Lotus and Jewel Containing "In an Indian Temple", "A Casket of Gems", "A Queen's Revenge": With Other Poems: By Edwin Arnold |
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| OTHER POEMS. |
 | Lotus and Jewel |  |
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OTHER POEMS.
163
Laila.
Oh, Foolish One! who wonderest if the eyes of lovers seeThe glory of the Living God in faces blank to thee;
If unto them the form belov'd veils more than mortal charms,
And Paradise stands open when “my Lady” spreads her arms.
The Khalîf unto Laila said:“Art thou that Maid of fame
For whom a wanderer in the waste the lost Majnûn became?
By Allah! not to me thou seem'st as fair as hath been told,
No Rose of all our roses; no white pearl set in gold!
Of all the trees no cypress, of all the stars no moon!”
“Peace, Lord,” sad Laila answered, “thou art not my Majnûn!”
164
In Westminster Abbey.
She.
Under the marble's milk-white satin,
With cherubim, seraphim, trumpets of Fame,
And stately scrolls of imperial Latin
Blazoning proudly each deathless name;
With cherubim, seraphim, trumpets of Fame,
And stately scrolls of imperial Latin
Blazoning proudly each deathless name;
I think I could rest in a well-pleased slumber;
I think my flesh would be fain of the grave
If I might be of this glorified number,
And such a tomb, such epitaphs, have!
I think my flesh would be fain of the grave
If I might be of this glorified number,
And such a tomb, such epitaphs, have!
He.
Oh, easily lulled! and comforted lightly!
If I might choose, I would have them give
To the quick flames, burning clear and brightly,
Whatever is left of me, after I live.
If I might choose, I would have them give
To the quick flames, burning clear and brightly,
Whatever is left of me, after I live.
Or else, in the kind great arms of the sea—
Which nothing can cumber, and nothing stain—
Lay it and leave it. So might I be
Safe back with the winds and the waters again!
Which nothing can cumber, and nothing stain—
Lay it and leave it. So might I be
Safe back with the winds and the waters again!
165
At least confess 'twere a record splendid
To lie, like Philips, with lovely verse
Sounding the triumph of life well ended,
Tenderly wreathing the minstrel's hearse;
To lie, like Philips, with lovely verse
Sounding the triumph of life well ended,
Tenderly wreathing the minstrel's hearse;
Was it not grand to wind such sweet riddance?
“Master! peaceful hereunder recline!”
To be laid in earth with that gentle biddance?
“Till Angels wake thee with songs like thine!”
“Master! peaceful hereunder recline!”
To be laid in earth with that gentle biddance?
“Till Angels wake thee with songs like thine!”
He.
Fair is the verse; but, I think the Master
Would rather live on a choral lip;
Would liever some warm heart beat the faster
For musical joy and fellowship,
Would rather live on a choral lip;
Would liever some warm heart beat the faster
For musical joy and fellowship,
In anthems rolling—solemn and certain—
Or madrigals left us to play and to sing;
Than have Angels set to draw Death's curtain,
And lauds as loud as the praise of a King.
Or madrigals left us to play and to sing;
Than have Angels set to draw Death's curtain,
And lauds as loud as the praise of a King.
She.
Well! tell me then, was there ever graven
A farewell softer to spirit fled
Than Franklin hears in this quiet haven
Where moor the fleets of our mighty Dead?
A farewell softer to spirit fled
Than Franklin hears in this quiet haven
Where moor the fleets of our mighty Dead?
166
Cenotaph? Yes!—but the beautiful message!
Where is one like it? “Great Sailor-Soul!
Sailing now on some happier passage,
Voyaging hence to no earthly Pole!”
Where is one like it? “Great Sailor-Soul!
Sailing now on some happier passage,
Voyaging hence to no earthly Pole!”
He.
Nay! I have seen what was like it, and better;
Far away, on a Syrian hill:
Not one word! not an Arabic letter
Marked where the dead man lay so still;
Far away, on a Syrian hill:
Not one word! not an Arabic letter
Marked where the dead man lay so still;
But round his headstone, for sorrow and story,
A long black braid of tresses was tied!
Think how she loved him to give the glory
Of her hair! Would you, Dear! if I had died?
A long black braid of tresses was tied!
Think how she loved him to give the glory
Of her hair! Would you, Dear! if I had died?
167
Atalanta.
Greek Atalanta! girdled high,
Gold-sandalled; great majestic Maid!
Her hair bound back with silver tie,
And in her hand th' Arcadian blade
To pierce that suitor who shall choose
Challenge her to the Race—and lose!
Gold-sandalled; great majestic Maid!
Her hair bound back with silver tie,
And in her hand th' Arcadian blade
To pierce that suitor who shall choose
Challenge her to the Race—and lose!
And—at her side—Hippomenes!
Poised on his foremost foot, with eyes
Burning to win—if Pallas please,—
That course deep-perilous whose prize
Is joy or death! Apples of gold
His trembling fingers do enfold!
Poised on his foremost foot, with eyes
Burning to win—if Pallas please,—
That course deep-perilous whose prize
Is joy or death! Apples of gold
His trembling fingers do enfold!
Oh, girls! 'tis English, as 'tis Greek!
Life is that course: train so the soul
That, girt with health and strength, it seek
One swifter still, who touches goal
First—or, for lack of breath outdone,
Dies gladly, so such race was run!
Life is that course: train so the soul
That, girt with health and strength, it seek
One swifter still, who touches goal
First—or, for lack of breath outdone,
Dies gladly, so such race was run!
