IX.

THE HOME-SCENE.

1.

THE steam of slaughter from that place of blood
Spread o'er the tainted sky.

Vultures, for whom the Rajah's tyranny
So oft had furnished food, from far and nigh
Sped to the lure: aloft, with joyful cry,
Wheeling around, they hovered overhead;
Or, on the temple perched with greedy eye,
Impatient watched the dead.

Far off the Tigers, in the inmost wood, Heard the death-shriek, and snuffed the scent of blood:

They rose, and through the covert went their way, Couched at the forest edge, and waited for their

prey.

2.

He who had sought for death went wandering on:
The hope which had inspired his heart was gone;
Yet a wild joyance still inflamed his face, -
A smile of vengeance, a triumphant glow.
Where goes he? Whither should Ladurlad go?
Unwittingly the wretch's footsteps trace
Their wonted path toward his dwelling-place;
And wandering on, unknowing where,

He starts like one surprised at finding he is there.

3.

Behold his lowly home,

By yonder broad-boughed plane o'ershaded! There Marriataly's Image stands, And there the garland twined by Kailyal's hands Around 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 hand.

Their daily dole which erst the Maid supplied, Now all too long denied.

4.

But, as he gazed around,

How strange did all accustomed sights appear! How differently did each familiar sound Assail his altered ear!

Here stood the marriage-bower,

Reared in that happy hour

When 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 bedecked it, withering ere the night; But he who looked from that auspicious day For years of long delight,

And would not see the marriage-bower decay, There planted and nursed up, with daily care, The sweetest herbs that scent the ambient air,

And trained them round to live and flourish there. Nor when dread Yamen's will

Had called Yedillian from his arms away, Ceased he to tend the marriage-bower, but still, Sorrowing, had dressed it like a pious rite Due 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 carefully
Did 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 crowd
Is 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 doomed to bear

Was but to them the wonder of a day,
A burden of sad thoughts soon put away.

7.

They knew not that the wretched man was near;
And yet it seemed, to his distempered ear,
As if they wronged him with their merriment.
Resentfully he turned away his eyes,
Yet turned them but to find

Sights that enraged his mind

With envious grief more wild and overpowering. The tank which fed his fields was there, and there The large-leaved lotus on the waters flowering. There, from the intolerable heat

The buffaloes retreat;

Only their nostrils raised to meet the air, Amid the sheltering element they rest. Impatient of the sight, he closed his eyes, And bowed his burning head, and in despair Calling 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 roused him to that hopeless prayer; Yet, thinking on the heavenly Powers, his mind Drew comfort; and he rose and gathered flowers,

And twined 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 Maid Who crowned thee with these garlands day by day, And danced before thee aye at even-tide In beauty and in pride.

O Marriataly, whereso'er she stray Forlorn 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 looked, and there The 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 glare

Was like a sulphur fire,

Mingling with darkness ere its flames expire.

10.

Ladurlad knew him well: enraged to see

The cause of all his misery,

He stooped and lifted from the ground

A 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 seized the shrieking Maid.