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 (T 

 
 THE T'HAKOORINE, 
 
 A TALE OF MAANDOO,
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE, 
 
 TALE OF MAANDOO. 
 
 BY CAPTAIN JAMES ABBOTT, 
 
 BENGAL ARTILLERY. 
 
 JAMES MADDEN AND CO. 
 
 (successors to PARBURY & CO.) 
 
 8. LEADEN HALL STREET, LONDON. 
 
 MDCCCXLI.
 
 LONDON ; 
 E. VAUTY,. PRINTEH, 27, CAMOMILE STIIEET, BISHOPSGATE.
 
 
 DEDICATION, 
 
 To my earliest, best Friend, I dedicate whatever 
 sentiments may be found in this, the first pubUshed 
 of my Poems ; not altogether unworthy of her pure 
 mhid, and exalted, but unpretending, virtue. 
 
 Mother ! sweet mother, earliest friend ! 
 
 Return and sooth thy wayward child ! 
 Hard is his heart : — yet Oh ! 'ttvill bend. 
 
 If thou but smile, as once thou smil'd ; 
 And the rude soldier, meek and mild. 
 
 Shall dream his sterner mood away ; 
 And half believe the vision wild, 
 
 That brings him back his boyhood's day, 
 With all its little hopes and fears — 
 
 A child, once more — at least in tears.
 
 VI DEDICATION. 
 
 Thus let my burning brow repose, 
 
 A moment on thy loving breast ; 
 And then, methinks, my cares, my woes, 
 
 In deep serenity of rest 
 Shall fade, and leave me fully blest, 
 
 As when I knew nor sin nor shame, 
 By those revered lips caress'd. 
 
 And caird by this, mine early name ; 
 Dear, since with it come sweetly twin'd. 
 
 Youth's careless joy, and guileless mind. 
 
 Mhow. Malwa, May, 1832.
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE, 
 
 A TALE OF MAANDOO. 
 
 ADDRESS.
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 Instead of a preface to the following Tale, founded 
 upon a local tradition of the ruined Moslem capital of 
 Malwa, I purpose offering a brief description of the 
 scene itself; one of the most impressive, which, in 
 many wanderings, it has been my lot to witness. 
 
 This fortified capital, of which the circuit exceeded 
 five-and-thirty miles, comprised the entire summit of 
 a table-moimtain, about seventeen hundred feet in 
 height, disjoined from the neighboring Vindheeia range 
 by a deep ravine. Never, perhaps, was a capital city 
 found in so strange and unpromising a situation. The 
 barren wastes of the Vindheeia mountains, broken by 
 frightful precipices, and roughened by disjoined masses 
 of rock ; affording, indeed, soil sufficient for the growth 
 of jimgles and wildernesses of high grass ; but de- 
 nying all promise to the labours of the plough, and 
 affording no passage to wheeled carriages. Below, at 
 the perpendicular depth of twelve hundred feet, was 
 the fertile valley of the Narbudda ; and at the distance 
 of sixteen miles, the old Hindoo capital, Maheswa, 
 favoured alike by nature, and by commerce, as much 
 as Maandoo, appeared unsuited to the one, and neg-
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 lected by the other. But the age was that of acted 
 romance, when safety was the first and most urgent 
 consideration; when nobles and kings built their 
 palaces, like eyries, upon the steep rock, and loved to 
 surround themselves with those natural difficulties and 
 artificial bulwarks, which civilization renders needless. 
 The seat of a despotic monarch is necessarily the 
 resort of all the nobility and wealth of the kingdom ; 
 and thus the tiger, the bear, and eagle, once the sole 
 occupants of the Vindheeia crags, were suddenly dis- 
 placed from the throne of Maandoo, by the splendour 
 of a royal court. 
 
 When Baz Bahadoor, last sovereign of Malwa, was 
 driven from his throne by the arms of the Emperor Akbar 
 — this unnatural stimulus was removed, and the city was 
 forsaken almost as rapidly as it had arisen from the 
 crags — and the wild beast and wilder Bhiel, the ancient 
 lords of the moimtain hold, resumed their reign over 
 a spot, strewn with the ashes of the great, and cum- 
 bered with their palaces and towers. 
 
 My friend Snellius Schickhardus thus apostrophises 
 Maandoo : — 
 
 " Maandoo, city of the departed, how glorious wert 
 thou in the day of thy power ! how great was thy 
 fame ! how majestic thy presence ! how thrilling the 
 tales, which beneath his peepul or jamun tree, the 
 Hindoo peasant narrated of thee, and the mystery in 
 which thy name was involved, to his little circle of
 
 ADDRESS. XI 
 
 admiring guests. There was scarcely a fountain, a pre- 
 cipice, or a ravine, within miles of thy magnificent 
 bulwarks, but had its own legend of wonder, of magic 
 or of horror ; and it might well seem the work of en- 
 chantment, that in so wild a scene, where the eye, 
 familiar with the fantastic and rugged features of vm- 
 cultured nature, had almost forgotten the haunts and the 
 existence of man ; where the mountain cliff beetling 
 to the skies, was (in the Hindoo's fanciful dream) a 
 barrier to the fiery chariot of the sun ; where the tiger 
 peopled the forest, and the wild deer haunted the 
 brake, and the eagle screamed from her inaccessible 
 eyrie; — that in a scene so desolate and savage, there 
 should spring to mid heaven, upon the mountains' 
 brow, the bulwarks, the towers, and domes of a popu- 
 lous city, the capital of a considerable kingdom, the 
 throne of her sovereign, the splendid residence of her 
 nobles and her chiefs — that man should lord it in 
 such pomp and power over this island of the moun- 
 tains, and all around, even to the verge of its tre- 
 mendous scarp, give so little intimation of his very 
 existence — continue still so rugged, intractible, and 
 wild. 
 
 And now, in the desolation of thy widowhood ; now, 
 that the pomp, the bustle, and the show ; thy M'ealth 
 and merchandize, and the souls of men have alike for- 
 saken thee ; now that thy princely palaces are crumbling 
 to dust, and thy temples are falling dome by dome,
 
 XU ADDRESS. 
 
 beneath the step of the lichen and the shrub ; now that 
 the tigress whelps, in thy marble baths, and the owl 
 hoots to the croaking raven, from the chamber where 
 beauty was enshrined ; even now thou hast thy wonder 
 and thy magnificence ; even now thou retainest thy 
 power — not indeed over the possessions, but over the 
 heart and spirit of man." 
 
 On approaching Maandoo, from Nalcha, (the country 
 residence of the nobles of Malwa) the road, which de- 
 scends into the ravine severing the mountain, from the 
 Vindheeia chain, is lined on either side, throughout its 
 extent of eight miles, by ruins of palaces, mosques, 
 and tombs, which stand in desolate beauty upon the 
 forsaken mountain side. This road passes the brink 
 of one of the most frightful chasms I have ever beheld, 
 into which a small stream from a neighbouring pool 
 hurls its waters. This chasm is the favorite scene of 
 many a superstition, and is held in great awe by the 
 Hindoo peasant, who believes it to be fathomless, and 
 to swarm with every species of demon that is foe to 
 mankind. Upon the side of the precipice, mid way 
 between the summit and base, grew a tree of silver, 
 which no human being had ever touched, although the 
 attempt had been made by many. Sir John Malcolm, 
 the historian of Malwa, determining to break the spell, 
 let down a man, by means of ropes, to this tree ; but, 
 say the Hindoos, the man never returned, being trans- 
 formed into a bat, the instant he touched the enchanted
 
 ADDRESS. -Mil 
 
 stem. The bottom of this ch^sm is ftill of thick 
 jungle, and infested by tigers, so that probably no 
 human being, excepting Bhiels, have ever explored it. 
 I myself let down a line, to which a stone was attached, 
 to fathom the precipice ; to the great dismay of my 
 servants, who assured me I should never withdraw it, 
 and should myself perhaps be pulled down by the 
 demons. The stone became wedged beneath a mass 
 of rock, and for many minutes I could not extricate it. 
 During that interval, my servants were divided between 
 triumph and apprehension, andwere, perhaps, not a little 
 disappointed when, by a successful jerk, I drew up the 
 line. I will not give the height in human measure- 
 ment of feet and inches ; part of the enchantment of the 
 spot, consisting in that vague impression of fathomless 
 depth, which seizes the mind, in gazing into the chasm 
 of Kaankerah Koh. On following the road farther, 
 we descend through a vista of ruined palaces, temples, 
 and tombs, to the bottom of a ravine, and find our- 
 selves confronted by the mountain citadel, with its 
 triple line of castellated ramparts ; over which, in place 
 of plume and lance and banner, the peepul and bur- 
 gut are waving their glossy foliage, and the wild reed 
 is shooting its fragile stem. We pass the moat by a 
 causeway of masonry. We tread the gateway, no 
 longer closed against a foe. We climb the steep paved 
 mountain road, once beaten by the hoofs of war-
 
 XIV ADDRESS. 
 
 steeds, and thronged with the traffic of a kingdom : 
 
 now trod but by the wild beast of the forest, and 
 
 thronged but by memories of other years. The wood 
 
 waves dense above us, and a sea of jungle spreads 
 
 beneath. But we have reached the third and highest 
 
 line of battlements, and we now pause in front of its 
 
 triple archway of the lightest gothic, to contemplate a 
 
 relic, shattered indeed by time and the elements, but 
 
 adorned by nature with some of her choicest hues. 
 
 Within we find a young forest, apparently untrod by 
 
 man, excepting in one solitary path, walled on either 
 
 side to the height of twelve feet by grass and reeds, 
 
 above which, the green wood waves. This was 
 
 once the Sudda Bazar, or high market place of Maan- 
 
 doo; at present, the human foot scarcely maintains a 
 
 narrow path against the power of vegetable life. The 
 
 very houses and shops that rose on either hand are now 
 
 heaps of dust, serving but to elevate the jungle which 
 
 waves above. We wander on through the forest — too 
 
 dense to admit of any view of objects beyond our 
 
 touch. Suddenly, without warning, we stand in the 
 
 presence of the chief musjid or mosque, and the tomb 
 
 of Hoshungh Shauh, the foimder of Maandoo. The 
 
 transition is startling ; for these buildings, although 
 
 injured by the lapse of centuries, are on this face un- 
 
 shattered, and apparently in better condition than many 
 
 of the temples and tombs of still populous cities ; and
 
 ADDRESS. XV 
 
 it seems most strange to find* such monuments of 
 human grandeur and power in a spot which had 
 taught us to forget the very existence of man. 
 
