THE ORPHAN OF NEPAUL.

THE

ORPHAN OF NEPAUL

A TALE OF HINDUSTAN.

"HER hollow eye, her daily wasting cheek,
The inward fever of her soul bespeak ;
Despair hath marked the victim for his own,
And made the ruins of her heart his throne.
Loose to the wind her ebon tresses flow,

And every look participates her woe;
On a shrunk chaplet of neglected flowers,
In pensive grief she counts the weary hours;

And as her fond imagination strays

O'er the past pleasures of once happy days,
She bends on vacancy her sleepless eyes,
And memory bids the pearls of sorrow rise."
GUNCARRI RAGUI, (from the Sanscrit.)

LONDON:

SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET.

1840.

640.

LONDON:

BLATCH AND LAMPERT, PRINTERS, GROVE PLACE, BROMPTON.

THE ORPHAN OF NEPAUL.

CHAPTER I.

*Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals
In countless echoes through the mountains ring,
Startling pale midnight on her starry throne!
Now swells the din, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless clangour, and the rush of men
Inebriate with rage :-loud and more loud

The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene,
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud."

SHELLEY.

He who loves nature in all her varied forms of beauty—who can muse over the gurgle of the rivulet as it trips along its pebbly bed, making music for the flowers that line its banks-and

B