168
Yet scorn not, if, before your feet
The golden fruits of life should roll—
Faith, worship, loving service sweet—
To stoop and grasp them! So the Soul
Runs slower in the Race by these,
But wins them, and—Hippomenes.
The golden fruits of life should roll—
Faith, worship, loving service sweet—
To stoop and grasp them! So the Soul
Runs slower in the Race by these,
But wins them, and—Hippomenes.
Life.
Let us be like a bird, one instant lightedUpon a twig that swings;
He feels it yield—but sings on, unaffrighted,
Knowing he hath his wings!
Hadrian's Address to his Soul
Soul of me! floating, and flitting, and fond!Thou and this body were life-mates together;
Wilt thou be gone now? And whither?
Pallid, and naked, and cold,
Not to laugh, or be glad, as of old!
169
The Depths of the Sea.
Which is the one we must pity, Master?
Who is infelix—the boy, or she
Drawing him down from his barque's disaster
To the pebbled floor of her silvery sea?
With light keen laughter drawing him down;
Gleeful to clasp him—her mariner brown—
Heedless of life-breath, which bubbles upward,
So the fair strong body her own may be.
Who is infelix—the boy, or she
Drawing him down from his barque's disaster
To the pebbled floor of her silvery sea?
With light keen laughter drawing him down;
Gleeful to clasp him—her mariner brown—
Heedless of life-breath, which bubbles upward,
So the fair strong body her own may be.
Who was the one that longed too madly
To have the wish—and is sorry to have?
Do you mean your sailor faced over-gladly
The toils of the bitter and treacherous wave;
The depths which charm, the danger which pleases,
The death that tempts man's spirit, and teases;
And now he has won it, his prize of daring,
Dragged to the cold sea-maiden's cave?
To have the wish—and is sorry to have?
Do you mean your sailor faced over-gladly
The toils of the bitter and treacherous wave;
The depths which charm, the danger which pleases,
The death that tempts man's spirit, and teases;
And now he has won it, his prize of daring,
Dragged to the cold sea-maiden's cave?
170
Or was it she, the Merman's Daughter,—
Half soft white woman, half glittering scales—
Who, sporting by starlight upon the water,
Saw him, and passioned—and so prevails;
Sent the gale, or the mountainous billow,
To wash him down to the oozy pillow
Where night and day, she will lull her lover,
'Mid whispering sea-shells, and green sea-dales?
Half soft white woman, half glittering scales—
Who, sporting by starlight upon the water,
Saw him, and passioned—and so prevails;
Sent the gale, or the mountainous billow,
To wash him down to the oozy pillow
Where night and day, she will lull her lover,
'Mid whispering sea-shells, and green sea-dales?
And she is to find—poor Child of ocean,
His mouth set fast, and his blue eyes dim;
And lips, and limbs, and hands sans motion,
And sweet love dumb in the breast of him;
And her own wild heart will break to know
Men cannot breathe in her Blue below,
Nor mermaidens come to the Blue of his Heaven;
Is that your moral, my Painter grim?
His mouth set fast, and his blue eyes dim;
And lips, and limbs, and hands sans motion,
And sweet love dumb in the breast of him;
And her own wild heart will break to know
Men cannot breathe in her Blue below,
Nor mermaidens come to the Blue of his Heaven;
Is that your moral, my Painter grim?
Say, rather:“terque quaterque felices!”
Fortunate, both of them, winning their will!
If you paint the deep grey Sea's abysses
Dare also to plunge to the depths of Ill!
For Peace broods under the rough waves' riot,
And beyond dark Death is delightful quiet;
And once to have loved is good for the Sea-girl,
And once to have died is better still!
Fortunate, both of them, winning their will!
If you paint the deep grey Sea's abysses
Dare also to plunge to the depths of Ill!
For Peace broods under the rough waves' riot,
And beyond dark Death is delightful quiet;
171
And once to have died is better still!
I call them happy—yea, “three and more times,”
She hath her Boy; he hath his rest;
And to finish love and life beforetimes
For Sailor and Mermaid is—may be—best,
I think she feels, by her subtle laughter,
That to clasp him was good, whatever comes after;
And what should a weary mariner wish for
Better than sleep by Love caressed?
She hath her Boy; he hath his rest;
And to finish love and life beforetimes
For Sailor and Mermaid is—may be—best,
I think she feels, by her subtle laughter,
That to clasp him was good, whatever comes after;
And what should a weary mariner wish for
Better than sleep by Love caressed?
172
The Heavenly Secret
Sometimes,” sighed Lalage:“in hours of sadness,
A sudden pleasure shines upon the soul,
The heart beats quick to half-heard notes of gladness,
And from the dark mind all its clouds unroll:
How is this, Poet? You, who know things hidden,
Whence sounds that under-song of soft content?
What brings such peace, unlooked-for and unbidden?
Say, now! Oh, is it truth or accident?”
A sudden pleasure shines upon the soul,
The heart beats quick to half-heard notes of gladness,
And from the dark mind all its clouds unroll:
How is this, Poet? You, who know things hidden,
Whence sounds that under-song of soft content?
What brings such peace, unlooked-for and unbidden?
Say, now! Oh, is it truth or accident?”
“Dear Maid!” I said,“wisely you ask a poet,
For there's my answer, on your upper lip!
The Talmud writes: that dimple—as you show it—
Between the rosy mouth and nose's tip,
Was stamped by God's own hand, the day He made us,
When unto each He whispered All goeth well!”
But pressed His finger on our lips, and laid us
Under His secret not to know—nor tell!