 The architecture of Maandoo was, in some respects, 
 ruder than that of Agra and Delhi. But being less 
 broken into detail, the efiect is generally grander, and 
 the lines melt the more easily into the flowing curva- 
 ture of nature. Here, from the huts of a few miser- 
 able creatures, that still linger about the ruins, it is 
 easy to procure a guide to the tanks or small lakes, 
 that once were enclosed by the royal palaces, and now 
 form the most lonely and dangerous portion of the 
 deserted mountain-summit ; being infested by wild 
 beasts, and desolated by malaria from the stagnant 
 water, and rank marsh weeds and jungle. This is the 
 most impressive portion of Maandoo — the most beauti- 
 ful of the groupings, here found, of natural objects 
 with the decaying relics of human magnificence. 
 
 The native who served as my guide, hewed a way 
 with his sabre, (which he carried drawn, to guard 
 against surprisal,) through the wild plantains, (once 
 the cultivated tenants of the royal gardens) which 
 concealed the lake from my view ; whilst I sat down to 
 sketch a scene, that powerfully impressed the fancy. 
 
 In this neighbourhood is found a series of subter- 
 ranean galleries, communicating with a deep well, or 
 Bowlie ; and here my guide pointed out to me the re-
 
 XVI ADDRESS. 
 
 mains of a tiger, which he had poisoned by means of a 
 carcass rubbed with arsenic. 
 
 The palace and fountain of Roope Muttie, stand at 
 the southern extremity of the Table summit, in a 
 spot of considerable beauty and extreme interest, 
 from the narrative with which it is connected. 
 
 The south-western extremity of the moimtain formed 
 the original fortress, when yet it belonged to Bhiels, 
 the wild aborigines of Malwa. A Rajpootre Prince 
 dispossessed them of this strong-hold, and built a 
 gate-way and rude battlement. But it was not until 
 the Moosulmauns became masters, that the entire 
 summit of the mountain was enclosed and peopled. 
 Near the centre of the summit is a small lake, said to 
 have been surrounded by Hindoo temples, to the num- 
 ber of a thousand, of which not one remains, although 
 the sculptured columns and stones are every where 
 found amongst the Moosulmaun buildings, to attest the 
 melancholy bigotry of that race of spoilers. 
 
 I was at Maandoo during the monsoon, the gloomiest 
 season of the year — when the rain falls night and day 
 in torrents, and the wind sweeps continually over the 
 ruined mountain. I slept in the tomb of Hoshimgh 
 Shauh, as being the only building in sufficient preser- 
 vation to exclude the deluge of rain. Even here, in 
 many places, the water oozes through the roof, and 
 soaking into the walls from above, drops down, so
 
 ADDRESS. XVll 
 
 strongly impregnated with the lime of the mortar and 
 coarse marble, as to form stalactitic incrustations from 
 the roof and the arches of the windows. In this 
 mausoleum, my candle at night had the faint ap- 
 pearance of a glow-worm, and the intense darkness 
 seemed threatening to smother it, at every moment. 
 When this was extinguished the blackness was utter, 
 and the effect very sublime ; for, every whisper of the 
 breeze, every motion of the bats, which haunt such 
 places, were echoed a thousand times in faint, shiver- 
 ing vibration, by the expansive vault overhead. 
 
 My servants lay together in a gate-way of the ceme- 
 tary, where they had barricaded the door. There was 
 a window, which they did not think it expedient to fill 
 up. But into this, one night, a leopard thrust its head, 
 frightening my horse to the most frantic degree, and 
 not a little alarming the servants. I sat up all night 
 in this window, with my double-barrelled gun, in the 
 hope that the leopard might repeat his visit. But it 
 seems that, after leaving the horse, he sprang upon a 
 cow which had got loose from one of the neighbouring 
 hovises, and was about to can-y it off, when the peasant 
 to whom it belonged, rushed out with a thick club of 
 bamboo, bound with iron, and, in the hurry of the 
 moment, ignorant of the quality of the intruder, as- 
 sailed him with such a shower of blows, that the 
 leopard sneaked away in great disgust. I heard the 
 
 h
 
 XVIU ADDRESS. 
 
 noise of this affray, but did not, until the next morning, 
 know its origin. 
 
 Maandoo, according to the notions of the Hindoo, 
 is the very stronghold of enchantments. The scenery 
 around it is well calculated to impress any mind, but 
 especially that of a native of level plains ; and the 
 desolate condition of this once populous capital, capti- 
 vates the imagination, and subdues the soul. In the 
 little Poem here offered to the public, I have endea- 
 voured to record one of the many traditions belonging 
 to the scene. Unfortunately, the only MS. I possessed 
 of this Work, was left at Heraut ; for I was ignorant 
 that my journey would extend to the shores of my 
 native land ; so that I have been obliged to recover 
 the third, fourth, and part of the second Canto, as well 
 as all the notes, from memory ; my stay in England 
 not admitting of the delay requisite to procure the MS. 
 from Heraut. Having been very actively employed 
 during the last two years, I fear that, beside the original 
 defects of the Poem, many blemishes occur that are 
 chargeable upon memory. 
 
 London, Dec. 1840.
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE. 
 
 A TALE OF MAAXUOO. 
 
 INTRODUCTION.
 
 THE T'HAKOOPJNE. 
 
 A TALE OF MAANDOO. 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Sleep on, ye multitudes ! and thou, proud city, 
 
 Once proud, who minglest now thy dust with theirs ; 
 Whom hast thou left, thy ruin'd pomp to pity ? 
 
 Whom, o'er thy dust to pour the mourner's tears ? 
 
 Alone thou standest, with the rust of years 
 Crumbling and wasting back to earth, again, 
 
 Each lonely fragment that in beauty rears 
 Its shatter'd form and haunts the desolate scene 
 With its own giant wreck of glories that have been. 
 
 With thee an empire rose — and of thy fall 
 
 The earthquake shock did rend an empire down ; 
 For what could bear the brunt that shook thy wall 
 
 And from thy brow displac'd the regal crown ? 
 
 Far distant nations trembled, as the moan 
 Of thy wide niin jarr'd the startled ear, 
 
 And haughty despots laid the sceptre down 
 And, shuddering, envied the poor peasant's cheer, 
 And, list'ning, curs'd the lot, which made them slaves 
 to fear.
 
 XXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Not in the shock of fight thy wall went down, 
 
 Not in the siege or sack thy towers were rent ; 
 At morn thou sat'st unquestion'd on thy throne, 
 
 The morrow's eve peal'd forth thy wild lament. 
 
 And still, when ages had their mischief spent 
 O'er thy majestic brow, unharm'd thou stood ; 
 
 Tower, palace, temple, mosque and monument, 
 A glorious shrine, deserted of its god, 
 A wilderness, where once assembled nations trod. 
 
 Deserted thus thou stood. The Grassia* horde 
 Crept tow'rd thy gate and anxious listed there 
 
 The wonted tumult, dreading less the sword 
 Of open foe, than that still hush to bear, 
 And enter gates that, late, with jealous care 
 
 Were watch'd and warded, and now, open thrown, 
 Invite th' unwary foot, yet seem to glare 
 
 From each high bastion, with portentous frown, 
 And, hurl defiance mute, yet fraught with terror, down. 
 
 And ent'ring now, no busy sound proceeds 
 
 From the high-battled mountain, where thy throne 
 
 Was watch'd and guarded. Nor the tramp of steeds, 
 The ring of harness, the life-breathing tone 
 Of martial trumpet, nor the shouts that drown 
 
 The throng of many feet. — The drum is still, 
 
 « 
 
 * Rajpootncs, who havirg been ejected from their lands have 
 become plunderers.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIU 
 
 And husb'd the cornet : pomp and power are gone ; 
 He feels throughout his frame a creeping chill, 
 As his own footfall reigns through that majestic hill. 
 
 It haunts his spirit, that sole, desolate sound, 
 Amid the monuments of regal power, 
 
 (Where ruin's healing hand not yet hath bound 
 O'er one scarr'd brow the wreathen forest flower, 
 Nor reconcil'd by contrast to the dower 
 
 Of shrub and lichen, that profusely spring.) 
 
 'Tis as some lone and lingering ghost, whose hour 
 
 Of rest came not, when people, priest and king 
 Faded like mists of morn and left their realm to him. 
 
 And aw'd by feelings, till that hour imknown, 
 He dares not lift a sacrilegious hand 
 
 Against the monuments around him strown ; 
 He dares not trust his stay where all do stand 
 Those princely giants in the stern command 
 
 Of their inviolate silence, arm'd no more 
 With mortal weapon — yet by fancy's wand 
 
 Array'd in terrors of mysterious awe, 
 Which daunt the fainting soul beyond material law. 
 
 What then thou wert, what since thou art become, 
 
 Thy glories' annals and thy swift decay. 
 What recketh man. A few, like me, who roam.
 
 XXIV INTUODUCTION. 
 
 Of beauty's soul enamour'd and the day 
 Of by-gone years — whose sympathies obey 
 The magic touch of sorrow, lingering here, 
 Where nature's art around thy ruins grey 
 Sheds her own green, unrivall'd garniture, 
 May o'er these relics pause, to shed th' unwonted tear. 
 
 No more desire, thou lone one. Art thou worn 
 With woe unmeasur'd ? To thy dust retire ! 
 
 Weep, there, thy wrongs in silence ; nor, forlorn, 
 On man's cold, heartless mirth one sob respire 
 To check the quick pulse or allay the fire 
 
 Of joy inebriate, or his downy rest 
 
 With discord violate. Thy large desire 
 
 Of sympathy how vain, from that cloy'd breast. 
 Save for its own dull cares, in stoic armor dress'd.
 
 THE THAKOORINE. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 O'er blue Narbudda woke the morn, 
 Mid clang of hoof and voice of horn ; 
 As, sweeping past, a gallant train, 
 The Huntsmen strow'd the dusky plain, 
 Rous'd from his lair each monster wild. 
 Nor spar'd the greenwood's gentlest child. 
 And now his Scorpion-rays, the sun 
 Through haze of molten brass pours down, 
 And fainting Nature droops her head. 
 And pines for twilight's dewy shade. 
 Yet still, though scatter'd far and wide, 
 Sweeps the gay train by Rewa's* side, 
 And still, amid the tangled glade, 
 Through the low jungle's bootless shade, 
 From time to time is seen to ride 
 The Moslem Lord, in turban'd pride, 
 Till his good courser's reeling pace 
 Warns to conclude the frantic chace, 
 
 * Rewa, one of the names of the river Narbudda. 
 
