VI.CASYAPA.1.Shall this then be thy fate, O lovely Maid,Thus, Kailyal, must thy sorrows then be ended!Her face upon the ground,Her arms at length extended,There like a corpse behold her laid,Beneath the deadly shade.What if the hungry Tyger, prowling by,Should snuff his banquet nigh?Alas, Death needs not now his ministry;The baleful boughs hang o’er her,The poison-dews descend.What power will now restore her,What God will be her friend?2.Bright and so beautiful was that fair night,It might have calm’d the gay amid their mirth,And given the wretched a delight in tears.One of the Glendoveers,The loveliest race of all of heavenly birth,Hovering with gentle motion o’er the earth,Amid the moonlight air,In sportive flight was floating round and round,Unknowing where his joyous way was tending.He saw the maid where motionless she lay,And stoopt his flight descending,And rais’d her from the ground.Her heavy eye-lids are half clos’d,Her cheeks are pale and livid like the dead,Down hang her loose arms lifelessly,Down hangs her languid head.3.With timely pity touch’d for one so fair,The gentle GlendoveerPrest her thus pale and senseless to his breast,And springs aloft in air with sinewy wings,And bears the Maiden there,Where Himakoot, the holy Mount, on highFrom mid-earth rising in mid-Heaven,Shines in its glory like the throne of Even.Soaring with strenuous flight above,He bears her to the blessed Grove,Where in his ancient and august abodes,There dwells old Casyapa, the Sire of Gods.4.The Father of the Immortals sate,Where underneath the Tree of LifeThe fountains of the Sacred River sprung:The Father of the Immortals smil’dBenignant on his son.Knowest thou, he said, my child,Ereenia, knowest thou whom thou bringest here,A mortal to the holy atmosphere?Ereenia.I found her in the Groves of Earth,Beneath a poison-tree,Thus lifeless as thou seest her.In pity have I brought her to these bowers,Not erring, Father! by that smile . . .By that benignant eye!Casyapa.What if the maid be sinful? If her waysWere ways of darkness, and her death predoom’dTo that black hour of midnight, when the MoonHath turn’d her face away,Unwilling to beholdThe unhappy end of guilt?Ereenia.Then what a lie, my Sire, were written here,In these fair characters! And she had died,Sure proof of purer life and happier doom,Now in the moonlight, in the eye of Heaven,If I had left so fair a flower to fade.But thou, . . . all knowing as thou art,Why askest thou of me?O Father, oldest, holiest, wisest, best,To whom all things are plain,Why askest thou of me?Casyapa.Knowest thou Kehama?Ereenia.The Almighty Man!Who knows not him and his tremendous power?The Tyrant of the Earth,The Enemy of Heaven!Casyapa.Fearest thou the Rajah?Ereenia.He is terrible!Casyapa.Yea, he is terrible! such power hath he,That hope hath entered Hell.The Asuras and the spirits of the damn’dAcclaim their Hero; Yamen, with the mightOf Godhead, scarce can quellThe rebel race accurst;Half from their beds of torture they uprise,And half uproot their chains.Is there not fear in Heaven?The souls that are in bliss suspend their joy;The danger hath disturb’dThe calm of Deity,And Brama fears, and Veeshnoo turns his faceIn doubt toward Seeva’s throne.Ereenia.I have seen Indra tremble at his prayers,And at his dreadful penances turn pale.They claim and wrest from Seeva power so vast,That even Seeva’s self,The Highest, cannot grant and be secure.Casyapa.And darest thou, Ereenia, braveThe Almighty Tyrant’s power?Ereenia.I brave him, Father! I?Casyapa.Darest thou brave his vengeance? . . . for if not,Take her again to earth,Cast her before the tyger in his path,Or where the death-dew-dropping treeMay work Kehama’s will.Ereenia.Never!Casyapa.Then meet his wrath! for he, even he,Hath set upon this worm his wanton foot.Ereenia.I knew her not, how wretched and how fair,When here I wafted her: . . . poor Child of Earth,Shall I forsake thee, seeing thee so fair,So wretched? O my Father, let the maidDwell in the Sacred Grove.Casyapa.That must not be,For Force and Evil then would enter here;Ganges, the holy stream which cleanseth sin,Would flow from hence polluted in its springs,And they who gasp upon its banks in death,Feel no salvation. Piety and peaceAnd Wisdom, these are mine; but not