Quench'd in the unnatural light which might out-stare
Even the broad eye of day;

And thou from thy celestial way
Pourest, O Moon, an ineffectual ray!
For lo ten thousand torches flame and flare
Upon the midnight air,

Blotting the lights of heaven

With one portentous glare.

Behold the fragrant smoke in many a fold,

Ascending floats along the fiery sky,

And hangeth visible on high,
A dark and waving canopy.

Hark! 't is the funeral trumpet's breath!
'Tis the dirge of death!

At once ten thousand drums begin,
With one long thunder-peal the ear assailing;
Ten thousand voices then join in,
And with one deep and general din
Pour their wild wailing.
The song of praise is drown'd
Amid that deafening sound;

You hear no more the trumpet's tone,
You hear no more the mourner's moan,

Though the trumpet's breath, and the dirge of death,

Mingle and swell the funeral yell.
But rising over all in one acclaim
Is heard the echoed and re-echoed name,
From all that countless rout:

Arvalan! Arvalan!

Arvalan! Arvalan !

Ten times ten thousand voices in one shout Call Arvalan! The overpowering sound, From house to house repeated rings about, From tower to tower rolls round.

The death-procession moves along,
Their bald heads shining to the torches' ray;
The Bramins lead the
way,
Chaunting the funeral song.
And now at once they shout,
Arvalan! Arvalan!

With quick rebound of sound,
All in accordant cry,
Arvalan! Arvalan!

The universal multitude reply.

In vain ye thunder on his ear the name!

Would ye awake the dead?
Borne upright in his palankeen,
There Arvalan is seen!

A glow is on his face,-a lively red;
It is the crimson canopy

Which o'er his cheek the reddening shade hath shed.
He moves, he nods his head,-

But the motion comes from the bearers' tread,
As the body, borne aloft in state,
Sways with the impulse of its own dead weight.
Close following his dead son, Kehama came,
Nor joining in the ritual song,

Nor calling the dear name;
With head deprest and funeral vest,

And arms enfolded on his breast,
Silent and lost in thought he moves along.
King of the world, his slaves unenvying now
Behold their wretched Lord; rejoiced they see
The mighty Rajah's misery;

For Nature in his pride hath dealt the blow, And taught the Master of Mankind to know Even he himself is man, and not exempt from woe.

O sight of grief! the wives of Arvalan,
Young Azla, young Nealliny, are seen!
Their widow-robes of white,
With gold and jewels bright,
Each like an Eastern queen.
Woe! wee! around their palankeen,
As on a bridal day,

With symphony, and dance, and song,
Their kindred and their friends come on.
The dance of sacrifice! the funeral song!
And next the victim slaves in long array,
Richly bedight to grace the fatal day,
Move onward to their death;

The clarions' stirring breath
Lifts their thin robes in every flowing fold,
And swells the woven gold,

That on the agitated air

Trembles, and glitters to the torches' glare.

A man and maid of aspect wan and wild, Then, side by side, by bowmen guarded, came. O wretched father! O unhappy child! Them were all eyes of all the throng exploringIs this the daring man

Who raised his fatal hand at Arvalan?
Is this the wretch condemn'd to feel
Kehama's dreadful wrath?

Then were all hearts of all the throng deploring,
For not in that innumerable throng
Was one who lov'd the dead; for who could know
What aggravated wrong
Provoked the desperate blow!

Far, far behind, beyond all reach of sight,
In ordered files the torches flow along,
One ever-lengthening line of gliding light:
Far-far behind,

Rolls on the undistinguishable clamour
Of horn, and trump, and tambour;
Incessant as the roar

Of streams which down the wintry mountain pour,
And louder than the dread commotion

Of stormy billows on a rocky shore,
When the winds rage over the waves,
And Ocean to the Tempest raves.

And now toward the bank they go Where, winding on their way below, Deep and strong the waters flow. Here doth the funeral pile appear With myrrh and ambergris bestrew'd, And built of precious sandal-wood. They cease their music and their outcry here; Gently they rest the bier:

They wet the face of Arvalan,

No sign of life the sprinkled drops excite;
They feel his breast,- -no motion there;

They feel his lips, no breath;

For not with feeble, nor with erring hand, The stern avenger dealt the blow of death. Then with a doubting peal and deeper blast, The tambours and the trumpets sound on high, And with a last and loudest cry They call on Arvalan.