 B
 
 2 THE THAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 And seek the nearest brook, where spread 
 The Peepid and the Burgut* shade ; 
 For well the course of streams they mark, 
 With giant fence of foliage dark, 
 Streaking, with many a vital vein, 
 The arid bosom of the plain. 
 
 And who is he, that bounds along ! 
 The headmost of the sylvan throng. 
 With steed untir'd and brow unbent, 
 And zeal and vigor all unspent, 
 Though thrice, beneath his deadful thrust. 
 The bristled boar hath bit the dust, 
 And many a winged shaft hath flown 
 To mark his path, with victims strown ; 
 The stately Sambre,-]- and the shy 
 Gazelle, with her large, mournful eye, 
 And limbs of fairy mould. — Ah ! when 
 Shall beauty plead with senseless men. 
 Or man, awakening to a shame 
 Of his long spell of havoc, claim. 
 By goodness and by love, to be 
 Earth's emblem of the deity. 
 
 He bounded past, that heedless youth. 
 On his white Arab steed. — 'Twere sooth 
 
 * Called by the English, the Banian Tree, 
 t A large species of deer, having small horns.
 
 CAKTO I, THE THAKOORINE. O 
 
 To say, Arabia's arid wild 
 
 Ne'er nurs'd so proud a desert child, 
 
 So faultless moulded, and so free 
 
 In fleet and fiery speed, as he. 
 
 The Peasant view'd him, shooting past, 
 
 At early morn, and paus'd, aghast, 
 
 At his wing'd pace, o'er path, ne'er meant 
 
 To serve for mortal steed's descent. 
 
 The Bheel*,(^) by eve's uncertain light, 
 
 Saw him surmount that cloud-capp'd height, 
 
 Like rock-deer, fleetly bounding on, 
 
 O'er broken path and flinty stone, 
 
 And vow'd 'twas no earth-gender'd thing, 
 
 That soar'd, on strong, but viewless wing 
 
 So wildly past, but goblin dread, 
 
 In Kawf'sf terrific caverns bred. 
 
 A voice stole o'er the Huntsman's ear : 
 — He curb'd his fiery course to hear ; 
 A silvery sound, scarce borne afar, 
 Such as the Spirit of a Star 
 Hymns to the twinkling Host ; 'ere low 
 He bathe in night his radiant brow. 
 
 * The Aboriginal inhabitants of Mahva. 
 
 f Caucasus, in -which the Jins and Deeves are still con- 
 fined, having been shut up in the caverns of these mountains 
 by King Solomon, according to some, or Alexander the Great, 
 according to others. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE THAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 Now, as the light gales, fluttering, rise, 
 
 'Tis wafted past in dreamy sighs. 
 
 Waking, throughout the wondrous choir 
 
 Of the rapt soul, its tenderest fire ; 
 
 As gales that o'er the harp nerve stray, 
 
 Steal its soul of song away. 
 
 A transient sound, that, 'ere 'tis caught. 
 
 Hath pass'd from sense, yet dwells with thought. 
 
 Swelling in a fitful measure. 
 
 That thrills, as with a mournful pleasure, 
 
 Painful, but perversely sweet ; 
 
 The twilight bound, where bliss and sadness meet. 
 
 Now 'tis the Cokela's* woodland note, 
 On which remembrance loves to float 
 To grove and grot and gushing rill, 
 Where waves, thro' living moss, distil, 
 And childhood seems of yesterday : 
 Now 'tis the dying Bulbul's lay, 
 A bursting breast, a bleeding heart, 
 Love, that is melody, and part, — 
 Oh ! rather say his Being's whole ; 
 That melts and ravishes the soul. 
 And yet again, decaying, dying, 
 In broken sobs of passion sighing, 
 
 * The green ^^■ood-pigeon of the mountain.
 
 CANTO I. THE THAKOORINE. 
 
 Down to despair or madness brink, 
 In a low plain the numbers sink : 
 In a low — a touching plain ! 
 This is not the Bulbul strain ! 
 'Tis the wail of human woe, 
 
 'Tis the spirit-broken tone, 
 Which, who but love's yoimg thrall may know, 
 
 Which breathes from woman's lips alone. 
 And if, at times, a lighter strain 
 Reliev'd the excess of torturous pain, 
 That welcome interlude, too well 
 Enhanc'd the deep, absorbing spell, 
 With which the Minstrel's varying mood 
 Sway'd the heart's mystery-burthen'd flood, 
 E'en as the moon the troublous motion. 
 The swell and turmoil of the ocean. 
 
 Tranc'd in delicious reverie, 
 His soul, his fancy wandering free 
 From Earth's dull limit and her round 
 Of prison cares and gloom profound, 
 And petty joys and tarnish'd state. 
 The music-stricken Hmitsman sate ; 
 His rein abandon' d, his dark eye 
 Wandering in blissful vacancy. 
 Whilst, of the Siren spell possest, 
 With ear erect, and arching crest,
 
 6 THE THAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 His noble steed is train'd alonar 
 Tow'rd the sweet oracle of song : 
 And, more distinct, as nearer grown, 
 Each airy, evanescent tone ; 
 And less diffused through earth, air, sky, 
 The radiant waves of harmony ; 
 'Till the rich tide pours full and clear, 
 Fresh from its living fountain near, 
 And, as the Burgut Grove is gained, 
 That column'd temple, unprofan'd, 
 Of nature's fabric : her fair guest, 
 In might of beauty, sate confess'd. 
 
 Yes ! she was glorious — like as be 
 Our dreams of Maiden purity. 
 Our early dreams, 'ere Earth has given 
 A stain to fancies, fresh from Heaven. 
 And pure and beauteous forms descend, 
 And o'er our midnight musings bend, 
 Inspiring aspirations holy, 
 And joys suftused with melancholy. 
 
 I speak not of the chiseli'd brow, 
 The eye of more than mortal glow, 
 So bright, yet chasten'd in its fire, 
 The lips, the bosom, that respire 
 Music and love. Seraphic food : 
 Nor of the faultless, tapering mould,
 
 CANTO I. THE THAKOORINE. 
 
 The cypress waist and twinkling feet, 
 And form, with harmony replete, 
 That left upon the viewless wind 
 An impress of its grace behind ; 
 No, 'twas the soul, that shining tlirough 
 Its costly vase, a glory threw 
 Around her being — like some ray 
 That wins through opal valves its way. 
 
 Beneath the giant Burgut shade, 
 Whose roots her throne of beauty made. 
 Whose column'd aisles her hall of state. 
 Music's unrivaird Daughter sate. 
 Her rounded arm thrown careless o'er 
 The chords that strung her light Citarre,* 
 As, wandering o'er each tremulous wire, 
 Her hand awak'd or sooth'd its fire 
 With an instinctive art : her brow 
 Spread to the sacred heavens ; the glow 
 Of her dark eye, now rais'd above, 
 Now earthward bent in pitying love. 
 Where, at her feet, a young gazelle 
 Lay tranc'd in music's softest spell ; 
 Forgetful of her wounded side, 
 Life's parting pang and welling tide ; 
 Whiles, fix'd on that fair Maiden's eye, 
 Her glance still read the lov'd reply, 
 
 * An instrument of three strings or wires.
 
 8 THE THAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 And, on the wildly thrilling lay, 
 Her spirit wander'd far away. 
 
 Whilst Echo held the vocal strain, 
 Sooth'd seem'd the dying Victim's pain ; 
 But, at each pavise, her sobs renew'd, 
 And darker stream'd the vital flood, 
 And languid droop'd that mournful eye, 
 And roll'd the tear of agony. 
 And o'er her limbs a tremor ran, 
 As Death his icy reign began. 
 Ere yet expell'd life's subtle fire. 
 The pitying Maiden touch"d her wire, 
 And, on the gale of Heav'n, once more, 
 Her rich, mellifluous voice did pour : 
 Such voice man's parting soul would love 
 To waft its new-born wings above 
 To a purer, brighter sphere. 
 — Its descant sooth'd the wounded deer ; 
 Her languid eye relum'd its flame, 
 Her gasping breath more freely came : 
 Till, gently sinking, soft and slow. 
 E'en as those liquid numbers flow. 
 Into a slumber, sooth as they, 
 Her peaceful spirit pass'd away. 
 
 Behind the date-palnvs thorny screen, 
 The Huntsman stood, himself unseen,
 
 CANTO I. THE THAKOORINE. 
 
 Gazing, as on some image blest, 
 Sweet mockery of Elysian rest, 
 But when the dying dirge express'd 
 The Minstrel's tearful tribute paid : 
 — A sigh his ambushment betray'd. 
 
 The startled Maiden rais'd her eye 
 And breathless gaz'd ; nor knew she why 
 Her heart so wildly throbb'd : — but when, 
 Advancing from the Sylvan Screen, 
 The youthful Lord before her stood 
 Her pride repress'd the eddying blood, 
 And, all asham'd that weakest mood 
 Should e'er have been, assura'd the high, 
 Calm tone of conscious majesty. 
 That reigns so well on woman's brow, 
 And seems akin to beauty's glow, 
 And eloquently helps our sense 
 Of purity and innocence. 
 
 Rob'd in the queenly, virgin dress 
 Of her surpassing loveliness ; 
 The gem of pity glittering yet, 
 Bright beaded on the fringe of jet 
 That shaded those large, lustrous eyes ; 
 The fluttering pulse, in which surprise 
 With shrinking fear and pleasure vies ;
 
 1^ THE THAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 And arch, young mirth, in rippling play, 
 
 Revealing where the dimples lay, 
 
 The Maid retain'd her sylvan throne, 
 
 With blushing cheek, and eye cast down. 
 
 And hand that, o'er the trembling string 
 
 Of her Citara wandering, 
 
 Its silent voice awak'd, and then, 
 
 As startled by th' unbidden strain, 
 
 Sudden repress'd : — expecting still 
 
 The stranger's voice that pause to fill. 
 
 By maiden bashfulness denied. 
 
 Whilst he, bewilder'd in the tide 
 
 Of new and throng'd emotions, stood, 
 
 With fetter'd lips and soul subdued. 
 
 The maiden mark'd ; and when did eye 
 Of woman, without triumph, spy 
 The captive to her sword and bow ? 
 She mark'd his 'trancement, and in low 
 And playful strain, the measure woke, 
 Whose counterspell th' entrancement broke. 
 