For there's my answer, on your upper lip!
The Talmud writes: that dimple—as you show it—
Between the rosy mouth and nose's tip,
Was stamped by God's own hand, the day He made us,
When unto each He whispered All goeth well!”
But pressed His finger on our lips, and laid us
Under His secret not to know—nor tell!
173
An Adieu.
India farewell! I shall not see againThy shining shores, thy peoples of the Sun,
Gentle, soft-mannered, by a kind word won
To such quick kindness! O'er the Arab main
Our flying flag streams back; and backwards stream
My thoughts to those fair open fields I love,
City and village, maidan, jungle, grove,
The temples and the rivers! Must it seem
Too great for one man's heart to say it holds
So many many Indian sisters dear,
So many Indian brothers? that it folds
Lakhs of true friends in parting? Nay! but there
Lingers my heart, leave-taking; and it roves
From hut to hut whispering “he knows, and loves!”
Good-bye! Good-night! Sweet may your slumbers be,
Gunga! and Kaśi! and Sarâswati!
March 5, 1886,
S.S. Siam.
174
The Indian Judge
A cloud was on the Judge's brow
The day we walked in Aitwar-Pêt;
I knew not then, but since I know
What held his earnest features set:
The day we walked in Aitwar-Pêt;
I knew not then, but since I know
What held his earnest features set:
That great cause in the Suddur Court!
To-morrow judgment should be given;
And, in my old friend's troubled thought
Conscience with prejudice had striven.
To-morrow judgment should be given;
And, in my old friend's troubled thought
Conscience with prejudice had striven.
Nay, nay! No juster Judge on bench!
But Justice in this cause of “Wheatstone's,”
Was hard to do. I could not wrench
His sombre eyes from Poona's street-stones.
But Justice in this cause of “Wheatstone's,”
Was hard to do. I could not wrench
His sombre eyes from Poona's street-stones.
Silent we threaded Môti-chouk,
Paced silent past the Dharma-sâla;
At last, half petulant, I spoke;
“Here is our Sanskrit School—Pat-shâla!”
Paced silent past the Dharma-sâla;
At last, half petulant, I spoke;
“Here is our Sanskrit School—Pat-shâla!”
175
“See! listening to their grey Guru
The Brahman boys read Hindu cases;
Justinian and the Code for you,
Manu for them! What solemn faces
The Brahman boys read Hindu cases;
Justinian and the Code for you,
Manu for them! What solemn faces
“Range, in dark ring, around the book
Wherefrom the old Achârya preaches!”
He paused, and, with a wistful look,
Said:“Might one know what Manu teaches?
Wherefrom the old Achârya preaches!”
He paused, and, with a wistful look,
Said:“Might one know what Manu teaches?
So drew we nigh the School, and paid
Due salutations; while the Master—
Proud to be marked by Sahebs—made
The strong shlokes roll, fuller and faster:
Due salutations; while the Master—
Proud to be marked by Sahebs—made
The strong shlokes roll, fuller and faster:
“Na vismayêta tapasâ
Vadêdishtwa cha nanritan
Na parikìrttay êt datwâ
Nartti' pyapavadêd vipran.”
Vadêdishtwa cha nanritan
Na parikìrttay êt datwâ
Nartti' pyapavadêd vipran.”
“Namutra hi sahâyartham
Pita mata cha tishtatas
Na jnatir na putradâram
Tishtati dharma kêvalas”
Pita mata cha tishtatas
Na jnatir na putradâram
Tishtati dharma kêvalas”
176
All down to kasarîrinam
Gravely the Shastri chants the verses,
Rocking his head; while, after him,
The turbaned class each line rehearses.
Gravely the Shastri chants the verses,
Rocking his head; while, after him,
The turbaned class each line rehearses.
“What is the lesson?” asked my friend,
With low salaam, reply was given:
“Manu's Fourth Chapter—near the end—
At shloke two hundred thirty-seven.”
With low salaam, reply was given:
“Manu's Fourth Chapter—near the end—
At shloke two hundred thirty-seven.”
Then, turning to the brightest-eyed
Of those brown pupils round him seated,
“Gunput,” the Shastri said, with pride,
“If it shall please my Lords, can read it.”
Of those brown pupils round him seated,
“Gunput,” the Shastri said, with pride,
“If it shall please my Lords, can read it.”
We nodded; and the Brahman lad—
At such great charge shy, but delighted—
In what soft English speech he had
The Devanâgiri recited:
At such great charge shy, but delighted—
In what soft English speech he had
The Devanâgiri recited:
“Be not too proud of good deeds wrought!—
When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!—
Even if he wrongeth thee in aught
Respect thy Guru! Give alms duly;
When thou art come from prayer, speak truly!—
Even if he wrongeth thee in aught
Respect thy Guru! Give alms duly;
177
“But let none wist! Live, day by day,
With little and with little swelling
Thy tale of duty done—the way
The wise ant-people build their dwelling;
With little and with little swelling
Thy tale of duty done—the way
The wise ant-people build their dwelling;
“Not harming any living thing:
That thou may'st have—at time of dying,—
A Hand to hold thee, and to bring
Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying,
That thou may'st have—at time of dying,—
A Hand to hold thee, and to bring
Thy footsteps safe; and, so relying,
“Pass to the farther world. For none
Save Justice leads there! Father, mother,
Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son,
Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other
Save Justice leads there! Father, mother,
Will not be nigh; nor wife, nor son,
Nor friends, nor kin; nor any other
“Save only Justice! All alone
Each entereth here, and each one leaveth
This life alone; and every one
The fruit of all his deeds receiveth
Each entereth here, and each one leaveth
This life alone; and every one
The fruit of all his deeds receiveth
“Alone—alone; bad deeds and good!