the powerWhich could protect her from the Almighty Man;Nor when the spirit of dead ArvalanShould persecute her here to glut his rage,To heap upon her yet more agony,And ripen more damnation for himself.Ereenia.Dead Arvalan?Casyapa.All power to him, whereofThe disembodied spirit in its stateOf weakness could be made participant,Kehama hath assign’d, until his daysOf wandering shall be numbered.Ereenia.Look! she drinksThe gale of healing from the blessed Groves.She stirs, and lo! her handHath touch’d the Holy River in its source,Who would have shrunk if aught impure were nigh.Casyapa.The Maiden, of a truth, is pure from sin.5.The waters of the holy SpringAbout the hand of Kailyal play;They rise, they sparkle, and they sing,Leaping where languidly she lay,As if with that rejoicing stirThe holy Spring would welcome her.The Tree of Life which o’er her spread,Benignant bow’d its sacred head,And dropt its dews of healing;And her heart-blood at every breath,Recovering from the strife of death,Drew in new strength and feeling.Behold her beautiful in her repose,A life-bloom reddening now her dark-brown cheek;And lo! her eyes unclose,Dark as the depth of Ganges’ spring profoundWhen night hangs over it,Bright as the moon’s refulgent beam,That quivers on its clear up-sparkling stream.6.Soon she let fall her lids,As one who, from a blissful dreamWaking to thoughts of pain,Fain would return to sleep, and dream again.Distrustful of the sight,She moves not, fearing to disturbThe deep and full delight.In wonder fix’d, opening again her eyeShe gazes silently,Thinking her mortal pilgrimage was past,That she had reach’d her heavenly home of rest,And these were Gods before her,Or spirits of the blest.7.Lo! at Ereenia’s voice,A Ship of Heaven comes sailing down the skies.Where wouldst thou bear her? criesThe ancient Sire of Gods.Straight to the Swerga, to my Bower of Bliss,The Glendoveer replies,To Indra’s own abodes.Foe of her foe, were it alone for thisIndra should guard her from his vengeance there;But if the God forbear,Unwilling yet the perilous strife to try,Or shrinking from the dreadful Rajah’s might, . . .Weak as I am, O Father, even IStand forth in Seeva’s sight.8.Trust thou in Him whatever betide,And stand forth fearlessly!The Sire of Gods replied:All that He wills is right, and doubt not thou,Howe’er our feeble scope of sightMay fail us now,His righteous will in all things must be done.My blessing be upon thee, O my son!VII.THE SWERGA.1.Then in the Ship of Heaven, Ereenia laidThe waking, wondering Maid;The Ship of Heaven, instinct with thought, display’dIts living sail, and glides along the sky.On either side in wavy tide,The clouds of morn along its path divide;The Winds who swept in wild career on high,Before its presence check their charmed force;The Winds that loitering lagg’d along their course,Around the living Bark enamour’d play,Swell underneath the sail, and sing before its way.2.That Bark, in shape, was like the furrowed shellWherein the Sea-Nymphs to their parent-king,On festal day, their duteous offerings bring.Its hue? . . . Go watch the last green lightEre Evening yields the western sky to Night;Or fix upon the Sun thy strenuous sightTill thou hast reach’d its orb of chrysolite.The sail from end to end display’dBent, like a rainbow, o’er the maid.An Angel’s head, with visual eye,Through trackless space, directs its chosen way;Nor aid of wing, nor foot, nor fin,Requires to voyage o’er the obedient sky.Smooth as the swan when not a breeze at evenDisturbs the surface of the silver stream,Through air and sunshine sails the Ship of Heaven.3.Recumbent there the Maiden glides alongOn her aerial way,How swift she feels not, though the swiftest windHad flagg’d in flight behind.Motionless as a sleeping babe she lay,And all serene in mind,Feeling no fear; for that etherial airWith such new life and joyance fill’d her heart,Fear could not enter there;For sure she deem’d her mortal part was o’er,And she was sailing to the heavenly shore;And that Angelic form, who mov’d beside,Was some good Spirit sent to be her guide.4.Daughter of Earth! therein thou deem’st aright.And never yet did form more beautiful,In dreams of night descending from on high,Bless the religious Virgin’s gifted sight;Nor, like a