 " Stranger, bewilder'd, 
 In region enchanted, 
 If thou be not the phantom 
 Of mortal departed !
 
 CANTO I. THE THAKOORINE, 1 1 
 
 ' " Speak, we adjure thee, 
 
 The weird thou dost tarry. 
 Or vanish for ever 
 
 From Land of the Fairy !" 
 
 " I come," the stranger said ; and then 
 Paus'd speechless, as by sudden pain 
 Arrested : whilst his heart throbb'd high, 
 And a strange tremor check'd the sigh 
 That rose, unbidden, from his breast. 
 — He quail'd not thus, when, crest to crest, 
 And hand to hand, by Betwa's side, 
 He tam'd MoostufFa's warrior pride, 
 And, 'mid the strife of heroes came, 
 To cast in shade the proudest name. 
 
 " He comes," the laughing Maiden cried, 
 " Earth, air, and thou, majestic Tide, 
 Narbudda, from thy crystal cave. 
 Roll back each blue, far-wandering wave 
 That, senseless, hurls its might along : 
 For life is short, and truth is young 
 And woe, of ancient days, and rare 
 All true and brilliant tidings are ! 
 He comes ! stupendous fact ! the sky 
 Glares dubious on the prodigy, 
 And shakes his boughs the Burgut Tree — 
 It cannot be ! it cannot be !"
 
 12 THE THAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 And her sweet voice, that mocking strain 
 Of glee, laugh'd o'er and o'er again, 
 'Till rose the skylark from the plain, 
 And, fluttering, trill'd his measure gay, 
 In answer to her roimdelay. 
 
 Bewitch'd, enamour'd more and more, 
 11 is cheek with manly shame flush' d o'er, 
 The Huntsman that gay chaunt stnick in. 
 And answer'd light the mirthful strain, 
 And on the green sward at her feet 
 Down sinking chose the vassal seat. 
 And in her eyes upgazing, fed 
 His soul, on those sweet fires they shed. 
 And chas'd her thought's swift-glancing flight. 
 Ever varying, ever bright. 
 As, from the lightest, playful vein, 
 It sank at once to that deep strain 
 Of passion's tenderest pathos, where 
 The might of woman mocks compare. 
 
 " And whence appears our wandering knight. 
 What tale of prowess or of flight, 
 Of pilgrim spoil'd, or plunder'd khayt,* 
 Can valor's thrice arm'd son narrate ?" 
 
 " Peri," the Khan replied, " from far 
 I come, like some dim, wandering star, 
 
 * Khayt, a field.
 
 CANTO I. THE THAKOORINE. 13 
 
 That thro' the trackless waste of night, 
 
 Long toihng, shoots, on bhssborne wing, 
 To lose his being in the light 
 
 Of his own Virgin Queen. 
 For each remotest, twinkling spark, 
 
 So distant strung. 
 Scarce noted 'mid the concave dark, 
 The golden chain (-) thou may'st not mark 
 
 From which 'tis hung. 
 The flutter of my plume hath felt 
 And mark'd my search, 'mid those who dwelt 
 
 Within its atmosphere of gold. 
 Yet, one by one, I've quitted all 
 Their songs, their light, their bliss ; — they call 
 They glow in vain — Thy foot-print small 
 
 Outshines their wealth thrice told. 
 But late return'd to Earth's dull bound, 
 I urg'd the chase with hawk and hound. 
 And many a goodly quarry slain 
 Attests the toil nor light nor vain ; 
 'Till thy sweet spirit-voice from far 
 Charm'd e'en the pulse of sylvan war, 
 And led me chain'd, as captives be. 
 In a most glad captivity." 
 
 The Maiden heard, with alter'd cheer. 
 And flashing eye, and brow severe,
 
 14 THE TIIAKOORINE. 
 
 That, kindling, glooming as she spoke, 
 Strangely that vein of raillery broke. 
 " 'Tis, as I well nigh deem'd — I see 
 The tyrant of the weak, the free : 
 One who, despite his power unblest. 
 Envies the peace of others breast ; 
 And since the wild breeze wafts him not, 
 The joy the guileless know, must blot, 
 Deface, destroy, with envious might. 
 Each gay thing moving in his sight. 
 As 'twere a crime in aught to be 
 More innocently blest than he. 
 There ! doughty warrior, gaze and know 
 The triumph of thy murderous bow, 
 The stifFen'd limb, the glazing eye. 
 The neck, as death's last agony 
 Did leave it writhen ! Oh ! if there be 
 One wretch, of all unblest, 'tis he 
 Within whose heart no gentler prayer 
 Was heard to plead for thing so fair." 
 
 On ear amaz'd her accents fall : — 
 He had been early taught to dwell, 
 Admiring, on the Minstrel's lay. 
 That song of Huntsman's prowess gay. 
 — It was a new, an humbling ray 
 Which her indignant spirit shed 
 Upon a pastime, hallowed 
 
 CANTO I.
 
 CANTO I. THE THAKOOBINE. 15 
 
 By early dreams and ancient lore, 
 
 Of poet sung, of hero wooed. 
 Of maiden, deem'd, scarce less than war, 
 
 The test of knightly hardihood. 
 But like to one, by morn o'erta'en, 
 On some lone wild, where genii i-eign. 
 Whose eyes the livelong night have fed 
 On gorgeous halls, emblanzoned 
 With gems that flash surnat'ral rays, 
 And crystal walls, and many a maze. 
 Arches and column'd aisles, that rise 
 Rich in the Opal's hectic dyes, 
 Where Fays and Peris hold their court. 
 And Genii roam, and Nymphs disport : 
 Like such, when first the glance of day 
 Dissolves each glorious charm away, 
 Leaving the barren rocks, alone, 
 
 In dismal wreck of splendor gone ; , 
 
 In place of each transcendant dye. 
 Dull forms of drear reality, 
 The bush of stunted Dhawk,* the hill. 
 That rises, 'mid the cold, grey chill 
 Of early morn, in naked state. 
 So arid, waste and desolate. 
 
 Thus far'd our Huntsman, in the ray 
 Of Tyrant Love : — so felt obey 
 
 * Tlie commonest jungle of India.
 
 16 THE THAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 That secret power, each impulse nice, 
 Pride, passion, early prejudice. 
 
 "Maiden," his voice irapassion'd, cried, 
 *' The power is thine to praise or chide. 
 With gentle words my heart inspire 
 Or with ungentle quench the fire 
 Of hope, and light of peace; — had I 
 But earlier learn'd the kindred tie 
 Of beauteous things with thee; that, bright, 
 From Earth to Thee, Earth's planet Light, 
 The chain of loveliness doth grow, 
 Link clasping link, from flowers that blow 
 And living things that glance and play 
 From mead to mead, from spray to spray, 
 'Mid foliage green, or float on high 
 In ambient air and melody. 
 Then had I loath'd the Hunter's lore, 
 As now I loathe whate'er can draw 
 A sigh, a tear from aught I see 
 Sharing the sunny ray with Thee ; 
 Breathing the air thy lip hath kiss'd. 
 Thy voice inspir'd, thy presence bless'd ; 
 Or sharing in its own degree. 
 As thou in thine, sweet liberty. 
 Henceforth, in every woodland strain 
 I live thy music o'er again ; 
 In every graceful fawn I see 
 A creature, born to emblem Thee ;
 
 CANTO I. THE t'hAKOORINE. 17 
 
 And, if no charm of voice or form 
 
 Plead for the poor, despised worm, 
 
 A thing, thy mild and pitying care 
 
 Would draw from thy bright path, to spare." 
 
 — Unwelcome fell that flattering strain 
 
 Upon the Maiden's ear ; to gain 
 
 Some respite from his fervid suit, 
 
 She woke to song the silent lute, 
 
 And sent her thrilling voice t' explore 
 
 The heart's deep mysteries o'er and o'er. 
 
 THE MANGOEC) BIRD. 
 
 The sun is up, the clouds are fled, 
 
 Theh- freshness left, alone ; 
 Earth, like the heart whose woes are shed, 
 
 Laughs o'er the mood by-gone, 
 And Rewa's tide is rolling far, 
 
 Blue as the summer sky ; 
 So softly blue, the Evening Star 
 Sinks to his wave, with joy as pure 
 
 As late he sprang on high. 
 And every wave is glinting back 
 
 The Day-star's level ray, 
 c
 
 18 THE T'HAKOOIIINE. CANTO I. 
 
 As, glorying in his giant track, 
 
 Narbudda glides away. 
 And e'en the sombre mangoe groves 
 
 Are lighted up with glee ; 
 As there the laughing koel* roves, 
 
 Gay bird, from tree to tree. 
 Kow merry rings her playful mirth, 
 
 Which rock and wave return ; 
 She seems a Spirit, sent to Earth, 
 
 While care was yet unborn. 
 At eve, at noon, from dawning light, 
 
 Her joyous shout is heard; 
 And still she wakes to laugh at night. 
 
 The merry Mangoe Bird ! 
 And still she laugh' d all love away, 
 
 For love is twin to care. 
 And still she deem'd her sister gay 
 
 Enough of love for her ! 
 The twain o'er Earth, o'er Ocean flew ; 
 
 One heart, one path was their's. 
 And one their mirth : care neither knew, 
 
 Or one had been their cares. 
 They roam'd Yamoona'sf margin fair, 
 
 By Gunga's;]: sacred rills. 
 Where, Heav'n-born, at the good man's prayer, 
 
 Her influence blest distils. 
 
 * The Mangoe Bird 
 t The Jumma. J The Ganges.
 
 CANTO I. THE T'HAKOORINE. 19 
 
 And the thrice sacred Fort (^) thrice sack'd, 
 
 (Woe, worth the impious hand) 
 With virgin blood deep stain'd, and black'd 
 
 By Fire's remorseless brand. 
 From her wreck'd temples, courts, and halls, 
 
 Still claiming vengeance due, 
 For innocent blood, when from her walls 
 
 The guardian demon flew ; — 
 Yes ! o'er Chittore's sky-built Minarrh, 
 
 They clos'd the weary wing ; 
 Gaz'd down, but dared not linger there, 
 
 Nor there presum'd to sing : 
 For each felt desolation's pang 
 
 Shoot th' unwonted chill 
 Through her gay heart, and onward sprang, 
 
 From that curse-blacken'd hill ; 
 Nor her light mirth renew'd, till o'er 
 
 The beauteous Lake, whence spring 
 The fairy fanes of Oodipoor, 
 Her groves and grots and marbl'd shore, 
 
 Halls of her Chiefs and King. 
 There, fluttering o'er the laughing deep, 
 
 Once more their mirth is heard ; 
 And Luxury breaks her opiate sleep 
 
 To bless the Mangoe Bird. 
 And, gazing in that crystal clear. 
 