That day when kinsmen, sadly turning,
Forsake thee, like the clay or wood,
A thing committed to the burning.
That day when kinsmen, sadly turning,
Forsake thee, like the clay or wood,
A thing committed to the burning.
178
“But Justice shall not quit thee then,
If thou hast served her; therefore never
Cease serving; that she hold thee, when
The darkness falls which falls forever,
If thou hast served her; therefore never
Cease serving; that she hold thee, when
The darkness falls which falls forever,
“Which hath no star, nor way to guide.
But Justice knows the road; the midnight
Is noon to her. Man at her side
Goes through the gloom safe to the hid light.
But Justice knows the road; the midnight
Is noon to her. Man at her side
Goes through the gloom safe to the hid light.
“And he who loved her more than all,
Who purged by sorrow his offences,
Shall shine in realms celestial
With glory, quit of sins and senses.”
Who purged by sorrow his offences,
Shall shine in realms celestial
With glory, quit of sins and senses.”
What made my friend so softly lay
His hand on Gunput's naked shoulder
With gentle words of praise, and say,—
His eyes grown happier and bolder,—
His hand on Gunput's naked shoulder
With gentle words of praise, and say,—
His eyes grown happier and bolder,—
“I too have been at school! Accept
Thanks, Guru! for these words imparted”?
And when we turned away he kept
Silence no more, but smiled, light-hearted.
Thanks, Guru! for these words imparted”?
And when we turned away he kept
Silence no more, but smiled, light-hearted.
179
And, next day, in his Indian Court,
That summing-up he did declaim us—
Straight in the teeth of what was thought—
Which made “His Honour” feared and famous.
That summing-up he did declaim us—
Straight in the teeth of what was thought—
Which made “His Honour” feared and famous.
Jeanne.
Jeanne, in the dark room, had dry bread for dinner,Guilty of something wrong; and I—the sinner—
Crept up to see that prisoner in her cell,
And slipped—on the sly—some comfits to her. Well!
Against the laws, I own! Those, who with me
Support the order of society,
Were furious! Vainly murmured little Jeanne,
“Indeed, indeed, I never will again
Rub my nose with my thumb! I won't make pussy
Scratch me!” they only cried, “The naughty hussy!
She knows how weak you are, and wanting sense,
And sees you only laugh at grave offence:
180
Order is troubled, influence slips away,
No rules, no regulations! nought can mend her;
You ruin everything!” Then I—the offender—
I hang my head, and say, “There's no excuse!
I know I err; I know by such abuse,
Such wrong indulgence, nations ‘go to pot;’
Put me upon dry bread!” “Why should we not?
We will! you merit it!” But my small maid
From her dark corner looking unafraid
With eyes divine to see, full of a sense
Of settled justice, in their innocence,
Whispered, for me to hear, “Well, if they do,
I shall bring comfits, Grandpapa, to you.”
181
A Rajpût Nurse.
“Whose tomb have they builded, Vittoo! under this tamarind tree,
With its door of the rose-veined marble, and white dome stately to see,
Was he holy Brahman, or Yogi, or Chief of the Rajpût line,
Whose urn rests here by the river, in the shade of the beautiful shrine?”
With its door of the rose-veined marble, and white dome stately to see,
Was he holy Brahman, or Yogi, or Chief of the Rajpût line,
Whose urn rests here by the river, in the shade of the beautiful shrine?”
“May it please you,” quoth Vittoo, salaaming, “Protector of all the poor!
It was not for holy Brahman they carved that delicate door;
Nor for Yogi, nor Rajpût Rana, built they this gem of our land;
But to tell of a Rajpût woman, as long as the stones should stand.
It was not for holy Brahman they carved that delicate door;
Nor for Yogi, nor Rajpût Rana, built they this gem of our land;
But to tell of a Rajpût woman, as long as the stones should stand.
182
“Her name was Môti, the pearl-name; 'twas far in the ancient times;
But her moon-like face and her teeth of pearl are sung of still in our rhymes;
And because she was young, and comely, and of good repute, and had laid
A babe in the arms of her husband, the Palace-Nurse she was made:
But her moon-like face and her teeth of pearl are sung of still in our rhymes;
And because she was young, and comely, and of good repute, and had laid
A babe in the arms of her husband, the Palace-Nurse she was made:
“For the sweet chief-queen of the Rana in Joudhpore city had died,
Leaving a motherless infant, the heir to that race of pride;
The heir of the peacock-banner, of the five-coloured flag, of the throne
Which traces its record of glory from days when it ruled alone;
Leaving a motherless infant, the heir to that race of pride;
The heir of the peacock-banner, of the five-coloured flag, of the throne
Which traces its record of glory from days when it ruled alone;
“From times when, forth from the sunlight,
the first of our kings came down
And had the earth for his footstool, and wore the stars for his crown,
As all good Rajpûts have told us; so Môti was proud and true,
With the Prince of the land on her bosom, and her own brown baby too.
And had the earth for his footstool, and wore the stars for his crown,
183
With the Prince of the land on her bosom, and her own brown baby too.
“And the Rajpût women will have it (I know not myself of these things)
As the two babes lay on her lap there, her lord's, and the Joudhpore King's;
So loyal was the blood of her body, so fast the faith of her heart,
It passed to her new-born infant, who took of her trust its part.
