THE

CURSE OF KEHAMA.

I.

THE FUNERAL.

Midnight, and yet no eye

Through all the Imperial City clos'd in sleep! Behold her streets a-blaze

With light that seems to kindle the red sky, Her myriads swarming thro' the crowded ways! Master and slave, old age and infancy,

All, all abroad to gaze;

House-top and balcony

Clustered with women, who throw back their veils,

With unimpeded and insatiate sight

To view the funeral pomp which passes by,

As if the mournful rite

Were but to them a scene of joyance and delight.

Vainly, ye blessed twinklers of the night,
Your feeble beams ye shed,

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! '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 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,

Tho' 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! woe! around their palankeen,

As on a bridal day,

With symphony, and dance, and song,