vision of delight,Rise on the raptur’d Poet’s inward eye.Of human form divine was he,The immortal Youth of Heaven who floated by;Even such as that divinest form shall beIn those blest stages of our onward race,When no infirmity,Low thought, nor base desire, nor wasting care,Deface the semblance of our heavenly sire.The wings of Eagle or of CherubimHad seem’d unworthy him:Angelic power and dignity and graceWere in his glorious pennons; from the neckDown to the ankle reach’d their swelling web,Richer than robes of Tyrian die, that deckImperial majesty:Their colour like the winter’s moonless skyWhen all the stars of midnight’s canopyShine forth; or like the azure deep at noon,Reflecting back to heaven a brighter blue.Such was their tint when clos’d, but when outspread,The permeating lightShed through their substance thin a varying hue;Now bright as when the Rose,Beauteous as fragrant, gives to scent and sightA like delight; now like the juice that flowsFrom Douro’s generous vine,Or ruby when with deepest red it glows;Or as the morning clouds refulgent shineWhen, at forthcoming of the Lord of Day,The Orient, like a shrine,Kindles as it receives the rising ray,And heralding his way,Proclaims the presence of the power divine.5.Thus glorious were the wingsOf that celestial Spirit, as he wentDisporting through his native element.Nor these aloneThe gorgeous beauties that they gave to view:Through the broad membrane branch’d a pliant bone;Spreading like fibres from their parent stem,Its veins like interwoven silver shone,Or as the chaster hueOf pearls that grace some Sultan’s diadem.Now with slow stroke and strong, behold him smiteThe buoyant air, and now in gentler flight,On motionless wing expanded, shoot along.6.Through air and sunshine sails the Ship of Heaven.Far far beneath them liesThe gross and heavy atmosphere of earth;And with the Swerga gales,The Maid of mortal birthAt every breath a new delight inhales.And now toward its port the Ship of Heaven,Swift as a falling meteor, shapes its flight,Yet gently as the dews of night that gem,And do not bend the hare-bell’s slenderest stem.Daughter of Earth, Ereenia cried, alight,This is thy place of rest, the Swerga this,Lo, here my Bower of Bliss!7.He furl’d his azure wings, which round him foldGraceful as robes of Grecian chief of old.The happy Kailyal knew not where to gaze:Her eyes around in joyful wonder roam,Now turn’d upon the lovely Glendoveer,Now on his heavenly home.Ereenia.Here, Maiden, rest in peace,And I will guard thee, feeble as I am.The Almighty Rajah shall not harm thee here,While Indra keeps his throne.Kailyal.Alas, thou fearest him!Immortal as thou art, thou fearest him!I thought that death had sav’d me from his power;Not even the dead are safe.Ereenia.Long years of life and happiness,O Child of Earth, be thine!From death I sav’d thee, and from all thy foesWill save thee, while the Swerga is secure.Kailyal.Not me alone, O gentle Deveta!I have a father suffering upon earth,A persecuted, wretched, poor, good man,For whose strange miseryThere is no human help,And none but I dare comfort himBeneath Kehama’s curse.O gentle Deveta, protect him too!Ereenia.Come, plead thyself to Indra! words like thineMay win their purpose, rouse his slumbering heart,And make him yet put forth his arm to wieldThe thunder, while the thunder is his own.8.Then to the garden of the DeityEreenia led the maid.In the mid garden tower’d a giant Tree;Rock-rooted on a mountain-top, it grew,Rear’d its unrivall’d head on high,And stretch’d a thousand branches o’er the sky,Drinking with all its leaves celestial dew.Lo! where from thence as from a living wellA thousand torrents flow!For still in one perpetual shower,Like diamond drops, etherial waters fellFrom every leaf of all its ample bower.Rolling adown the steepFrom that aerial height,Through the deep shade of aromatic trees,Half-seen, the cataracts shoot their gleams of light,And pour upon the breezeTheir thousand voices; far away the roar,In modulations of delightful sound,Half-heard and ever varying, floats around.Below, an ample Lake expanded lies,Blue as the o’er-arching skies;Forth issuing from that lovely Lake,A thousand rivers water Paradise.Full to the brink, yet never overflowing,They cool the amorous