And still with overwhelming din The tambours and the trumpets sound; And clap of hand, and shouts, and cries, From all the multitude arise: While round and round, in giddy wheel, Intoxicate they roll and reel,

Till one by one whirl'd in they fall, And the devouring flames have swallow'd all.

Then all was still; the drums and clarions ceas'd; The multitude were hush'd in silent awe; Only the roaring of the flames was heard.

II.

THE CURSE.

ALONE towards the Table of the dead,
Kehama mov'd; there on the altar-stone
Honey and rice he spread.

There with collected voice and painful tone
He call'd upon his son.

Lo! Arvalan appears. 6

Only Kehama's powerful eye beheld
The thin etherial spirit hovering nigh;
Only the Rajah's ear

Receiv'd his feeble breath.

And is this all? the mournful Spirit said,
This all that thou canst give me after death?
This unavailing pomp,

These empty pageantries that mock the dead!
In bitterness the Rajah heard,

And groan'd, and smote his breast, and o'er his face Cowl'd the white mourning vest.

What, boy is that cup sweet? then take thy fill!
So as he spake, a glow of dreadful pride
Inflam'd his cheek: with quick and
angry stride
He mov'd toward the pile,
And rais'd his hand to hush the crowd, and cried,
Bring forth the murderer! At the Rajah's voice,
Calmly, and like a man whom fear had stunn'd,
Ladurlad came, obedient to the call.
But Kailyal started at the sound,

And gave a womanly shriek, and back she drew,
And eagerly she roll'd her eyes around,
As if to seek for aid, albeit she knew
No aid could there be found.

It chanced that near her on the river-brink,
The sculptur'd form of Marriataly 10 stood;
It was an idol roughly hewn of wood,
Artless, and poor, and rude.
The Goddess of the poor was she;
None else regarded her with piety.
But when that holy image Kailyal view'd,
To that she sprung, to that she clung,
On her own goddess with close clasping arms,
For life the maiden hung.
They seiz'd the maid; with unrelenting grasp
They bruis'd her tender limbs;
She, nothing yielding, to this only hope
Clings with the strength of frenzy and despair.
She screams not now, she breathes not now,
She sends not up one vow,

She forms not in her soul one secret prayer,
All thought, all feeling, aud all powers of life
In the one effort centering. Wrathful they

With tug and strain would force the maid away;-
Didst thou, O Marriataly, see their strife?

In pity didst thou see the suffering maid?
Or was thine anger kindled, that rude hands
Assail'd thy holy image?-for behold
The holy image shakes!
Irreverently bold, they deem the maid
Relax'd her stubborn hold,

And now with force redoubled drag their prey;
And now the rooted idol to their sway
Bends,―yields,—and now it falls. But then they scream,
For lo! they feel the crumbling bank give way,
And all are plunged into the stream.
She hath escap'd my will, Kehama cried,
She hath escap'd,—but thou art here,
I have thee still,

The worser criminal!

And on Ladurlad, while he spake, severe He fix'd his dreadful frown.

The strong reflection of the pile

Lit his dark lineaments,

Lit the protruded brow, the gathered front, The steady eye of wrath.

But while the fearful silence yet endur'd,
Ladurlad rous'd his soul;

Ere yet the voice of destiny

Which trembled on the Rajah's lips was loos'd,
Eager he interpos'd,

As if despair had waken'd him to hope;
Mercy! oh mercy! only in defence-
Only instinctively,-

Only to save my child, I smote the Prince.
King of the world, be merciful!
Crush me, but torture not!
The Man-Almighty deign'd him no reply.
Still he stood silent; in no human mood
Of mercy, in no hesitating thought
Of right and justice. At the length he rais'd
His brow yet unrelax'd,—his lips unclos'd,
And utter'd from the heart,

With the whole feeling of his soul enforced, The gather'd vengeance came.

I charm thy life
From the weapons of strife,
From stone and from wood,
From fire and from flood,
From the serpent's tooth,

And the beasts of blood:
From Sickness I charm thee,
And Time shall not harm thee,
But Earth which is mine,
Its fruits shall deny thee;
And Water shall hear me,

And know thee and fly thee; And the Winds shall not touch thee

When they pass by thee,
And the Dews shall not wet thee,

When they fall nigh thee,
And thou shalt seek Death
To release thee, in vain;
Thou shalt live in thy pain,
While Kehama shall reign,
With a fire in thy heart,
And a fire in thy brain;
And sleep shall obey me,
And visit thee never,

Awakening then to life and thought,-thou here? For when his voice she heard,

The dreadful past recurr'd,

Which dimly, like a dream of pain,

Till now with troubled sense confus'd her brain.