As the two babes lay on her lap there, her lord's, and the Joudhpore King's;
So loyal was the blood of her body, so fast the faith of her heart,
It passed to her new-born infant, who took of her trust its part.
“He would not suck of the breast-milk till the Prince had drunken his fill;
He would not sleep to the cradle-song till the Prince was lulled and still;
And he lay at night with his small arms clasped round the Rana's child,
As if those hands like the rose-leaf could shelter from treason wild.
He would not sleep to the cradle-song till the Prince was lulled and still;
And he lay at night with his small arms clasped round the Rana's child,
As if those hands like the rose-leaf could shelter from treason wild.
184
“For treason was wild in the country, and villainous men had sought
The life of the heir of the gadi, to the Palace in secret brought;
With bribes to the base, and with knife-thrusts for the faithful, they made their way
Through the line of the guards, and the gateways, to the hall where the women lay.
The life of the heir of the gadi, to the Palace in secret brought;
With bribes to the base, and with knife-thrusts for the faithful, they made their way
Through the line of the guards, and the gateways, to the hall where the women lay.
“There Môti, the foster-mother, sate singing the children to rest
Her baby at play on her crossed knees, and the King's son held to her breast;
And the dark slave-maidens round her beat low on the cymbal's skin
Keeping the time of her soft song—when—Saheb!— there hurried in
Her baby at play on her crossed knees, and the King's son held to her breast;
And the dark slave-maidens round her beat low on the cymbal's skin
Keeping the time of her soft song—when—Saheb!— there hurried in
“A breathless watcher, who whispered, with horror in eyes and face:
‘Oh! Môti! men come to murder my Lord the Prince in this place!
They have bought the help of the gate-guards, or slaughtered them unawares,
Hark! that is the noise of their tulwars, the clatter upon the stairs!”
‘Oh! Môti! men come to murder my Lord the Prince in this place!
185
Hark! that is the noise of their tulwars, the clatter upon the stairs!”
“For one breath she caught her baby from her lap to her heart, and let
The King's child sink from her nipple, with lips still clinging and wet,
Then tore from the Prince his head-cloth, and the putta of pearls from his waist,
And bound the belt on her infant, and the cap on his brows, in haste;
The King's child sink from her nipple, with lips still clinging and wet,
Then tore from the Prince his head-cloth, and the putta of pearls from his waist,
And bound the belt on her infant, and the cap on his brows, in haste;
“And laid her own dear offspring, her flesh and blood, on the floor,
With the girdle of pearls around him, and the cap that the King's son wore;
While close to her heart, which was breaking, she folded the Râja's joy,
And—even as the murderers lifted the purdah—she fled with his boy.
With the girdle of pearls around him, and the cap that the King's son wore;
While close to her heart, which was breaking, she folded the Râja's joy,
And—even as the murderers lifted the purdah—she fled with his boy.
186
“But there (so they deemed) in his jewels, lay the Chota Rana,
the Heir;
‘The cow with two calves has escaped us,’ cried one, ‘it is right and fair
She should save her own butcha; no matter! the edge of the dagger ends
This spark of Lord Raghoba's sunlight; stab thrice and four times, O friends!’
‘The cow with two calves has escaped us,’ cried one, ‘it is right and fair
She should save her own butcha; no matter! the edge of the dagger ends
This spark of Lord Raghoba's sunlight; stab thrice and four times, O friends!’
“And the Rajpût women will have it (I know not if this can be so)
That Môti's son in the putta and golden cap cooed low,
When the sharp blades met in his small heart, with never one moan or wince,
But died with a babe's light laughter, because he died for his Prince.
That Môti's son in the putta and golden cap cooed low,
When the sharp blades met in his small heart, with never one moan or wince,
But died with a babe's light laughter, because he died for his Prince.
“Thereby did that Rajpût mother preserve the line of our Kings.”
“Oh! Vittoo,” I said, “but they gave her much gold and beautiful things,
And garments, and land for her people, and a home in the Palace! May be
She had grown to love that Princeling even more than the child on her knee.”
“Oh! Vittoo,” I said, “but they gave her much gold and beautiful things,
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She had grown to love that Princeling even more than the child on her knee.”
“May it please the Presence!” quoth Vittoo,“it seemeth not so! they gave
The gold and the garments and jewels, as much as the proudest would have;
But the same night deep in her true heart she buried a knife, and smiled,
Saying this:‘I have saved my Rana! I must go to suckle my child!’””
The gold and the garments and jewels, as much as the proudest would have;
But the same night deep in her true heart she buried a knife, and smiled,
Saying this:‘I have saved my Rana! I must go to suckle my child!’””
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Zanouba's Song.
[Heard at a Nautch, in Bhaonagar Palace, Nov. 1885].
“O face of the tulip, and bosom
Of the jasmine, whose Cypress are you?
Whose fate are you, cold-hearted Blossom?—
In the Garden of Grace, where you grew,
The lily boasts no more her fragrance,
And the rose hangs her head at your feet;
Ah! whose is that mouth like the rose-bud,
Making honey seem no longer sweet?
Of the jasmine, whose Cypress are you?
Whose fate are you, cold-hearted Blossom?—
In the Garden of Grace, where you grew,
The lily boasts no more her fragrance,
And the rose hangs her head at your feet;
Ah! whose is that mouth like the rose-bud,
Making honey seem no longer sweet?
“You pass, taking hearts; you ensnare one
Like wine; and your eyes dart a light
As of arrows. Whose are you, most fair one!
With brow like the crescent of night?
Have you come to make me, too, your victim?