gales, which, ever blowing,O’er their melodious surface love to stray;Then winging back their way,Their vapours to the parent Tree repay;And ending thus where they began,And feeding thus the source from whence they came,The eternal rivers of the Swerga ran,For ever renovate, yet still the same.9.On that etherial Lake whose waters lieBlue and transpicuous, like another sky,The Elements had rear’d their King’s abode.A strong controuling power their strife suspended,And there their hostile essences they blended,To form a Palace worthy of the God.Built on the Lake the waters were its floor;And here its walls were water arch’d with fire,And here were fire with water vaulted o’er;And spires and pinnacles of fireRound watery cupolas aspire,And domes of rainbow rest on fiery towers;And roofs of flame are turreted aroundWith cloud, and shafts of cloud with flame are bound.Here, too, the Elements for ever veer,Ranging around with endless interchanging;Pursued in love, and so in love pursuing,In endless revolutions here they roll;For ever their mysterious work renewing,The parts all shifting, still unchanged the whole.Even we on earth, at intervals, descryGleams of the glory, streaks of flowing light,Openings of heaven, and streams that flash at nightIn fitful splendour, through the northern sky.10.Impatient of delay, Ereenia caughtThe Maid aloft, and spread his wings abroad,And bore her to the presence of the God.There Indra sate upon his throne reclin’d,Where Devetas adore him;The lute of Nared, warbling on the wind,All tones of magic harmony combin’dTo sooth his troubled mind,While the dark-eyed Apsaras danced before him.In vain the God-musician played,In vain the dark-eyed Nymphs of Heaven essay’dTo charm him with their beauties in the dance;And when he saw the mortal Maid appear,Led by the heroic Glendoveer,A deeper trouble fill’d his countenance.What hast thou done, Ereenia, said the God,Bringing a mortal here?And while he spake his eye was on the Maid.The look he gave was solemn, not severe;No hope to Kailyal it convey’d,And yet it struck no fear;There was a sad displeasure in his air,But pity, too, was there.Ereenia.Hear me, O Indra! On the lower earthI found this child of man, by what mishapI know not, lying in the lap of death.Aloft I bore her to our Father’s grove;Not having other thought, than when the galesOf bliss had heal’d her, upon earth againTo leave its lovely daughter. Other thoughtsArose, when Casyapa declar’d her fate;For she is one who groans beneath the powerOf the dread Rajah, terrible alikeTo men and Gods. His son, dead Arvalan,Arm’d with a portion, Indra, of thy powerAlready wrested from thee, persecutesThe Maid, the helpless one, the innocent.What then behov’d me but to waft her hereTo my own Bower of Bliss? what other choice?The spirit of foul Arvalan, not yetHath power to enter here; here thou art yetSupreme, and yet the Swerga is thine own.Indra.No child of man, Ereenia, in the BowersOf Bliss may sojourn, till he hath put offHis mortal part; for on mortalityTime and Infirmity and Death attend,Close followers they, and in their mournful trainSorrow and Pain and Mutability:Did they find entrance here, we should beholdOur joys, like earthly summers, pass away.Those joys perchance may pass; a stronger handMay wrest my sceptre, and unparadiseThe Swerga; . . . but, Ereenia, if we fall,Let it be Fate’s own arm that casts us down,We will not rashly hasten and provokeThe blow, nor bring ourselves the ruin on.Ereenia.Fear courts the blow. Fear brings the ruin on.Needs must the chariot-wheels of DestinyCrush him who throws himself before their track,Patient and prostrate.Indra.All may yet be well.Who knows but Veeshnoo will descend, and save,Once more incarnate?Ereenia.Look not there for help,Nor build on unsubstantial hope thy trust!Our Father Casyapa hath said he turnsHis doubtful eyes to Seeva, even as thouDost look to him for aid. But thine own strengthShould for thine own salvation be put forth;Then might the higher powers approving seeAnd bless the brave resolve . . . Oh, that my armCould wield yon lightnings which play idly there,In inoffensive radiance, round thy head!The Swerga should not need a champion now,Nor Earth implore deliverance still in vain!Indra.Thinkest thou I want