 Each views, within its frame, 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE t'hAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 Another form still lingering near, 
 
 Another, — yet the same. 
 But 'tis not on herself to gaze 
 Th' enchanted Lake within, 
 That, lost in deep abstraction's maze, 
 
 Bent o'er the clear Lake's brim. 
 Fast rooted to the islet rock, 
 
 The Sister Koel stands, 
 Doubting if Fancy's witchery mock. 
 
 Or, o'er the golden sands 
 A beauteous form, indeed, doth flit. 
 
 All winged, like her own ; 
 But clad in hues that more befit 
 
 Some blessed realm unknown. 
 The golden sheen of Summer sky 
 
 When Vesper-breezes fail. 
 The rich Topaz and Sapphire's dye 
 And Ruby's blushful depths supply. 
 
 His brightly shimmering mail : 
 And, on his ever restless wing, 
 
 A sun-bow, wavering, plays ; 
 And flashing lightnings round him fling 
 
 Their keen and arrowy rays. 
 He moves in mystery. Deep below, 
 
 Full fifty fathom down. 
 His shadowy realms obscurely grow, 
 In dim perspective shewn.
 
 CAMTO r. THE T'hAKOORINE. 21 
 
 He moves in mystery, moves in light 
 
 The lightning of his way. 
 The darkness makes his form more bright, 
 
 And scatters back, alway. 
 A very Genius of the Deep, 
 
 His magic influence sways, 
 Where tides of crystal darkness sleep 
 
 In Fancy's lucid haze. 
 And thus the silly Koel stands, 
 
 Lost to the world beside ; 
 Her universe the golden sands, 
 
 O'er which the phantom glides. 
 Vainly, in circles wheeling round, 
 
 Her laughing sister flies — 
 Vainly to rend her Spirit's bond. 
 
 Each various wile applies. 
 In vain each choicer dainty brings. 
 
 Her fickle taste to woo — 
 In vain her checquer'd lay she sings, 
 
 Old strains and descants new. 
 Lost is each art, each labor lost ; 
 
 The blazing beams of Noon, 
 And curdlmg chill of midnight frost 
 
 Pass by, unfelt, unknown. 
 She knoAVs but of one beauteous form, 
 
 One all-absorbing smart ; 
 How can it feel earth's fire or storm, 
 
 Her fast consuming heart.
 
 22 THE t'hakoorine. canto I. 
 
 At night arose one wailing cry, 
 
 One melancholy plain — 
 It ceas'd ; morn dawn'd : — her sister's eye 
 
 Sought her lov'd form, in vain. 
 But, restless yet, from grove to grove, 
 
 Her wing unceasing flies : 
 Time cannot quench the beauteous love 
 
 A sister's heart supplies — 
 She calls her still, with hope, untaught 
 
 To falter or to fly. 
 Her voice that plaining tone hath caught. 
 
 The lost one's farewell cry. 
 What time the spring-past joy revives, 
 
 Her shout of glee is heard — 
 But sadness in thy laughter lives, 
 
 Heart-broken Mangoe Bird." 
 
 The strain that, in a measure gay, 
 Had floated light as woodlark's lay, 
 And seem'd th' exuberance to express 
 Of the heart's bounding happiness — 
 Now, in a tone subdued and low, 
 With faltering note and cadence slow. 
 So desolate a burthen bore, 
 That, smitten to the heart's dark core, 
 E'en when the busy echo gave 
 No further answer to each wave 
 Of melody ; the Huntsman sate.
 
 CANTO I. THE t'hAKOORINE. 23 
 
 Wrapp'd in sad thoughts, disconsolate, 
 While ever o'er his spirit rise 
 Dark shades of woe, and to his eyes 
 The weakness unallow'd, that would 
 Seek luxury in the tearful flood, 
 Unconscious whence or what his woe, 
 Or why th' unbidden sorrows flow. 
 
 She mark'dhis mood, with glance so shy, 
 And dash'd the pearl-showers from her eye. 
 And with them from her brow dispell'd 
 The shade that half its lustre quell'd ; 
 And scatter'd back her flowing hair, 
 As clouds are chas'd by Summer air, 
 And smiled the smile, whose glad rays dart, 
 Direct, to youth's untarnish'd heart : 
 And turn'd on him her glowing mien ; 
 And as the gloom of Heav'n is seen 
 To melt amid th' abyss serene. 
 When climbs the Heav'n-bright Zohruh* star ; 
 So chas'd that smile his mood afar. 
 And its own blissful stamp impress'd, 
 Full deeply, on his yielding breast. 
 
 " Oh !" cried th' enamour'd Chief, " wouldst thou 
 Thus ever lend thy beauteous brow 
 
 * The planet Venus,
 
 24 THE t'iiakoorine. canto I. 
 
 To be my bright, my better star — 
 
 Would st thou with me consent to share 
 
 All I possess of good or great ; 
 
 Thou Music's Bird, and I thy mate ; 
 
 A cage most rare I'd weave for thee 
 
 Beneath the flowering Jamuntree. 
 
 A cage inwove with curious art 
 
 From the choice tendrils of the heart. 
 
 Whose every knot a gem should bind 
 
 Of some rich pleasure, pure, refin'd, 
 
 Wrought from thine own untarnish'd mind ; 
 
 Thy sole employ, from day to day, 
 
 To glad all Nature with thy lay, 
 
 Afar and near, to all dispense 
 
 Its rich and varied eloquence, 
 
 And reap the harvest, sweetly sown 
 
 In others' bosoms, to thine own. 
 
 Can fate like this no charm dispense 
 
 To lure thee, bird of beauty, hence ? 
 
 Is nothing worth the heart thou'st ta'en, 
 
 Where but thyself shalt ever reign ; 
 
 A heart thy thrilling voice can make 
 
 A thousand tones, all potence, take — 
 
 That changing, differing, yet shall prove 
 
 Drawn from one source, one fountain. Love." 
 
 She heard, as one whose thoughts are far. 
 She, trembling, touch'd the light citarre,
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 25 
 
 And, smiling, sang her gay reply, 
 With blushful cheek and downcast eye. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " Away, away, the pmnace glides. 
 
 Nor oar nor helm is seen. 
 As, dashing down the laughing tides, 
 
 'Mid rocks and sedges green, 
 Through rapid swift, and o'er the dark. 
 
 Deep pool where, treasur'd, lie 
 Nai'budda's secrets, bounds the bark, 
 
 The shores receding, fly, — 
 With gold and purple gleaming bright, 
 
 Its fairy structure shows. 
 Some hand unseen, with phosphor light, 
 
 Its furrowed pathway sows. 
 And, leaping from the tiny prow. 
 
 The small waves catch the dye 
 Of thousand gems from each fair bow 
 
 Glass'd o'er th' inverted sky. 
 All gaily bounds the bark along, 
 
 A spirit fills the sail, 
 And 'tis the Hooma's* 'trancing song 
 
 Hath still'd the midnight gale. 
 
 * Bird of Paradise, concerning which the Indians have many 
 fabulous legends.
 
 26 THE t'hakoorine. canto I. 
 
 Fair Bird, fair creature, leave the deck, 
 
 Heed not yon' rich display 
 Of jewell'd gauds, that shine to wreck 
 
 Th' unwary with their ray. 
 Oh ! myriads such, at morn, bestrew 
 
 The flowery meadow's breast ; 
 Fair bird, thou seest but summer dew 
 
 Set in the Sarus'* (■^) nest. 
 A few, brief hours, the spell will break, 
 
 And back to this dark tide 
 Restore the watery drops, that make 
 
 The barks deceitful pride. 
 A few, brief hours and, hurrying on, 
 
 The gloomy pool thou'lt gain. 
 Where lies, a thousand fathom down, 
 
 The flood-king's dire domain. 
 This bark was launch'd, at dead of night, 
 
 By Moslem Maiden's hand : 
 Sweet spice the freight and sacred light 
 
 It left Hindlaia's strand. 
 Wafted by many a fond, pure vow 
 
 And many an anxious prayer. 
 For her betroth'd, by mortal blow 
 
 To death's dark realm drawn near. 
 Its beams the sacred Sarus strow'd, 
 
 Its wicker deck outspread. 
 
 * Called by Europeans, Syrus ; it is Sacred.
 
 CANTO I. THE T HAKOORINE. 
 
 A raft of twigs, it dar'd^he flood. 
 
 But, whiles the maiden pray'd, 
 Sudden before her raptur'd eye 
 
 The gorgeous pageant rose, 
 And hope prevail'd o'er sorrow's sigh, 
 
 And rapture chas'd her woes. 
 Alas ! poor maiden, he whose life 
 
 Thy vow was fram'd to save, 
 That moment pass'd from being's strife 
 
 To his last rest the grave. 
 But prosperous speeds the fairy craft, 
 
 Rock, rapid, shallow braves, 
 Tis borne by spirits' viewless waft, 
 
 Bright o'er the restless waves. 
 And mortals Qajur Khysur {'') blame 
 
 For this false pageant's lure. 
 Nor count the sacred Sahrus' claim 
 
 To Eewa's guardian care. 
 To him, that spirit lone and stern, 
 
 The fairy bark is bound. 
 His be the rays, that flash and burn 
 
 With falsest lustre round. 
 Thy gaze is fix'd, enchained thy wing, 
 
 But if, fair bird, tho'lt be 
 My own, for life or death, I'll sing 
 
 A spell shall set thee free. 
 O'er every beauteous wing I reign 
 
 Cashmeera's vale that roves, 
 
 27
 
 28 THE t'hakoorine. canto I. 
 
 Or dips, to lose the Lily stain, 
 
 Mid the glad waves it loves. 
 Of all that o'er the airy tide 
 
 On lordly pinion soar, 
 Or through the twilight foliage glide, 
 
 Or glance from flower to flower. 
 From him who builds, where thunders dwell, 
 
 His eyrie in the sky, 
 To her who quaff^s from Nurgis'* bell, 
 
 Her nectar'd banquet high. 
 I hold the sway, by ancient right, 
 
 Lord of the fair and free. 
 Leave, leave, sweet Bird, thy doom of night, 
 
 To live and reign with me ! — 
 Oh ! bright and blest Cashmeera's lake, 
 
 Whose waves but roses bear. 
 But who shall tell what horrors make 
 
 Narbudda's sleepless lair. 
 Form but the wish, breathe but the word. 
 