So be it! Ah, loveliest lip,
Give now to this slave who adores you
One drop from that death-cup to sip.”
Like wine; and your eyes dart a light
As of arrows. Whose are you, most fair one!
With brow like the crescent of night?
Have you come to make me, too, your victim?
So be it! Ah, loveliest lip,
Give now to this slave who adores you
One drop from that death-cup to sip.”
189
The Snake and the Baby.
“In sin conceived,” you tell us,“condemned for the guilt of birth,”
From the moment when, lads and lasses, they come to this beautiful Earth;
And the rose-leaf hands, and the limpid eyes, and the blossom-mouths, learning to kiss
Mean nothing, my good Lord Bishop! which, any way, shakes you in this?
From the moment when, lads and lasses, they come to this beautiful Earth;
And the rose-leaf hands, and the limpid eyes, and the blossom-mouths, learning to kiss
Mean nothing, my good Lord Bishop! which, any way, shakes you in this?
Well, I—I believe in babies! from the dawn of a day in spring
When, under the neems, in my garden, I saw a notable thing,
Long ago, in my Indian garden. 'Twas a morning of gold and grey,
And the Sun—as you never see him—had melted the last stars away.
When, under the neems, in my garden, I saw a notable thing,
Long ago, in my Indian garden. 'Twas a morning of gold and grey,
And the Sun—as you never see him—had melted the last stars away.
190
My Arab, before the house-door, stood stamping the gravel to go,
All wild for our early gallop; and you heard the caw of the crow,
And the “nine little sisters” a-twitter in the thorn-bush; and, farther away
The coppersmith's stroke in the fig-tree, awaking the squirrels to play.
All wild for our early gallop; and you heard the caw of the crow,
And the “nine little sisters” a-twitter in the thorn-bush; and, farther away
The coppersmith's stroke in the fig-tree, awaking the squirrels to play.
My foot was raised to the stirrup, and the bridle gathered. What made
Syce Gopal stare straight before him, with visage fixed and dismayed?
What made him whisper in terror? “O Shiva, the snake! the snake!”
I looked where Gopal was gazing, and felt my own heart quake!
Syce Gopal stare straight before him, with visage fixed and dismayed?
What made him whisper in terror? “O Shiva, the snake! the snake!”
I looked where Gopal was gazing, and felt my own heart quake!
For there—in a patch of sunlight—where the path to the well went down,
The year-old baby of Gopal, sate naked, and soft, and brown,
His small right hand encircling a lota of brass, his left
Close-cuddling a great black cobra, slow-creeping forth from a cleft!
The year-old baby of Gopal, sate naked, and soft, and brown,
His small right hand encircling a lota of brass, his left
Close-cuddling a great black cobra, slow-creeping forth from a cleft!
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We held our breaths! The serpent drew clear its lingering tail
As we gazed; you could see its dark folds and silvery belly trail
Tinkling the baby's bangles, and climbing his thigh and his breast,
As it glided beneath the fingers on those cold scales fearlessly pressed.
As we gazed; you could see its dark folds and silvery belly trail
Tinkling the baby's bangles, and climbing his thigh and his breast,
As it glided beneath the fingers on those cold scales fearlessly pressed.
He was crowing—that dauntless baby!—while the lank black Terror squeezed,
Its muzzle and throat 'twixt the small flank and arm of the boy! Well pleased,
He was hard at play with his serpent, pretending to guard the milk,
And stroking that grewsome comrade with palms of nut brown silk!
Its muzzle and throat 'twixt the small flank and arm of the boy! Well pleased,
He was hard at play with his serpent, pretending to guard the milk,
And stroking that grewsome comrade with palms of nut brown silk!
Alone, untended, and helpless, he was cooing low to the snake;
Which coiled and clung about him, even more (as it seemed) for the sake
Of the touch of his velvety body, and the love of his laughing eyes,
And the flowery clasp of his fingers, than to make the milk a prize.
Which coiled and clung about him, even more (as it seemed) for the sake
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And the flowery clasp of his fingers, than to make the milk a prize.
For, up to the boy's face mounting, we saw the cobra dip
His wicked head in the lota, and drink with him, sip for sip;
Whereat, with a chuckle, that baby pushed off the serpent's head,
And—look!—the red jaws opened, and the terrible hood was spread!
His wicked head in the lota, and drink with him, sip for sip;
Whereat, with a chuckle, that baby pushed off the serpent's head,
And—look!—the red jaws opened, and the terrible hood was spread!
And Gopal muttered beside me “Saheb, maro! maro!”
to see
The forked tongue glance at the infant's neck, and the spectacled devilry
Of the flat crest dancing and darting all round that innocent brow;
Yet it struck not; but, quietly closing its jaws and its hood, laid now
The forked tongue glance at the infant's neck, and the spectacled devilry
Of the flat crest dancing and darting all round that innocent brow;
Yet it struck not; but, quietly closing its jaws and its hood, laid now
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The horrible mottled murder of its mouth in the tender chink
Of the baby's plump crossed thighlets; while peacefully he did drink
What breakfast-milk he wanted, then held the lota down
For the snake to finish at leisure, plunged deep in it, fang and crown.
Of the baby's plump crossed thighlets; while peacefully he did drink
What breakfast-milk he wanted, then held the lota down
For the snake to finish at leisure, plunged deep in it, fang and crown.
Three times, before they parted, my Syce would have sprung to the place,
In fury to smite the serpent; but I held him fast, for one pace
Had been death to the boy! I knew it! and I whispered, “Gopal, wait!
“Chooprao! he is wiser than we are; he has never yet learned to hate!”