the will? rash Son of Heaven,What if my arm be feeble as thine ownAgainst the dread Kehama? He went onConquering in irresistible career,Till his triumphant car had measur’d o’erThe insufficient earth, and all the kingsOf men received his yoke; then had he wonHis will, to ride upon their necks elate,And crown his conquests with the sacrificeThat should, to men and gods, proclaim him LordAnd Sovereign Master of the vassal World,Sole Rajah, the Omnipotent below.The steam of that portentous sacrificeArose to Heaven. Then was the hour to strike.Then in the consummation of his pride,His height of glory, then the thunder-boltShould have gone forth, and hurl’d him from his throneDown to the fiery floor of Padalon,To everlasting burnings, agonyEternal, and remorse which knows no end.That hour went by: grown impious in success,By prayer and penances he wrested nowSuch power from Fate, that soon, if Seeva turn notHis eyes on earth, and no Avatar save,Soon will he seize the Swerga for his own,Roll on through Padalon his chariot wheels,Tear up the adamantine bolts which lockThe accurst Asuras to its burning floor,And force the drink of ImmortalityFrom Yamen’s charge . . . Vain were it now to strive;My thunder cannot pierce the sphere of powerWherewith, as with a girdle, he is bound.Kailyal.Take me to earth, O gentle Deveta!Take me again to earth! This is no placeOf hope for me! . . . my Father still must bearHis curse . . . he shall not bear it all alone;Take me to earth, that I may follow him! . . .I do not fear the Almighty Man! the GodsAre feeble here; but there are higher powersWho will not turn their eyes from wrongs like ours;Take me to earth, O gentle Deveta! . . .11.Saying thus she knelt, and to his knees she clung,And bow’d her head, in tears and silence praying.Rising anon, around his neck she flungHer arms, and there with folded hands she hung,And fixing on the guardian GlendoveerHer eyes, more eloquent than Angel’s tongue,Again she cried, There is no comfort here!I must be with my Father in his pain . . .Take me to earth, O Deveta, again!12.Indra with admiration heard the maid.O Child of Earth, he cried,Already in thy spirit thus divine,Whatever weal or woe betide,Be that high sense of duty still thy guide,And all good Powers will aid a soul like thine.Then turning to Ereenia, thus he said,Take her where Ganges hath its second birth,Below our sphere, and yet above the earth:There may Ladurlad rest beyond the powerOf the dread Rajah, till the fated hour.VIII.THE SACRIFICE.1.Dost thou tremble, O Indra, O God of the Sky,Why slumber those thunders of thine?Dost thou tremble on high, . . .Wilt thou tamely the Swerga resign, . . .Art thou smitten, O Indra, with dread?Or seest thou not, seest thou not, Monarch divine,How many a day to Seeva’s shrineKehama his victim hath led?Nine and ninety days are fled,Nine and ninety steeds have bled;One more, the rite will be complete,One victim more; and this the dreadful day!Then will the impious Rajah seize thy seat,And wrest the thunder-sceptre from thy sway.Along the mead the hallowed steedYet bends at liberty his way;At noon his consummating blood will flow.O day of woe! above, below,That blood confirms the Almighty Tyrant’s reign!Thou tremblest, O Indra, O God of the Sky,Thy thunder is vain!Thou tremblest on high for thy power!But where is Veeshnoo at this hour?But where is Seeva’s eye?Is the Destroyer blind?Is the Preserver careless for mankind?2.Along the mead the hallowed SteedStill wanders wheresoever he will,O’er hill, or dale, or plain;No human hand hath trick’d that maneFrom which he shakes the morning dew;His mouth has never felt the rein,His lips have never froth’d the chain;For pure of blemish and of stain,His neck unbroke to mortal yoke,Like Nature free the Steed must be,Fit offering for the Immortals he.A year and day the Steed must strayWherever chance may guide his way,Before he fall at Seeva’s shrine;The year and day have past away,Nor touch of man hath marr’d the rite divine.And now at noon the Steed must bleed;The perfect rite to-day must force the meedWhich Fate reluctant shudders to bestow;Then must the Swerga-GodYield to the Tyrant of the World below;Then must the Devetas obeyThe Rajah’s rod, and groan beneath his hateful sway.3.The