O Thou whom we adore,

O Marriataly, thee do I implore,

The virgin cried; my Goddess, pardon thou

The unwilling wrong, that I no more,
With dance and song,

Can do thy daily service, as of yore!

The flowers which last I wreath'd around thy brow, Are withering there; and never now

Shall I at eve adore thee,

And swimming round with arms outspread,
Poise the full pitcher on my head,

In dextrous dance before thee;

While underneath the reedy shed, at rest
My father sate the evening rites to view,

And blest thy name, and blest
His daughter too.

Then heaving from her heart a heavy sigh, O Goddess! from that happy home, cried she, The Almighty Man hath forced us !

And homeward with the thought unconsciously

She turn❜d her dizzy eye.... But there on high,

With many a dome, and pinnacle, and spire,

The summits of the Golden Palaces

Blaz'd in the dark blue sky, aloft, like fire. Father, away! she cried, away!

Why linger we so nigh?

For not to him hath Nature given
The thousand eyes of Deity,

Always and every where with open sight,

To persecute our flight!

Away... away! she said,

And took her father's hand, and like a child
He followed where she led.

V.

THE SEPARATION.

Evening comes on: arising from the stream, Homeward the tall flamingo wings his flight; And where he sails athwart the setting beam, His scarlet plumage glows with deeper light. The watchman, at the wish'd approach of night, Gladly forsakes the field, where he all day,

To scare the winged plunderers from their prey, With shout and sling, on yonder clay-built height, Hath borne the sultry ray.

Hark! at the Golden Palaces,

The Bramin strikes the hour.

For leagues and leagues around, the brazen sound Rolls through the stillness of departing day, Like thunder far away.

Behold them wandering on their hopeless way,
Unknowing where they stray,

Yet sure where'er they stop to find no rest.
The evening gale is blowing,

It plays among the trees;

Like plumes upon a warrior's crest,

They see yon cocoas tossing to the breeze.

Ladurlad views them with impatient mind,
Impatiently he hears

The gale of evening blowing,

The sound of waters flowing,

As if all sights and sounds combin❜d,
To mock his irremediable woe;

For not for him the blessed waters flow,

For not for him the gales of evening blow,

A fire is in his heart and brain,

And Nature hath no healing for his pain.

The Moon is up, still pale

Amid the lingering light.

A cloud ascending in the eastern sky,

Sails slowly o'er the vale,

And darkens round and closes-in the night.

No hospitable house is nigh,

No traveller's home the wanderers to invite. Forlorn, and with long watching overworn, The wretched father and the wretched child Lie down amid the wild.

Before them full in sight,

A white flag flapping to the winds of night,

Marks where the tyger seiz'd his human

Far, far away with natural dread,

Shunning the perilous spot,

prey.

At other times abhorrent had they fled;

But now they heed it not.

Nothing they care; the boding death-flag now