And hath he spar'd us then? she cried,

Half rising as she spake,

For hope and joy the sudden strength supplied; In mercy hath he curb'd his cruel will, That still thou livest? But as thus she said, Impatient of that look of hope, her sire

Shook hastily his head;

Oh! he hath laid a Curse upon my life,
A clinging curse, quoth he;

Hath sent a fire into my heart and brain,
A burning fire, for ever there to be!

The winds of Heaven must never breathe on me;
The rains and dews must never fall on me;
Water must mock my thirst and shrink from me;
The common earth must yield no fruit to me;
Sleep, blessed Sleep! must never light on me;
And Death, who comes to all, must fly from me;
And never, never set Ladurlad free.

This is a dream! exclaim'd the incredulous maid,
Yet in her voice the while a fear exprest,
Which in her larger eye was manifest.
This is a dream! she rose and laid her hand
Upon her father's brow, to try the charm;
He could not bear the pressure there;-he shrunk,—
He warded off her arm,

As though it were an enemy's blow, he smote
His daughter's arm aside.

Her eye glanced down, his mantle she espied
And caught it up; Oh misery! Kailyal cried,
He bore me from the river-depths, and yet
His garment is not wet!

IV.

THE DEPARTURE.

RECLIN'D beneath a Cocoa's feathery shade
Ladurlad lies,

And Kailyal on his lap her head hath laid,
To hide her streaming eyes.

The boatman, sailing on his easy way,
With envious eye beheld them where they lay;
For every herb and flower

Was fresh and fragrant with the early dew, Sweet sung the birds in that delicious hour, And the cool gale of morning as it blew, Not yet subdued by day's increasing power, Ruffling the surface of the silvery stream, Swept o'er the moisten'd sand, and rais'd no shower. Telling their tale of love,

The boatman thought they lay

At that lone hour, and who so blest as they!

But now the Sun in heaven is high, The little songsters of the sky Sit silent in the sultry hour," They pant and palpitate with heat; Their bills are open languidly

To catch the passing air;
They hear it not, they feel it not,

It murmurs not, it moves not.
The boatman, as he looks to land,
Admires what men so mad to linger there,
For yonder Cocoa's shade behind them falls,
A single spot upon the burning sand.

There all the morning was Ladurlad laid,
Silent and motionless, like one at ease;
There motionless upon her father's knees,
Reclin'd the silent maid.

The man was still, pondering with steady mind,
As if it were another's Curse,

His own portentous lot;

Scanning it o'er and o'er in busy thought, As though it were a last night's tale of woe, Before the cottage door

By some old beldame sung, While young and old, assembled round, Listened, as if by witchery bound, In fearful pleasure to her wonderous tongue.

Musing so long he lay, that all things seem
Unreal to his sense, even like a dream,
A monstrous dream of things which could not be.
That beating, burning brow,-why it was now
The height of noon, and he was lying there
In the broad sun, all bare!

What if he felt no wind? the air was still,
That was the general will

Of nature, not his own peculiar doom;
Yon rows of rice erect and silent stand,
The shadow of the Cocoa's lightest plume
Is steady on the sand.

Is it indeed a dream? he rose to try,
Impatient to the water-side he went,
And down he bent,

And in the stream he plung'd his hasty arm
To break the visionary charm.
With fearful eye and fearful ear,
His daughter watch'd the event;
She saw the start and shudder,

She heard the in-drawn groan,
For the Water knew Kehama's charm,
The Water shrunk before his arm.
His dry hand mov'd about unmoisten'd there;
As easily might that dry hand avail
To stop the passing gale,

Or

grasp the impassive air. He is Almighty then! Exclaim'd the wretched man in his despair; Air knows him, Water knows him; Sleep His dreadful word will keep;

Even in the grave there is no rest for me, Cut off from that last hope,-the wretch's joy; And Veeshnoo hath no power to save, Nor Seeva to destroy.

Oh! wrong not them! quoth Kailyal,
Wrong not the Heavenly Powers!

Our hope is all in them: They are not blind!
And lighter wrongs than ours,

And lighter crimes than his, Have drawn the Incarnate down among mankind. Already have the Immortals heard our cries,