 | The Village Churchyard |  |
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THE STORY OF SADHU SING.
Who sits on the earth, all unfriended and lone,
And yet breathing no plaint, and yet making no moan?
Who dwells there in silence, and statue-like calm,
While the Indian heavens blaze, and the air breathes of balm?
And yet breathing no plaint, and yet making no moan?
Who dwells there in silence, and statue-like calm,
While the Indian heavens blaze, and the air breathes of balm?
Behold ye the Man—the lost Man of Despair!
On a huge tiger's hide, crouching motionless there;
Grim, silent, and hopeless—lone, savage, and wild,
Behold him by dust and by ashes defiled!
On a huge tiger's hide, crouching motionless there;
Grim, silent, and hopeless—lone, savage, and wild,
Behold him by dust and by ashes defiled!
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His forehead is wrinkled, his eye it is dim,
And his loose, tattered vestments scarce cling unto him;
Behold ye—behold the lost Man of Despair,
On the feast of his agony, revelling there!
And his loose, tattered vestments scarce cling unto him;
Behold ye—behold the lost Man of Despair,
On the feast of his agony, revelling there!
Scattered round, stand a few overshadowing trees;
But 't is little he recks of the sun or the breeze;
The very wild beasts shrink back, awed, to their lair,
When they pass near the haunt of the Man of Despair!
But 't is little he recks of the sun or the breeze;
The very wild beasts shrink back, awed, to their lair,
When they pass near the haunt of the Man of Despair!
There he crouches and cowers in the hot, hot dust,
And his sabre's blade is consumed with the rust:
'T is a tiger's bleach'd skull that lies mouldering near;
Fit trophy it is for that wild place of fear!
And his sabre's blade is consumed with the rust:
'T is a tiger's bleach'd skull that lies mouldering near;
Fit trophy it is for that wild place of fear!
There he crouches and cowers, on the desolate ground,
And no wandering, no questioning glance casts around:
'T is not life—'t is not death, in his fix'd fetter'd eye;
But Despair's hopeless, torpid monotony!
And no wandering, no questioning glance casts around:
'T is not life—'t is not death, in his fix'd fetter'd eye;
But Despair's hopeless, torpid monotony!
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Though the earth round him echo—the branches be stirred,
He upraiseth not eye, and he uttereth not word—
No quickening of pulse, and no quivering of limb,
Proclaim that life still hath a hold on him!
He upraiseth not eye, and he uttereth not word—
No quickening of pulse, and no quivering of limb,
Proclaim that life still hath a hold on him!
He hath lost his beloved one—his first love and last,
And each dark day he lives through the whole buried past;
In the present, the future, his heart hath no share—
Oh! when will Death bless thee, lost Man of Despair?
And each dark day he lives through the whole buried past;
In the present, the future, his heart hath no share—
Oh! when will Death bless thee, lost Man of Despair?
His eyes shrunk and shrouded in terrible gloom,
Are rivetted still on a low humble tomb;
Doth he wait for its once-worshipped tenant to arise,
And pass with himself to the far Paradise?
Are rivetted still on a low humble tomb;
Doth he wait for its once-worshipped tenant to arise,
And pass with himself to the far Paradise?
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Beside, are a lamp, and a few scattered flowers,
By gentle hands brought form the spice-dropping bowers;
And rice, and a full water-vessel are there,
To cherish the life in the Man of Despair!
By gentle hands brought form the spice-dropping bowers;
And rice, and a full water-vessel are there,
To cherish the life in the Man of Despair!
Would'st thou hear how 'midst gladness and loud festal glee,
He espoused the child of a dark Sipahêe?
And joyously brought home his long-cherished bride,
Who sate veiled on a gay-harnessed horse by his side!
He espoused the child of a dark Sipahêe?
And joyously brought home his long-cherished bride,
Who sate veiled on a gay-harnessed horse by his side!