Sun rides high; the hour is nigh;The multitude who long,Lest aught should mar the rite,In circle wide on every side,Have kept the Steed in sight,Contract their circle now, and drive him on.Drawn in long files before the Temple-court,The Rajah’s archers flank an ample space;Here, moving onward still, they drive him near,Then, opening, give him way to enter here.4.Behold him, how he starts and flings his head!On either side in glittering order spread,The archers ranged in narrowing lines appear;The multitude behind close up the rearWith moon-like bend, and silently awaitThe awful end,The rite that shall from Indra wrest his power.In front, with far-stretch’d walls, and many a towerTurret and dome and pinnacle elate,The huge Pagoda seems to load the land:And there before the gateThe Bramin band expectant stand,The axe is ready for Kehama’s hand.5.Hark! at the Golden PalacesThe Bramin strikes the time!One, two, three, four, a thrice-told chime,And then again, one, two.The bowl that in its vessel floats, anewMust fill and sink again,Then will the final stroke be due.The Sun rides high, the noon is nigh,And silently, as if spell-bound,The multitude expect the sound.6.Lo! how the Steed, with sudden start,Turns his quick head to every part;Long files of men on every side appear.The sight might well his heart affright,And yet the silence that is hereInspires a stranger fear;For not a murmur, not a soundOf breath or motion rises round,No stir is heard in all that mighty crowd;He neighs, and from the temple-wallThe voice re-echoes loud,Loud and distinct, as from a hillAcross a lonely vale, when all is still.7.Within the temple, on his golden throneReclin’d, Kehama lies,Watching with steady eyesThe perfum’d light that, burning bright,Metes out the passing hours.On either hand his eunuchs stand,Freshening with fans of peacock-plumes the air,Which, redolent of all rich gums and flowers,Seems, overcharged with sweets, to stagnate there.Lo! the time-taper’s flame ascending slowCreeps up its coil toward the fated line;Kehama rises and goes forth,And from the altar, ready where it lies,He takes the axe of sacrifice.8.That, instant from the crowd, with sudden shout,A man sprang outTo lay upon the Steed his hand profane.A thousand archers, with unerring eye,At once let fly,And with their hurtling arrows fill the sky.In vain they fall upon him fast as rain;He bears a charmed life, which may defyAll weapons, . . . and the darts that whizz around,As from an adamantine panoplyRepell’d, fall idly to the ground.Kehama clasp’d his hands in agony,And saw him grasp the hallowed courser’s mane,Spring up with sudden bound,And with a frantic cry,And madman’s gesture, gallop round and round.9.They seize, they drag him to the Rajah’s feet.What doom will now be his, . . what vengeance meetWill he, who knows no mercy, now require?The obsequious guards around, with blood-hound eye,Look for the word, in slow-consuming fire,By piece-meal death, to make the wretch expire,Or hoist his living carcase, hook’d on high,To feed the fowls and insects of the sky;Or if aught worse inventive crueltyTo that remorseless heart of royaltyMight prompt, accursed instruments they standTo work the wicked will with wicked hand.Far other thoughts were in the multitude;Pity, and human feelings, held them still;And stifled sighs and groans supprest were there,And many a secret curse and inward prayerCall’d on the insulted Gods to save mankind.Expecting some new crime in fear they stood,Some horror which would make the natural bloodStart, with cold shudderings thrill the sinking heart,Whiten the lip, and make the abhorrent eyeRoll back and close, prest in for agony.10.How then fared he for whom the mighty crowdSuffered in spirit thus, . . . how then fared he?A ghastly smile was on his lip, his eyeGlared with a ghastly hope, as he drew nigh,And cried aloud, Yes, Rajah! it is I!And wilt thou kill me now?The countenance of the Almighty ManFell when he knew Ladurlad, and his browWas clouded with despite, as one ashamed.That wretch again! indignant he exclaim’d,And smote his forehead, and stood silentlyAwhile in wrath: then, with ferocious smile,And eyes which seem’d to darken his dark cheek,Let him go free! he cried; he hath his Curse,And Vengeance upon