 My song shall set thee free ! 
 'Tis form'd, replied the laughing bird, 
 
 I will not wed with thee. 
 What reck I how Cashmeera's vale 
 
 With pomp of beauty glows, 
 'Tis bliss enough to roam and sail 
 
 Where blue Narbudda flows. 
 
 * The Narcissus.
 
 CANTO I, THE T'hAKOORINE. 29 
 
 What reck I of thy scepter'd state, 
 
 Thy strange and ahen love ? 
 Wouldst thou with princely Rewa mate, 
 
 With eagle match the dove. 
 Narbudda hymn'd the song that nurs'd 
 
 My peaceful infant rest. 
 'Twas to his glorious wave, that first 
 -^ - - I flutter'd from the nest. 
 In other lands be rivers bright, 
 
 And beauties worth thy song ; 
 But Rewa's wave glints back the light 
 
 I lov'd, when hope was young. 
 In other lands death's power is known, 
 
 As by Narbudda's side ; 
 And could my dust repose, alone, 
 
 On any shore beside ? 
 No ! whilst I live, sufficient bliss 
 
 On Rewa's margin grows ; 
 And when I die, I ask but this, 
 
 His waves my breath, to close." 
 
 With soul intent, had listed long 
 The Moslem Lord, that answerina: sons • 
 But, as its numbers reached their close. 
 Stern grew his brow, his color rose — 
 A thousand passions travers'd o'er 
 The mien, so joyous heretofore;
 
 30 THE t'hAKOORINE. CANTO I. 
 
 Deluded Hope, dishonor'd Pride, 
 
 And Love, to Madness near allied — 
 
 Never, till that seducing hour, 
 
 Had bovi^'d his knee to Beauty's power ; 
 
 Tlie Moslem Maids, he erst had known. 
 
 Unsought were found, unwooed were won. 
 
 Mere slaves of Man's caprice or whim, 
 
 Their honor, to win smiles from him — 
 
 And now to one of woman kind 
 
 Had abject bent his heart, his mind. 
 
 Reversed the law, from childhood known, 
 
 A slave, had knelt at Beauty's throne. 
 
 The bondage owned, the fetters worn — 
 
 — His mead — Oh ! shame ! — a woman's scorn. 
 
 He rose, he sign'd a cold farewell — 
 He vaulted to his saddle selle ; 
 The steed that, statue-like, had stood 
 Entranc'd in that most exquisite flood 
 Of melody, awaken'd now. 
 Shakes to the winds his crest of snow, 
 Expands the snorting nostril wide. 
 And opes his eye of fire and pride. 
 Aloft, afar, like winged pair, 
 They spurn the earth — they tread the air. 
 He came, absorb'd in musing deep. 
 Soft led, as one from restless sleep. 
 Whom, whilst reason lies o'erthrown,
 
 CANTO I. THE T'hAKOORINE. 
 
 Music's dream enticeth on. 
 
 He came, and now, like falcon, flies 
 
 Those 'witching tones, those spirit eyes. 
 
 The startled Deer who lov'd the shade, 
 By song and beauty sacred made. 
 And had, as was their wont, drawn nigh 
 To gaze into her soft, dark eye, 
 And steep their every spell-bound sense 
 In Music's blest beneficence ; 
 Scar'd with so new and wild a sio-ht 
 Scatter'd afar in panic flight, 
 Then turn'd, and snufF'd the gale, and stood 
 Snorting and gazing through the wood 
 On his receding form. The choir 
 Of feather' d list'ners, whom her lyre 
 And voice had gather'd, far and nigh, 
 Rose in a living cloud on high. 
 A thousand shapes of beauty there, 
 Ten thousand hues, beyond compare, 
 Glance in the sun-beams, gem the air. 
 The Squirrel and the Bueyr, (') alone. 
 Retain their watch around her throne, 
 
 High in the Burgut Tree. 
 The squirrel, chirping, peers below ; 
 And swinging, swinging to and fro. 
 In each soft breezelet's ebb and flow, 
 
 As tameless and as free, 
 
 31
 
 32 THE t'hakoorine. canto I. 
 
 The Bueyr his pensile ark maintains, 
 Where, safe as Island King he reigns, 
 The winds his ambient sea. 
 
 Her little court is scatter'd all. 
 She sits in her enchanted hall 
 Of greenwood free, in scepter'd state — 
 — For, she is lone, without a mate. 
 She look'd upon the slaughter'd deer 
 Stretch'd at her feet in langour drear ; 
 She thought of him who dealt the blow. 
 And flash'd her eye and gloom'dher brow. 
 
 She turn'd where his receding form, 
 Dim in the grey of distance worn. 
 Was less'ning still. The angry fire 
 Hismem'ry woke ! doth it expire 
 At sight of him who gave it birth ? 
 — A liquid gem hath glanced to earth — 
 — Another ! — and another yet ! — 
 Heav'n's lightnings thus their aim forget, 
 Wh(3n from the storm-cloud rains the shower. 
 — Fair Maiden, hie thee to thy bower ! 
 Thy father waits thy step of light ; 
 And, when the shower and fire unite, 
 Happy the Maiden, who can flee 
 To shelter, 'neath the old roof tree ! 
 Happy ! whose heart may still to rest 
 Its throbs upon a father's breast ! 
 
 END OF CANTO I.
 
 33 
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE. 
 
 CANTO II, 
 
 Six times, in lustrous youth renew'd, 
 The King of Day o'er Rewa's flood, 
 Uprising from the waves, had thrown 
 The gems of Rewa, sparkhng, down : 
 And view'd, as from his locks they fell, 
 The full orb'd Night Star's mute farewell : 
 And thrice, and thrice, again his wake 
 Of glory through heav'n's azure lake, 
 Down to Narbudda's depths forlorn, 
 The moon's frail, fairy skiff had drawn : 
 And skies, with furnace heat that glow'd. 
 Were temper'd, as the soft gales flow'd 
 From ocean, with their dewy load : 
 And earth, renew'd in fairy dress, 
 Repaid to man her blissfulness. — 
 And once again on Rewa's shore 
 The wave soft music's burthen bore; 
 And once again, his bowers among. 
 The fair Rajpootnie smil'd and sung. 
 
 D
 
 34 THE t'hAKOORINE. canto II. 
 
 But oft'ner sigh'd : — for others shone 
 That smile — The sigh was all her own. 
 And six long moons, in hope renew'd, 
 The Moslem Lord his quest pursued ; 
 And six brief moons, his fervid suit 
 The maiden's voice, the maiden's lute, 
 The maiden's mirth, the rose's thorn, 
 Baffled and mock'd, in seeming scorn. 
 
 Yet still at those lov'd feet he sate 
 And wooed despair and tempted fete, 
 Until the soft'ning smile, the eyes 
 Gave hope, brief glimpse of paradise ; 
 And honor hard with passion strove, 
 And virtue scarce resisted love : 
 Yet did resist, pure gold and tried, 
 By furnace flames thrice purified. 
 And he, at length, with treacherous art. 
 Had won the secret of her heart, 
 She lov'd — Oh ! bliss, Jiis love return'd, 
 Lov'd most, when most his suit she spurn'd 
 
 " Oh ! say", he cried, " sweet Bird of Song ! 
 What lay shall learn my unskill'd tongue, 
 The hundred songs, the hundred sighs. 
 To which the rose unfolds and dies ? 
 Or those the golden Tree gave flow 
 To Bird of song less fair than thou,
 
 CANTO II. THE T'hAKOORINE. 35 
 
 When every wing of life drew nigh 
 
 To quaff th' entrancing melody, 
 
 And rocks from death reviv'd around, 
 
 And wastes were peopled with a sound. 
 
 Would such entice thy freeborn wing 
 
 Its glory o'er my bowers to fling. 
 
 Could such allure thee to essay 
 
 The sceptre of thy rightful sway, 
 
 Full soon, sweet Flower, my note should soar 
 
 Above the Bulbul's vaunted power. 
 
 E'en, as my rose Ms rose outvies. 
 
 Thy cheek her cheek, thy breath her sighs. 
 
 " Or tell me of a treasure rare 
 Conceal'd in earth, the flood, the air; 
 Earth, ocean, space shall rifled be 
 To yield their hidden wealth to thee. 
 
 " But what the treasure, rich and rare, 
 That may with love's pure wealth compare. 
 The dream by night, the thought by day, 
 The fires that wear life's dross away, 
 Leaving within its ashes roll'd, 
 Glowing with worth, th' untarnish'd gold ; 
 Earth, sky, the floods, the hosts that dwell 
 
 Within, beneath, around, above, 
 All sights, all sounds, thought, passion's swell 
 Fus'd into one bright blessing — love." 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE t'hakoorine. canto I 
 
 The maiden heard with burning cheek ; 
 She strove to smile, she strove to speak ; 
 She strove with mirth to mock his sighs, 
 And tears gush'd plenteous from her eyes. 
 
 " Oh! cease! for ever cease!" she said; 
 " Forgive, forget! farewell! the maid 
 Of Rama's blood thy bride can be 
 But, when from honor's plight set free. 
 Could she, exalt to her own sphere. 
 She might thy vow, unblemish'd, hear ; 
 Could she, from that high sphere o'erthrown, 
 In sight of heaven, her heart, thine own. 
 Receive thy true love to a shrine 
 Rifled of all its fire divine. 
 Then might it be !— 'Till then, 'till show, 
 These tides, Himala's Mountain snow ; 
 'Till, mindless of his ancient pride. 
 His birthright scorn'd, Narbudda's tide 
 Quit his ancestral channel, deep. 
 To battle with yon' tower-crown'd steep, 
 And yield, in Maandoo's mountain-hold, 
 To Moslem feet, his tribute roll'd. 
 'Till the fall'n star his tarnish'd Hght 
 Relumine at the glow-worm's light ; 
 'Till peace with ruin'd virtue dwell, 
 Honor with shame — Farewell ! Farewell !"
 
 CANTO II. THE T'hAKOORINE. 37 
 
 She ceas'd, she rose, — is pass'd away. 
 So fades the shower-bow's hectic ray, 
 When Heav'n and earth in strife combine 
 And nature yields to light divine. 
 And still Narbudda rolls along, 
 But flows not to the voice of song, 
 And still to that lone Burgut bower 
 At dawn repairs, at twilight hour 
 Steals to repose the shy Gazelle, 
 And, restless, mai'vels at the spell, 
 Which broods those silent bowers among, 
 And fetter'd holds the soul of song. 
 