Be ye sure there was joy—be ye sure there was song,
While the bridegroom and beautiful bride passed along;
And bursts of delight rising frequent and free,
Although they—they were speechless with ecstasy!
While the bridegroom and beautiful bride passed along;
And bursts of delight rising frequent and free,
Although they—they were speechless with ecstasy!
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There were music-strains breathing of hope and of pride—
While blushes on blushes adorned the dark bride;
While her eyes shone like India's deep exquisite night—
Where the sun still seems burning, though no longer bright!
While blushes on blushes adorned the dark bride;
While her eyes shone like India's deep exquisite night—
Where the sun still seems burning, though no longer bright!
Above them the blue sultry heavens were outspread,
Until langour and weariness weighed down each head;
But a water-spring's soft silvery murmurs rose clear,
Like the whispers of hope to the faint-dreaming ear.
Until langour and weariness weighed down each head;
But a water-spring's soft silvery murmurs rose clear,
Like the whispers of hope to the faint-dreaming ear.
Sadhu Sing hastened on to that bright-glancing spring,
The first pure freshening draught for his Mora to bring—
Joy—joy riots wild in his full bounding heart,
Joy—joy!—yet 't was pain for that moment to part.
The first pure freshening draught for his Mora to bring—
Joy—joy riots wild in his full bounding heart,
Joy—joy!—yet 't was pain for that moment to part.
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Quick, quick the draught's drawn from the clear diamond wave,
Her soft lip to cool—and her sweet brow to lave;
And, turning aside from the smooth glistening spring,
Bounds back the young bridegroom—the blest Sadhu Sing!
Her soft lip to cool—and her sweet brow to lave;
And, turning aside from the smooth glistening spring,
Bounds back the young bridegroom—the blest Sadhu Sing!
Joy, joy! hark! what sound, ah! what sound strikes his ear?
Where is Mora, his bride? she awaited him here;
Now naught meets his eye but her gay-harnessed horse,
Rushing riderless past, in a terrified course.
Where is Mora, his bride? she awaited him here;
Now naught meets his eye but her gay-harnessed horse,
Rushing riderless past, in a terrified course.
On the one side, that riderless horse scours along,
As by terror impelled—swift, swift, fierce and strong!
On the other—oh, what on the other doth pass?
What ripple is raised on the long reeds and grass?
As by terror impelled—swift, swift, fierce and strong!
On the other—oh, what on the other doth pass?
What ripple is raised on the long reeds and grass?
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Hark, what roar of dread triumph, is that which they hear?
What death-shriek of anguish, of phrenzy, of fear?
What cry of distraction goes thrillingly by?
'T is her voice! 't is herself! must, must she then die?
What death-shriek of anguish, of phrenzy, of fear?
What cry of distraction goes thrillingly by?
'T is her voice! 't is herself! must, must she then die?
Sadhu Sing hath rushed on with his sabre upraised,
But his faultering friends stagger, confused and amazed;
Till aroused by a short roar of savage distress,
Through the entangled thick jungle they hurryingly press!
But his faultering friends stagger, confused and amazed;
Till aroused by a short roar of savage distress,
Through the entangled thick jungle they hurryingly press!
What a sight of affliction then bursts on their eyes;
What a dread scene of misery before them doth rise;
What a pageant of horrors unthought-of, appears;
Too darkly confirming their worst, wildest fears!
What a dread scene of misery before them doth rise;
What a pageant of horrors unthought-of, appears;
Too darkly confirming their worst, wildest fears!
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The spouse of the morning, in agonized trance,
Glares round with a maniac's fierce meaningless glance:
In his arms—in his arms—lies his ill-fated Bride,
Dead—dead!—and no farewell was breathed ere she died!
Glares round with a maniac's fierce meaningless glance:
In his arms—in his arms—lies his ill-fated Bride,
Dead—dead!—and no farewell was breathed ere she died!