In fury to smite the serpent; but I held him fast, for one pace
Had been death to the boy! I knew it! and I whispered, “Gopal, wait!
“Chooprao! he is wiser than we are; he has never yet learned to hate!”
Then coil by coil, the cobra unwound its glistering bands,
Sliding—all harmless and friendly—from under the baby's hands;
Who crowed, as his comrade left him, in year-old language to say
“Good-bye! for this morning, Serpent! come very soon back to play!”
Sliding—all harmless and friendly—from under the baby's hands;
Who crowed, as his comrade left him, in year-old language to say
“Good-bye! for this morning, Serpent! come very soon back to play!”
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So, I thought, as I mounted “Wurdah,” and galloped the Maidan thrice,
“Millennium's due to-morrow, by ‘baby and cockatrice’!”
And I never can now believe it, my Lord! that we come to this Earth
Ready-damned, with the seeds of evil sown quite so thick at our birth!
“Millennium's due to-morrow, by ‘baby and cockatrice’!”
And I never can now believe it, my Lord! that we come to this Earth
Ready-damned, with the seeds of evil sown quite so thick at our birth!
From a Sikh Hymn.
“The beautiful blue of the Sky is the Guru of Man;And his Father the Water white;
And his Mother the broad-browed Earth, with her bountiful span;
And the sweet-bosomed Night
Is the black Nurse who lulls him to sleep, with the stars in her ears;
And the strong striding-Day
Is the Hamal, with glittering turban and putta, who bears
The children to play.”
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A Farewell.
To four-score years my years have come;
At such an age to shuffle home
Full time it seems to be:
So now, without regret, I go,
Gaily my packing-up I do;
Bonsoir, la Compagnie!
At such an age to shuffle home
Full time it seems to be:
So now, without regret, I go,
Gaily my packing-up I do;
Bonsoir, la Compagnie!
When no more in this world I dwell
Where I shall live I can't quite tell;
Dear God! be that with Thee!
Thou wilt ordain nothing save right,
Why should I feel then grief or fright?
Bonsoir, la Compagnie!
Where I shall live I can't quite tell;
Dear God! be that with Thee!
Thou wilt ordain nothing save right,
Why should I feel then grief or fright?
Bonsoir, la Compagnie!
Of pleasant days I had my share;
For love and fame no more I care;
Good sooth, they weary me!
A gentleman, when fit for nought,
Takes leave politely, as he ought:
Bonsoir, la Compagnie!
For love and fame no more I care;
Good sooth, they weary me!
A gentleman, when fit for nought,
Takes leave politely, as he ought:
Bonsoir, la Compagnie!
196
A Love-Song of Henri Quatre.
Come, rosy Day!
Come quick—I pray—
I am so glad when I thee see!
Because my Fair,
Who is so dear,
Is rosy-red and white like thee.
Come quick—I pray—
I am so glad when I thee see!
Because my Fair,
Who is so dear,
Is rosy-red and white like thee.
She lives, I think
On heavenly drink
Dawn-dew, which Hebe pours for her;
Else—when I sip
At her soft lip
How smells it of ambrosia?
On heavenly drink
Dawn-dew, which Hebe pours for her;
Else—when I sip
At her soft lip
How smells it of ambrosia?
She is so fair
None can compare;
And, oh, her slender waist divine!
Her sparkling eyes
Set in the skies
The morning star would far outshine!
None can compare;
And, oh, her slender waist divine!
Her sparkling eyes
Set in the skies
The morning star would far outshine!
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Only to hear
Her voice so clear
The village gathers in the street;
And Tityrus,
Grown one of us,
Leaves piping on his flute so sweet.
Her voice so clear
The village gathers in the street;
And Tityrus,
Grown one of us,
Leaves piping on his flute so sweet.
The Graces three,
Where'er she be,
Call all the Loves to flutter nigh;
And what she'll say,—
Speak when she may,—
Is full of sense and majesty!
Where'er she be,
Call all the Loves to flutter nigh;
And what she'll say,—
Speak when she may,—
Is full of sense and majesty!
198
From the Sanskrit Anthology.
Ah, God! I have not had Thee day and night
In thought, nor magnified Thy name aright,
Nor lauded Thee, nor glorified, nor laid
Upon thine altars one poor kus̀a-blade!
Yet now, when I seek refuge, Lord! with Thee
I ask, and Thou wilt give all good to me!
In thought, nor magnified Thy name aright,
Nor lauded Thee, nor glorified, nor laid
Upon thine altars one poor kus̀a-blade!
Yet now, when I seek refuge, Lord! with Thee
I ask, and Thou wilt give all good to me!
I am of sinfulness and sorrows full!
Thou art the Mighty, Great, and Merciful!
How should we not be friends, or Thou not save
Me who bring nought to Thee Who all things gave?
Thou art the Mighty, Great, and Merciful!
How should we not be friends, or Thou not save
Me who bring nought to Thee Who all things gave?
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Basti Singh's Wife
1.
Basti Singh's wife, shredding betel—betel-leaf, and cloves, and spices—Mixed a savoury mess, and made it rich and fragrant; —Huriji!
Husking paddy, husking sâthi, boiled and strained the steaming rices,
Poured the dall and conjee on it: so, 'tis ready!—Huriji!
2.
“Mother-in-law! beside me sitting, is it fitting if I carryTo my husband's elder brother food to eat now?”—Huriji!
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Bare thy hands alone in serving Basti's brother.”—Huriji!
3.
