Quench'd in the unnatural light which might out-stare
Even the broad eye of day;

And thou from thy celestial way
Pourest, O Moon, an ineffectual ray!

For lo ten thousand torches flame and flare
Upon the midnight air,

Blotting the lights of heaven

With 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.

Hark! 't is the funeral trumpet's breath!
T is 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 din
Pour their wild wailing.
The song of praise is drown'd
Amid 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 acclaim
Is heard the echoed and re-echoed name,
From all that countless rout:

Arvalan: Arvalan!

Arvalan! Arvalan!

Ten times ten thousand voices in one shout Call Arvalan! The overpowering sound, From house to house repeated rings about, From tower to tower rolls round.

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 shout,
Arvalan! 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;
It is the crimson canopy

Which 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.
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 now
Behold their wretched Lord; rejoiced they see
The mighty Rajah's misery;

For Nature in his pride hath dealt the blow, And taught the Master of Mankind to know Even he himself is man, and not exempt from woe.

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! wee! 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 breath
Lifts their thin robes in every flowing fold,
And swells the woven gold,

That on the agitated air

Trembles, and glitters to the torches' glare.

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 man

Who raised his fatal hand at Arvalan?
Is this the wretch condemn'd to feel
Kehama's dreadful wrath?

Then were all hearts of all the throng deploring,
For not in that innumerable throng
Was one who lov'd the dead; for who could know
What aggravated wrong

Provoked 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 as the roar

Of streams which down the wintry mountain pour,
And louder than the dread commotion

Of stormy billows on a rocky shore,
When the winds rage over the waves,
And Ocean to the Tempest raves.

And now toward the bank they go
Where, winding on their way below,
Deep and strong the waters flow.
Here doth the funeral pile appear
With 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 doubting peal and deeper blast,
The tambours and the trumpets sound on high,
And with a last and loudest cry
They call on Arvalan.

Woe! woe! for Azla takes her seat
Upon the funeral pile!
Calmly she took her seat, 1
Calmly the whole terrific pomp survey'd
As on her lap the while

The lifeless head of Arvalan was laid.
The young Nealliny!

Woe! woe! Nealliny,

They strip her ornaments away, 2

Bracelet and anklet, ring, and chain, and zone;

Around her neck they leave
The marriage knot alone, 3-
That marriage band, which when
Yon waning moon was young,

Around her virgin neck
With bridal joy was hung.

Then with white flowers, the coronal of death,
Her jetty locks they crown.

O sight of misery!

You cannot hear her cries,-all other sound
In that wild dissonance is drown'd;-
But in her face you see

The supplication and the agony,

See in her swelling throat the desperate strength That with vain effort struggles yet for life; Her arms contracted now in fruitless strife, Now wildly at full length

Towards the crowd in vain for pity spread,They force her on, they bind her to the dead. 4

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 advanced
And lit the funeral pyre.

At once on every side

The circling torches drop,
At once on every side
The fragrant oil is pour'd,
At once on every side

The rapid flames rush up.

Then hand in hand the victim band

Roll in the dance around the funeral pyre;

Their garments' flying folds
Float inward to the fire.

In drunken whirl they wheel around;
One drops, another plunges in ?5

Sheds on their happy being, and the stars
Effuse on them benignant influences;
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, 9-

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 Elements
Know and obey thy voice.

KEHAMA.

The Elements

Shall torture thee no more; even while I speak
Already dost thou feel their power is gone.
Fear not! I cannot call again the past,

Fate hath made that its own; but Fate shall yield
To me the future; and thy doom be fix'd
By mine, not Yamen's will. Meantime all power
Whereof thy feeble spirit can be made
Participant, I give. Is there aught else
To mitigate thy lot?

ARVALAN.

Only the sight of vengeance. Give me that!
Vengeance, full worthy vengeance !-not the stroke
Of sudden punishment,-no agony

That spends itself and leaves the wretch at rest,
But lasting long revenge.

KEHAMA.

What, boy? is that cup sweet? then take thy fill!
So as he spake, a glow of dreadful pride
Inflam'd his check with quick and angry stride
He mov'd toward the pile,

And rais'd his haud to hush the crowd, and cried,
Bring 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 knew
No aid could there be found.