him can wreak no worse . . .But ye who did not seize him . . . tremble ye!11.He bade the archers pile their weapons there:No manly courage fill’d the slavish band,No sweetening vengeance rous’d a brave despair.He call’d his horsemen then, and gave commandTo hem the offenders in, and hew them down.Ten thousand scymitars at once uprear’d,Flash up, like waters sparkling to the sun;A second time the fatal brands appear’dLifted aloft, . . . they glitter’d then no more,Their light was gone, their splendour quenched in gore.At noon the massacre begun,And night clos’d in before the work of death was done.IX.THE HOME-SCENE.1.The steam of slaughter from that place of bloodSpread o’er the tainted sky.Vultures, for whom the Rajah’s tyrannySo oft had furnish’d food, from far and nighSped to the lure: aloft with joyful cry,Wheeling around, they hover’d over head;Or, on the temple perch’d, with greedy eye,Impatient watch’d the dead.Far off the tygers, in the inmost wood,Heard the death-shriek, and snuff’d the scent of blood.They rose, and through the covert went their way,Couch’d at the forest edge, and waited for their prey.2.He who had sought for death went wandering on,The hope which had inspir’d his heart was gone,Yet a wild joyance still inflam’d his face,A smile of vengeance, a triumphant glow.Where goes he? . . . Whither should Ladurlad go!Unwittingly the wretch’s footsteps traceTheir wonted path toward his dwelling-place;And wandering on, unknowing where,He starts at finding he is there.3.Behold his lowly home,By yonder broad-bough’d plane o’ershaded:There Marriataly’s image stands,And there the garland twin’d by Kailyal’s handsAround its brow hath faded.The Peacocks, at their master’s sight,Quick from the leafy thatch alight,And hurry round, and search the ground,And veer their glancing necks from side to side,Expecting from his handTheir daily dole, which erst the maid supplied,Now all too long denied.4.But as he gaz’d around,How strange did all accustom’d sights appear!How differently did each familiar soundAssail his altered ear!Here stood the marriage bower,Rear’d in that happy hourWhen he, with festal joy and youthful pride,Had brought Yedillian home, his beauteous bride.Leaves not its own, and many a borrowed flower,Had then bedeck’d it, withering ere the night;But he who look’d, from that auspicious day,For years of long delight,And would not see the marriage-bower decay,There planted and nurst up, with daily care,The sweetest herbs that scent the ambient air,And train’d them round to live and flourish there.Nor when dread Yamen’s willHad call’d Yedillian from his arms away,Ceas’d he to tend the marriage-bower, but still,Sorrowing, had drest it like a pious riteDue to the monument of past delight.5.He took his wonted seat before the door, . . .Even as of yore,When he was wont to view, with placid eyes,His daughter at her evening sacrifice.Here were the flowers which she so carefullyDid love to rear for Marriataly’s brow;Neglected now,Their heavy heads were drooping, over-blown:All else appeared the same as heretofore,All . . . save himself alone;How happy then, . . . and now a wretch for evermore!6.The market-flag which hoisted high,From far and nigh,Above yon cocoa grove is seen,Hangs motionless amid the sultry sky.Loud sounds the village-drum: a happy crowdIs there; Ladurlad hears their distant voices,But with their joy no more his heart rejoices;And how their old companion now may fare,Little they know, and less they care.The torment he is doom’d to hearWas but to them the wonder of a day,A burthen of sad thoughts soon put away.7.They knew not that the wretched man was near,And yet it seem’d, to his distempered ear,As if they wrong’d him with their merriment.Resentfully he turn’d away his eyes,Yet turn’d them but to findSights that enraged his mindWith envious grief more wild and overpowering.The tank which fed his fields was there, and thereThe large-leav’d lotus on the waters flowering.There, from the intolerable heat,The buffaloes retreat;Only their nostrils rais’d to meet the air,Amid the sheltering element they rest.Impatient of the sight, he clos’d his eyes,And bow’d his burning head, and in despairCalling on Indra, . . . Thunder-God! he said,Thou owest to me alone this day thy