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32
THE LAMP OF THE GANGES.
[_]
[When their lovers leave them, the maids of the Ganges send out lamps on the river, and believe the former faithless if the flame is extinguished before passing out of sight.]
Lovely and cool, is the summer night;
There 's nothing to stir the silence round
Save the river's low and rippling sound;
Each little wave is crowned with a star,
Brought down from the deep blue vault afar.
Through the black, shadowy waving trees,
Soft and low whispers the evening breeze.
A rustling sound is borne on the air,
Quickly darts forward a maiden fair.
Swaying and graceful her figure light,
Jeweled and scented her garments white.
Long silken lashes her black eyes shade;
Swiftly she breaks through the tangled glade.
With the midnight dew-drops, cold and damp,
Her fingers arch o'er a burning lamp.
Gentle and noiseless she nears the stream,
And sends o'er the waves the lamp's bright gleam.
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Twinkling, it shines like a golden star.
Fearful and trembling, still in the shade
Watching the flame, stands the fair young maid.
It flickers, quivers, then burns once more;
Still waits the maid on the distant shore.
Sudden it pales and it dies away,
And vanished now is the last bright ray.
Naught on the stream save the star's pale light,
And the rising moon on the summer night.
No sound on the bank save a gentle sigh,
That dies on the zephyr floating by.
A plunge is heard from the river's shore,—
A stir in the waves, and all is o'er.
Fragrant and moonlit, starry and bright,
Lovely and cool is the summer night.
There 's nothing to stir the silence round
Save the river's low and rippling sound.
March 4th, 1865.
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