It chanced that near her on the river-brink,
The sculptur'd form of Marriataly 10 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 grasp
They bruis'd her tender limbs ;
She, nothing yielding, to this only hope
Clings 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, aud all powers of life
In the one effort centering. Wrathful they

With 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 hands
Assail'd thy holy image ?-for behold
The holy image shakes!
Irreverently bold, they deem the maid
Relax'd her stubborn hold,

And now with force redoubled drag their prey;
And now the rooted idol to their sway
Bends,-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.
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, severe
He fix'd his dreadful frown.

The strong reflection of the pile
Lit his dark lineaments,

Lit the protruded brow, the gathered front,
The steady eye of wrath.

But while the fearful silence yet endur'd,
Ladurlad rous'd his soul;

Ere yet the voice of destiny

Which 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!
The Man-Almighty deign'd him no reply,
Still he stood silent; in no human mood
Of mercy, in no hesitating thought
Of right and justice. At the length he rais'd
His 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.

I charm thy life
From 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 thee
When they pass by thee,
And the Dews shall not wet thee,

When they fall nigh thee,
And thou shalt seek Death
To 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,

THE Rajah turn'd toward the pile again, Loud rose the song of death from all the crowd; Their din the instruments begin,

At once again join in
With 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 renew
Their 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 year
Of widowhood! is she then gone,
And is he left all-utterly alone,
To bear his blasting curse, and none
To succour or deplore him?

He staggers from the dreadful spot; the throng
Give way in fear before him;

Like one who carries pestilence about,

Shuddering they shun him, where he moves along. And now he wanders on

Beyond the noisy rout;

He cannot fly and leave his curse behind, Yet doth he seem to find

A comfort in the change of circumstance. Adown the shore he strays, Unknowing where his wretched feet shall rest, But farthest from the fatal place is best.

By this in the orient sky appears the gleam
Of 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 eye
Followed its motion thoughtlessly;
Idly he gaz'd, unknowing why,

And half unconscious that he watch'd its way.
Belike it is a tree

Which some rude tempest, in its sudden sway,

Tore from the rock, or from the hollow shore The undermining stream hath swept away.

But when anon outswelling by its side,
A woman's robe he spied,
Oh then Ladurlad started,
As one, who in his grave

Had heard an angel's call.

Yea, Marriataly, thou hast deign'd to save!
Yea, Goddess! it is she,
Kailyal, still clinging senselessly
To thy dear image, and in happy hour
Upborne amid the wave
By that preserving power.

Headlong in hope and in joy
Ladurlad 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.

Upon the farther side a level shore Of sand was spread: thither Ladurlad bore His daughter, holding still with senseless hand The saving Goddess; there upon the sand He 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 anon
Let his hand rest, upon her heart extended.
Soon did his touch perceive, or fancy there,
The first faint motion of returning life.
He chafes her feet, and lays them bare
In the sun; and now again upon her breast
Lays 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 unclose,
Feebly and feebly fall,
Relapsing as it seem'd to dead repose.

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 agony Had 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, implies Nor thought nor feeling, senselessly she lies, Compos'd like one who sleeps with open eyes. 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.

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 sire

Shook 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 leaven 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.

THE DEPARTURE.

RECLIN'D beneath a Cocoa's feathery shade
Ladurlad 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 flower

Was 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 lay

At that lone hour, and who so biest as they!

Musing so loug he lay, that all things seem
Unreal to his sense, even like a dream,
A monstrous dream of things which could not be.
That beating, burning brow,-why it was now
The height of noon, and he was lying there
In the broad sun, all bare!

What if he felt no wind? the air was still,
That was the general will

Of nature, not his own peculiar doom;
Yon rows of rice erect and silent stand,
The shadow of the Cocoa's lightest plume
Is steady on the sand.

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 arm
To break the visionary charm.
With fearful and fearful car,
His daughter watch'd the event;
She saw the start and shudder,

eye

She heard the in-drawn groan,

For the Water knew Keinama s charm, The Water shrunk before his arm. Ilis dry hand mov'd about unmoisten'd there; As easily might that dry haud avail To 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; Sleep His dreadful word will keep;

Even in the grave there is no rest for me, Cut off from that last hope,-the wretch's joy; And Veeshnoo hath no power to save, Nor Seeva to destroy.

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,