 Ah ! little, little couldst thou guess, 
 Sweet daughter of the wilderness, 
 What yet those large, sad orbs express. 
 The tides of silent woe that move 
 Obedient to the star of love. 
 Love is thy joy, thy life, thy pride. 
 Thy freedom, love ; thy wealth and guide ; 
 Thou and the winged things, that dwell 
 In greenwood with thee, young gazelle, 
 Of love's deep fires known hut the smart, 
 Of which sighs free th' o'erplenish'd heart : 
 How shouldst thou, in this gloom cloud, guess 
 The sun that lights thy wilderness ! 
 
 The huntsman came — That silence drear. 
 The drooping dove, the listless deer,
 
 38 THE t'hakoorine. canto u. 
 
 The vacant throne, late beauty's rest, 
 Each stamp'd its sadness on his breast. 
 Yet, day by day, hope thither drew 
 His lingering step, when morning's dew 
 Slept on the sward, or Hesper gave 
 His cohimn'd gold to Rewa's wave ; 
 Until the spirit of the scene 
 Sank in his heart ; and many a dream 
 Of melody, his soul had nurs'd. 
 Forth from its prison'd fountain burst, 
 Echoes, perchance, of notes that rov'd. 
 The paths his bird of beauty lov'd. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Return thee, return thee, fair thing, that art flown 
 From all, save the visions of slumber, alone; 
 I have wooed thee, have sought thee, amid the low sighs 
 Of the night-breeze, that wearies my dim, sleepless eyes. 
 
 I see thee not, waking, and yet cannot flee 
 
 To meet thee in slumber, for thinking of thee. 
 
 Oh ! long, long I've watch'd, like the watchers for morn : 
 
 Young bride of my fancy, when wilt thou return ?
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 THE t'hakoohine. 39 
 
 There's a hush on the night-breeze, the Peepul is still, 
 The bright star of love burns her torch on the hill ; 
 'Tis thine own charmed hour, 'tis thine own fairy reign, 
 Young hope of my being, delude not again. 
 
 But return in thy beauty, all bright as thou art. 
 Young promise of bliss to a desolate heart. 
 Lone well-spring, whose margin the desert-bird knows, 
 And the breeze that revives where its calm current flows. 
 
 I have nought to allure thy free wing from afar, 
 All quench'd is the glow of my bright, natal star, 
 All troubled the fountain, where, mirror'd, did rest 
 That fair star reposing, serene, on its breast. 
 
 Yet I've dream'd of a spirit, all gentle, as be 
 My thoughts and my hopes and heart's promise of thee ; 
 Ling'ring round the drear ruin, delighted to prove 
 A lone, rever'd Echo of sweetness and love. 
 
 I will chain thee, fair truant, with fetters, like those 
 Which the Bulbul doth forge for his own faithful rose ; 
 The fervor of passion, wrought bright from its mine, 
 And the music spring, gushing at summons of thine. 
 
 Then return in thy beauty, all bright as thou art, 
 Young promise of bliss to a desolate heart ; 
 Lone well-spring, whose margin the desert bird knows. 
 And the breeze that revives, where its calm current flows .
 
 40 THE t'HAKOORINE. CANTO II. 
 
 There be dim retrospections of childhood and home, 
 There be warm, sunny visions of joy, yet to come ; 
 There's a winged thing, bath'd in their crystaUine sea, 
 'Tis unmatch'd in its beauty — I know it for thee. 
 
 'Tis a lone thought unmurmur'd, a lone echo, caught 
 In the still pause of passion, the calm trance of thought ; 
 A quick pulse may scare it, a warm hope affray. 
 And its coy wing of fragrance a breath fright away. 
 
 He ceas'd : but, o'er Narbudda's wave, 
 The echo answering cadence gave, 
 And rippling back, in mimic play, 
 Reverb'd the note, " away ! away ! " 
 Prophetic seem'd the sad reply. 
 Prophetic prov'd; — days, hours that fly, 
 On leaden wing, seem still to say, 
 " Why tarriest thou? — away ! away ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, beneath the Peepul bower. 
 On Rewa's brink, at twilight hour, 
 His patriarchal labors clos'd. 
 The T'hakoor* Chief his limbs repos'd. 
 His lofty form, by years unbow'd. 
 His ample front, the beai'd which flow'd 
 In many a snowy fold — the eye, 
 Calm in collected dignity, 
 
 * T'liakoor, a lord, and Singh, a lion, are the distinctiye titles 
 of all Rajpootres.
 
 CANTO 11. THE t'HAKOORINE. 41 
 
 Proclaim, full well, the blood that springs 
 Pure from the font of llama's Kings, 
 Thro' Chundra's (^) sacred rill. One child, 
 On Bulwunt's years declining, smil'd. 
 Smil'd she ? Alas, that hour is o'er ! 
 The young Rajpootnie smiles no more. 
 Yet still, the leaf that, sombre grown. 
 Glints back no more the glories, thrown 
 By the warm sun o'er livelier things, 
 May bless the stem to which it clings. 
 And there be hearts, whose every woe 
 Hath ebb'd in other' sorrow's flow, 
 Or chang'd its channel, to impart 
 A healthier tribute to the heart. 
 
 " What star, malign, hath treacherous smil'd, 
 What evil eye has scath'd my child "? 
 Come to thy father's arms, and rest 
 Thy brow upon thy father's breast, 
 Assur'd that every power malign 
 Must pale, in might of love, like mine. 
 Where is the radiant smile, that made 
 A sunbow in the gloom of shade ? 
 Where is thy voice, that, sad or gay, 
 Could Rewa's headlong might delay. 
 Causing the sparkling ripples' quiver. 
 Like sunbeams o'er the glorious river ? 
 Why heavy droops thy lid, as bow
 
 42 THE T'HAKOORINE. CAKTO II. 
 
 The cypress ranks, when tempests blow ? 
 Why pale, or flush'd by turns, thy cheek ? 
 Why heaves thy breast with sighs, that speak 
 Of some drear burthen at the heart ? 
 Speak, daughter ! To thy sire impart 
 Thy secret grief — thy withering woe. 
 It may be, Heav'n will hear the vow 
 A father for his child shall make, 
 And bless thee for his true love's sake." 
 
 " My smile is fled, my voice is dead. 
 
 Dear father, but my love is thine. 
 The dews of morn, the flow'rets born, 
 
 Gleam, bloom they in the noonday' shine ; 
 Yet, as the sun essays to climb 
 
 Vindheeia's (^) Ramp, and fades away 
 Each dewy gem, and flowerets pine 
 
 And, fading, scatter in his ray. 
 Thou deemest not thy Rewa's shore 
 Unblest, — of gems adorn'd no more. 
 I am that shore. The sultry blast 
 My bloom hath scar'd, my petals cast, 
 Where, o'er the lifeless rock, they lie 
 And shun the once too welcome eye. 
 But tho' her lighter pride of mien 
 Glow not, as erst, in morning' sheen, 
 Her best and proudest glory, strong 
 In might rever'd, still rolls along ;
 
 CANTO II. THE T'hAKOORI^^E. 43 
 
 And sooner shall this freshen'd shore 
 Narbudda's fostermg aid deplore, 
 Than I, in those lov'd arms caress'd, 
 Dear father, deem my lot unbless'd. 
 
 " But what the sound, unwonted, borne. 
 The muffl'd drum, the Toorkish horn. 
 The neigh of steeds, that proudly swells, 
 And swinging chime of silver bells ? 
 Come forth, dear father, thou shalt see 
 How blythe a daughter's step may be — 
 When, side by side with thee, she springs. 
 How light she counts the pomp of kings ; 
 For regal state is, surely, here. 
 Where high their gorgeous thrones they rear. 
 The monsters of the forest drear ; 
 The stately march, the kingly brow, 
 The chiming bells, the robes that flow 
 Their mighty arching forms around. 
 The massive ivory, silver bound : — 
 And see where, sweeping at their side, 
 The glittering ranks of battle ride." 
 
 " Alas ! my child, and canst thou name, 
 In tone so light, thy people's shame, 
 Or view the haughty Moslem ride, 
 In scepter'd pomp, by Rewa's side, 
 Unblinded by the burning tear
 
 44 THE t'hakoorine. canto II. 
 
 O'er Rahma's glory-darken'd bier ? 
 From where the ocean billows sweep 
 The pearly caves of Singuldeep,* 
 Up to the rocky barrier,f plann'd 
 Of Heaven to guard our sacred land : 
 And west, from famed Cambaia's ("') bay 
 To the bleak spires of Himalay, 
 Once Rama's, all. Dost ask to know 
 His realm, his empire ? — Dwiudl'd low, 
 One petty Province dares sustain, 
 In tarnish'd state, his sacred name, — 
 The rest, these Moslem locusts quell. 
 And Thakoors live, their shame to tell ! " 
 
 " They would not live, were not the boast 
 Of Rama's line decay'd and lost ; 
 Or they would live, with fire and brand 
 To sweep the spoiler from the land, 
 And see the sun of Hind display. 
 Once more, his consecrated ray ; 
 But deaf the ear that thrilFd of yore 
 To deeds of worth, and free no more, 
 E'en in the thirst of freedom, each 
 Runs the dull round his tyrants teach, 
 And learns, with ease, the task most srav 
 — To be contented, and a slave ! " 
 
 * Ceylon f The Hindoo K'
 
 CAKTO II. THE t'hAKOORINE. 45 
 
 Before the T'hakoor's rude Chowpall* 
 The pageant paused : a living wall 
 Of towering height and battled crest, 
 Rang'd, flank to flank, and close compress'd, 
 The elephants stood. In crescent rank 
 The Toorkish horsemen guard the flank — 
 A gallant band — their tunics green. 
 Rich wrought with gold, betrayed the sheen 
 Of the bright mail which form'd their vest, 
 And fitful flash'd from each proud breast. 
 Obedient to the mandate, now, 
 The elephant bends his jewell'd (") brow. 
 And, as his lord dismounts, with roar 
 Terrific Q-) quells Narbudda's shore ; 
 And circled by his glittering band, 
 With sabre, spear and silver wand. 
 And turban'd brow and sheeny vest, 
 Up the rude steps the Noble press'd. 
 