Sitting down to eat, he marked her, Basti's brother marked her beauty,Evil eyes from feet to forehead wandering, pondering.—Huriji!
“Elder brother of my husband! I have surely failed of duty;
Too much salt unto the conjee have I added?”—Huriji!
4.
“Too much salt thou hast not added, fair wife of my younger brother!
Nor in aught hast failed of duty, thou with dove's eyes!”—Huriji!
Nor in aught hast failed of duty, thou with dove's eyes!”—Huriji!
At the dawn they beat the big drums—“Ho! let all the people gather,
Small and great, to see the hunting of the sleek deer”—Huriji!
Small and great, to see the hunting of the sleek deer”—Huriji!
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5.
Deer they killed, and hares, and peacocks, shooting hard with arrows sharpened,
Basti's brother pierced his brother with an arrow;—Huriji!
Basti's brother pierced his brother with an arrow;—Huriji!
“Mother-in-law, beside me seated, what calamity hath happened?”
See! the spangle on my forehead to the earth falls!”—Huriji!
See! the spangle on my forehead to the earth falls!”—Huriji!
6.
“Daughter-in-law! say no such evil! speak no word of ill-betiding!
Basti Singh has gone a-hunting; have thou patience!”—Huriji!
Basti Singh has gone a-hunting; have thou patience!”—Huriji!
Hark! the tramping, and the champing! all the riders homewards riding!
Only Basti's horse returning riderless, ah!—Huriji!
Only Basti's horse returning riderless, ah!—Huriji!
7.
Look! the bright swords in each scabbard! Look! the arrows in each quiver!
Only Basti's sword and quiver soaked with black blood!—Huriji!
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At the first watch, comes in darkness to her hut-door by the river
Basti's elder brother knocking, softly knocking:—Huriji!
Basti's elder brother knocking, softly knocking:—Huriji!
8.
“If you be a jackal prowling, if you be a dog at pillage,If you be the village people, get you hence now!”—Huriji!
“Nay, no dog or jackal am I; nor the people of the village;
I am Basti Singh the Rajpoot; fair wife open!”—Huriji!
9.
“Liar! that is not my Lord's voice! Thou hast slain him! Quick! confess it!Where, thou liar? how, thou liar? by what tree, now?”—Huriji!
“Yes! I slew him in the jungle—for thy sweet love, I profess it!
Underneath a twisted sandal lies his body!”—Huriji!
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10.
“Show me!” “Nay!” he said, “but only, Basti's widow! if thou swearestThou wilt keep his bed-place for me at thy soft side”—Huriji!
“Oh, my husband's elder brother! if his death-place thou declarest,
This I swear, none else shall have it—show me! show me!”—Huriji!
11.
All beneath the eyes of midnight, under peepul trees which listen,Over plain, and down the nullah, through the river,—Huriji!
On the road with horse-hoofs dinted, by the paths where blood-drops glisten,
To the twisted tree he led her:“Look! thy Husband!”—Huriji!
12.
“Oh, my Husband's elder brother! oh, thou Slayer! oh, thou Liar!204
“Swear, once more, none else shall have you, if I go to fetch you fire.”
“Yea! I swear!” said Basti's widow, building, building—Huriji!
13.
Hasten! hasten! Basti's brother! She hath laid him, bold and lonely,On the dry wood! She hath mounted! From her breast-cloth,—Huriji!
She hath drawn hid fire and set it. Haste not! there are ashes only
Left of Basti Singh the Rajpoot, and his true wife—Huriji!
But all the tears of all the eyes
Find room in Gunga's bed:
And all the sorrow is gone to-morrow
When the scarlet flames have fed.
Find room in Gunga's bed:
And all the sorrow is gone to-morrow
When the scarlet flames have fed.
A Hindoo wife may converse unveiled and freely with the younger brothers of her husband, but not with the elder brothers.
The tikuli, a spot of red, white, or yellow paint placed on the forehead. It is a very bad omen to have it come off.
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In Memory of S. S.,
Ætat. 21.
Too dear to die! too sweet to live, and bearThe griefs which burden all our being here!
Too precious to give up, could Love but stay
The stroke of Fate, and parting pangs delay!
Yet take her—since 'tis willed—Angels of Heav'n!
Your Sister-Angel; her so briefly given
To grace and gladden Earth. Ah, wild Scotch Lake!
We will not curse thee, for her gentle sake;
Ah! cruel Water-Nymphs! who drew her in,
We half forgive, she was so fair to win!
Ah, Rocks and Rowan-trees, who saw her die,
And could not save her! we shall, by and by,
Know the hard secret of a woe like this,
And see—clear-eyed—how Sorrow brings to Bliss.
To-day there comes no comfort! None! We wave
Weak hands towards that gloom beyond the grave;
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To that new-vanished Spirit; who saith naught!
Still, she must know! must hear! must yearn to say
All's well with her; that Love and Death, alway,
Are friends; and last pains light, and swift to heal;
And the Loch's winding-sheet not cold to feel!
She speaks! with higher life made glad and full;
Our ears for Angels' whispers are too dull!
Have, then, thy early peace, Sophie! and we—
By this trust lightened—Love's blind agony.
Epitaph written for the Same
Dear Maid! the waters, closing o'er thy head,Snatched thee from Earth, but opened Heaven, instead.
Sadly we give thee back to God That gave,
In this faith firm—that He, who walked the wave,
Held thy Soul up, when thy sweet Body sank;
And led thee, loving, to the Blissful Bank.
Pray for us, new-made Angel!—now, that we
Sink not beneath the waves of Sorrow's Sea.
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