throne,Be grateful, and in mercy strike me dead!8.Despair had rous’d him to that hopeless prayer,Yet thinking on the heavenly Powers, his mindDrew comfort; and he rose and gather’d flowers,And twin’d a crown for Marriataly’s brow;And taking then her withered garland down,Replaced it with the blooming coronal.Not for myself, the unhappy Father cried,Not for myself, O mighty one! I pray,Accursed as I am beyond thy aid!But, oh! be gracious still to that dear MaidWho crown’d thee with these garlands day by day,And danced before thee aye at even-tideIn beauty and in pride.O Marriataly, wheresoe’er she strayForlorn and wretched, still be thou her guide!9.A loud and fiendish laugh replied,Scoffing his prayer. Aloft, as from the air,The sound of insult came: he look’d, and thereThe visage of dead Arvalan came forth,Only his face amid the clear blue sky,With long-drawn lips of insolent mockery,And eyes whose lurid glareWas like a sulphur fire,Mingling with darkness ere its flames expire.10.Ladurlad knew him well: enraged to seeThe cause of all his misery,He stoop’d and lifted from the groundA stake, whose fatal point was black with blood;The same wherewith his hand had dealt the wound,When Arvalan, in hour with evil fraught,For violation seiz’d the shrieking Maid.Thus arm’d, in act again to strike he stood,And twice with inefficient wrath essay’dTo smite the impassive shade.The lips of scorn their mockery-laugh renew’d,And Arvalan put forth a hand and caughtThe sun-beam, and condensing there its light,Upon Ladurlad turn’d the burning stream.Vain cruelty! the stakeFell in white ashes from his hold, but heEndur’d no added pain; his agonyWas full, and at the height;The burning stream of radiance nothing harm’d him:A fire was in his heart and brain,And from all other flameKehama’s Curse had charm’d him.11.Anon the Spirit wav’d a second hand;Down rush’d the obedient whirlwind from the sky;Scoop’d up the sand like smoke, and from on highShed the hot shower upon Ladurlad’s head.Where’er he turns, the accursed Hand is there;East, West, and North and South, on every sideThe Hand accursed waves in air to guideThe dizzying storm; ears, nostrils, eyes and mouth,It fills and choaks, and, clogging every pore,Taught him new torments might be yet in store.Where shall he turn to fly? behold his houseIn flames; uprooted lies the marriage-bower,The Goddess buried by the sandy shower.Blindly, with staggering step, he reels about,And still the accursed Hand pursued,And still the lips of scorn their mockery laugh renew’d.12.What, Arvalan! hast thou so soon forgotThe grasp of Pollear? Wilt thou still defyThe righteous Powers of Heaven? or know’st thou notThat there are yet superior Powers on high,Son of the Wicked? . . . Lo, in rapid flight,Ereenia hastens from the etherial height;Bright is the sword celestial in his hand,Like lightning in its path athwart the sky.He comes and drives, with angel-arm, the blow.Oft have the Asuras, in the wars of Heaven,Felt that keen sword by arm angelic driven,And fled before it from the fields of light.Thrice through the vulnerable shadeThe Glendoveer impels the griding blade.The wicked Shade flies howling from his foe.So let that spirit foulFly, and for impotence of anger, howl,Writhing with pain, and o’er his wounds deplore;Worse punishment hath Arvalan deserv’d,And righteous Fate hath heavier doom in store.13.Not now the Glendoveer pursued his flight.He bade the Ship of Heaven alight,And gently there he laidThe astonished Father by the happy Maid,The Maid now shedding tears of deep delight.Beholding all things with incredulous eyes,Still dizzy with the sand-storm, there he lay,While sailing up the skies, the living Bark,Through air and sunshine, held its heavenly way.
1.
2.
3.
4.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
Ereenia.
Casyapa.
5.
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8.
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7.
Ereenia.
Kailyal.
Ereenia.
Kailyal.
Ereenia.
8.
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10.
Ereenia.
Indra.
Ereenia.
Indra.
Ereenia.
Indra.
Kailyal.
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12.
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11.
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