A tiger lies wounded and motionless there,
Fell'd down by the dread strength of human despair,
The death-darkened eyeballs look threateningly still;
But his life-blood streams round, in a deep crimson rill!
Fell'd down by the dread strength of human despair,
The death-darkened eyeballs look threateningly still;
But his life-blood streams round, in a deep crimson rill!
The Bride-bereaved Bridegroom turned coldly from all;
From his dull, stony eyelid no softening drops fall:
Ah! his grief is a grief, from condolence apart;
Torrid, tearless, and barren's that desert—his heart!
From his dull, stony eyelid no softening drops fall:
Ah! his grief is a grief, from condolence apart;
Torrid, tearless, and barren's that desert—his heart!
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He dug his Bride's grave, he put up his Bride's stone,
And he sate himself down—there to live, mute and lone;
And he covered her corse with the flowers that grew by;
And he sate himself down,—there to live, and to die!
And he sate himself down—there to live, mute and lone;
And he covered her corse with the flowers that grew by;
And he sate himself down,—there to live, and to die!
Yea! he laid her in earth, and he lifted her tomb;
And never stirred more, from that dwelling of gloom;
And never even moved he, his fixed gaze away
From the stone which protected that idolized clay!
And never stirred more, from that dwelling of gloom;
And never even moved he, his fixed gaze away
From the stone which protected that idolized clay!
Never more did a smile cross his dusk, haggard cheek;
Never more did a sound from his pallid lip break;
Never murmur, nor movement, revealed he had life;
Never symbol, nor sign, shew'd his Spirit's dark strife!
Never more did a sound from his pallid lip break;
Never murmur, nor movement, revealed he had life;
Never symbol, nor sign, shew'd his Spirit's dark strife!
No low-faltered accent, no half-smothered sigh,
No convulsion of limb, no expression of eye,
Ere betrayed to the stranger, the deep, rankling care
That dwelt in the breast of the Man of Despair!
No convulsion of limb, no expression of eye,
Ere betrayed to the stranger, the deep, rankling care
That dwelt in the breast of the Man of Despair!
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Or only when, chance, from the spice-shedding bowers,
They brought him fresh wreaths of the summer's rich flowers,
To spread o'er that cherished, that Love-hallowed spot,
Where his Mora reposed—ah! where he reposed not!
They brought him fresh wreaths of the summer's rich flowers,
To spread o'er that cherished, that Love-hallowed spot,
Where his Mora reposed—ah! where he reposed not!
Fare thee well, thou young Bride! for no more— Oh! no more,
At the lamp-lighted festival—bright, as of yore—
Shalt thou shine, in thy charms, and thy gladness, and smile,—
All eyes to enchant, and all hearts to beguile!
At the lamp-lighted festival—bright, as of yore—
Shalt thou shine, in thy charms, and thy gladness, and smile,—
All eyes to enchant, and all hearts to beguile!
No more shall the flowery-wreathed coronal glow
Round that beautiful head, round that innocent brow;
Nor the gorgeous and shell-embossed carkanet shine,
Like a collar of gems, round that proud throat of thine:
Round that beautiful head, round that innocent brow;
Nor the gorgeous and shell-embossed carkanet shine,
Like a collar of gems, round that proud throat of thine:
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Nor the bright golden-coloured champaka-flowers,
Light thy dark glossy hair with their starry-bright showers;
Nor the armlets and anklets, of red burnished gold,
Clasp thy delicate limbs in their glittering fold!
Light thy dark glossy hair with their starry-bright showers;
Nor the armlets and anklets, of red burnished gold,
Clasp thy delicate limbs in their glittering fold!
Fare thee well, thou young Bride!—thou'st left one upon earth,
E'en as deaf as thyself to its music and mirth;
He who sits thus unconscious, and motionless, there—
The Man of the Desert—the Man of Despair!
E'en as deaf as thyself to its music and mirth;
He who sits thus unconscious, and motionless, there—
The Man of the Desert—the Man of Despair!
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