And visit thee never,

And the curse shall be on thee
For ever and ever.

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'd

The 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 prove

The actual misery;

And still at times he met Kehama's eye,

Kehama's eye that fasten'd on him still.

III.

THE RECOVERY.

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 in fear before him ;

Give way

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;