howl loud echoing through the wood,Rous’d her; the dreadful sound she knew,And turn’d instinctively to what she feared.Far off the Tyger’s hungry howl was heard;A nearer horror met the maiden’s view,For right before her a dim form appear’d,A human form in that black night,Distinctly shaped by its own lurid light,Such light as the sickly moon is seen to shed,Through spell-rais’d fogs, a bloody baleful red.12.That Spectre fix’d his eyes upon her full;The light which shone in their accursed orbsWas like a light from Hell,And it grew deeper, kindling with the view.She could not turn her sightFrom that infernal gaze, which like a spellBound her, and held her rooted to the ground.It palsied every power;Her limbs avail’d her not in that dread hour.There was no moving thence,Thought, memory, sense were gone:She heard not now the Tyger’s nearer cry,She thought not on her father now,Her cold heart’s-blood ran back,Her hand lay senseless on the bough it clasp’d,Her feet were motionless;Her fascinated eyesLike the stone eye-balls of a statue fix’d,Yet conscious of the sight that blasted them.13.The wind is abroad,It opens the clouds;Scattered before the gale,They skurry through the sky,And the darkness retiring rolls over the vale.The stars in their beauty come forth on high,And through the dark-blue nightThe moon rides on triumphant, broad and bright.Distinct and darkening in her lightAppears that Spectre foul.The moon beam gives his face and form to sight,The shape of man,The living form and face of Arvalan!His hands are spread to clasp her.14.But at that sight of dread the maid awoke;As if a lightning-strokeHad burst the spell of fear,Away she broke all franticly and fled.There stood a temple near beside the way,An open fane of Pollear, gentle God,To whom the travellers for protection pray.With elephantine head and eye severe,Here stood his image, such as when he seiz’dAnd tore the rebel giant from the ground,With mighty trunk wreath’d roundHis impotent bulk, and on his tusks, on highImpal’d upheld him between earth and sky.15.Thither the affrighted maiden sped her flight,And she hath reach’d the place of sanctuary;And now within the temple in despite,Yea, even before the altar, in his sight,Hath Arvalan with fleshly arm of mightSeiz’d her. That instant the insulted GodCaught him aloft, and from his sinuous grasp,As if from some tort catapult let loose,Over the forest hurl’d him all abroad.16.Overcome with dread,She tarried not to see what heavenly powerHad saved her in that hour.Breathless and faint she fled.And now her foot struck on the knotted rootOf a broad manchineil, and there the maidFell senselessly beneath the deadly shade.
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