 Summon'd of him who led the train, 
 The T'hakoor Chief, reluctant, came ; 
 But, skill'd to veil a haughty heart 
 Beneath the guile of Eastern art, 
 Due reverence made, and led his guest 
 'Neath the rude roof, and courteous press'd 
 Whate'er his rustic stores aff'ord, — 
 Milk, freshest of the flock or herd, 
 
 * Hospitiuni. There is one of these in every Hindoo village.
 
 46 THE THAKOORIISE. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 The muttah* sweet, and spotless curd, 
 Eipe, luscious fruits ; the niangoe roll'd 
 In its tough rind of purpled gold ; 
 Choice stock and famed : its scion fair 
 Yet brags the world at high Asseer;(^^) 
 The mellow plantain, that combines 
 The flavors of a hundred chmes, 
 And to the exile's memory bears 
 Youth's perish'd wealth of smiles and tears : 
 Nor, fairest formed, was wanting there 
 Sureefa'sf bland and creamy pear ; 
 Nor, bursting its harsh rind, and shewing 
 The ruby streak through crystal glowing. 
 As beams, thro' dews of eve, Love's planet. 
 The garden's pride, — the chaste pomegranate. 
 All these, the rich but blameless hoard 
 Of Nature, grac'd the T'hakoor's board ; 
 Nor did his haughty Moslem guest 
 Discourteous spurn the simple feast, 
 'Barr'd by the law, he deems divine, 
 From Nature's dire perversion. Wine. 
 The tastes diseas'd, the fever flood, 
 Inseparate from its votary's blood. — 
 The train dismiss'd ; the rude hall clear, 
 His mission spake the Chief Vuzeer. 
 
 * Butter-Milk, 
 t Call'd by Europeans " Custard Apple."
 
 CANTO II. THE T'hAKOORINE. 47 
 
 Thus much the young Rajpootnie knew, 
 As, screen'd secure from stranger's view. 
 Within the high Zenana (^^) bound, 
 She pensive sate, at every sound 
 Starting in terror. Some new woe. 
 She doubted not, that pompous show 
 Portended to her sire and race. 
 When, save to rifle or deface, 
 Were Moslem power and presence known ? 
 — Alas ! her heart would rescue one 
 From the dire stain ; — that one, whose art 
 Her peace had stol'n, — the jewel of her heart. 
 
 Last of an ancient line, and known 
 For many a deed of stern renown, 
 Fomenter of each smouldering spark 
 Of freedom, lingering but to mark 
 Where once her fires with glory dress'd 
 Their beacon tower, the T'hakoor's breast, — 
 Thrice exil'd from his native land. 
 An outlaw yet, — Narbudda's strand 
 Had held for Bulwunt Singh no home. 
 But that, on Malv/a's Moslem throne, 
 A young and generous monarch reign' d, 
 Who, brave himself, the thought disdain'd 
 To wield his potence in despite 
 Of him who lov'd his country's right.
 
 48 THE t'hAKOORINE. canto II. 
 
 But dwelt his child, misgiving still, 
 In shadow of the tower-crown'd hill. 
 Not Rewa's might serene could roll 
 All anxious tremors from her soul. 
 
 Long sate she in her curtain'd bower, 
 Till Night assum'd, o'er hill and tower, 
 Her silent reign : then, with a heart 
 Deep throbbing, heard the train depart, 
 The neigh, the prance of steeds, the chime 
 Of bells that swing in measur'd time, 
 Mix'd with the drum's deep base — and then 
 Dissolving in the shoreless main 
 Of all-absorbina: silence. 
 
 ^o 
 
 Why 
 That smile of love, that sparkling eye ? 
 'Tis not thy father's step. Thine ear 
 Is traitor to thy hope or fear, — 
 Thy wonted boast, that thou could'st tell 
 The Singh's firm step where thousands fell. 
 
 Another step, and yet again 
 Another and another came, 
 And each, though all unlike the sound 
 She fondly sought, did cause rebound 
 The fluttering heart ; then, as it died 
 In silence, left a chasm wide,
 
 CANTO II. THE t'hAKOORINE. 49 
 
 And void, and cheerless, which to fill, 
 Rush in Fear's phantom hosts of ill. 
 
 " Tarry no more ! Away ! away ! 
 Seek him thou lov'st ! Woe can hut slay ; 
 Suspense the torturous wheel applies, 
 Whereon piecemeal the spirit dies." 
 
 She sought him, long, with anxious fear. 
 The vacant hall affords no cheer. 
 The menials know that, deep and late, 
 In conference with his guest he sate ; 
 But whether he the tram attend 
 To Maandoo's hold — which Heaven forefend- 
 Or whence his absence, none may shew. 
 Frantic with dread of shapeless woe, 
 She fled the hall, instinctive drawn 
 To her Narbudda's brink. Forlorn 
 The echos of her voice came back 
 From rock, from rapid's rippling track ; — 
 "Father," the voice — the echo cried, 
 And many call'd, but none replied. ' 
 
 At length, 'mid that deep gloom she spied. 
 Far bending o'er the giant tide, 
 Where the black rock o'erhangs the deep, 
 And mightiest waves feign treacherous sleep, 
 
 £
 
 50 THE T'hAKOORINE. CANTO II. 
 
 A form, dim trac'd upon the gleam 
 Of the far waters ; but the stream 
 Hath not a rock more lifeless. Near 
 Her step — her voice, whose tone to hear 
 The very rocks might shapely grow, 
 With hearts that thrill to bliss or woe, — 
 — That sweet voice wastes its choicest sishs : 
 Nor sound nor sign of life replies. 
 
 Fresh terrors rack'd her sinking heart. 
 If 'twas her sire, who, thus apart, 
 Veil'd from the world external, sate, 
 What mighty woe impress'd its weight 
 Upon his spirit, — ne'er before 
 Deaf to her voice, though thunders roar ! 
 Or could it be ? — (the freezing thought 
 Curdled her blood) Death's hand had wrought 
 That awful pause ? But no ! the hour 
 Sacred to rest — the lulling power 
 Of the stream's murmur — the fresh waft 
 Inviting rest, in whisper'd note and soft. 
 Vain fears^ Great God, all praise to Thee, 
 He peaceful rests — he dreams of me ! 
 
 She sank upon the margin near, 
 To guard his rest. One grateful tear 
 Cleans'd from her heart each harrowing fear,
 
 CANTO II, THE T'HAKOORINE. 51 
 
 And from her eye, a lustrous fire 
 Beam'd, sacred, o'er her skunbering sire. 
 As o'er the wave-lash'd vessel play 
 Sweet lights, that consecrate its way. 
 
 His head upon his hand was stay'd, 
 And forward bow'd. The night breeze play'd 
 Mid the white locks that graced his brow, 
 And far descending beard of snow, 
 And deeply heav'd his laboring breast. 
 Not such the T'hakoor's wonted rest, 
 Nurs'd by his own free mountain air, 
 His light repast and temperate fare. 
 As thus th' internal strife she view'd. 
 Once more would anxious thought intrude : 
 " Alas ! he lives, in dreams, again 
 His nation's wrongs, his comitry's shame, 
 And whilst the shades of night bring rest 
 To many a sordid, sensual breast, 
 The T'hakoor hails them but to know 
 In each fresh shade an added woe." 
 
 The night wind rose, with sudden roar 
 Burst the hoarse wave on Rewa's shore, 
 And, by the massive rock beat back, 
 Strew'd with white foam its recreant track. 
 And, o'er the smoking waters driven, 
 In flood and gloom descended Heaven. 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE T'hAKOORINE. canto II. 
 
 But not the surge's beat, the roar 
 Of thunders, not the floods that pour 
 Down the bleak gale, can break th' unrest 
 Which heaves convuls'd the T'hakoor's breast : 
 And when around his neck she cast 
 Her arms, to screen him from the blast, 
 Unconscious yet, his sightless eye 
 Pursued the chase of vacancy, 
 And oft and o'er his name she spoke. 
 Ere, with deep sigh, the trancement broke. 
 " Dear father, haste, the wind and storm 
 111 suit thine age-ennobled form. 
 Deep was thy trance. Alas ! that rest 
 Should aye prove stranger to thy breast." 
 
 " The wind ! the storm ! my child, their hour 
 Is past. Whate'er of might or power 
 Our land could boast in time of yore, 
 With Kama's sun is set, to rise no more. 
 Yet even this weak memory shews 
 Nature less dwindled. Tempests rose 
 In those old days, with sovereign sway, 
 Sapp'd, yet gigantic in decay; 
 Then, vigorous, young, I shelter sought. 
 Now, ag'd, forlorn, I heed them naught." 
 
 " Well may the stormy winds disdain 
 A land, where men no longer reign ;
 
 CANTO 11. THE t'hAKOORINE. 53 
 
 Well might the Powers, earth, air and sky, 
 In other days together vie, 
 Whilst godlike men our valleys trod, 
 And Ileav'n's high fane imshattcr'd stood. 
 But these sad thoughts of cureless woe, 
 Father, from thy late conference grow : 
 What seeks the King ? What proffer high 
 Bore the Vuzeer, thy truth to try ? 
 He fears thee yet, and could thy heart 
 To other breast its fires impart, 
 Not vain that fear." 
 
 " To rest, to rest, 
 My child, whilst sleep may calm thy breast ; 
 A deeper sleep ! — hence — haste — begone ! 
 Thy presence chills me — I would be alone." 
 
 " My presence, father ! till this hour 
 Ne'er deem'dst thou so. Alas ! the power 
 That o'er our empire's ruin strows 
 The one blest balm of all our woes ! 
 Yet, ere I quit thee, one caress — 
 One voice of other days, thy child to bless." 
 
 " To bless ! thou mock'st me, maiden ; should 
 The tiger, o'er his feast of blood,
 
 54 THE t'hAKOORINE. canto II. 
 
 Bless the young, struggling fawn ? — the Buhr*-' 
 The dove whose heart-blood quells the fire 
 Of his most cruel eye ? 'Twere well. 
 But should I bless thee, Heav'n would quail 
 At act so doubly damn'd. Yet, nay ; 
 Dry but those tears, these lips shall say 
 Whate'er thou wilt, — shall cvu'se, shall bless, 
 Shall, traitorous, soothe thee with a false caress. 
 
 Gone ! she is gone ! my joy, my light ! 
 Would 'twere for ever, from my sight ; 
 But yet once more must I endure 
 That voice, that glance, that eloquent tear ; 
 Not the glad tear, once brightly springing. 
 
 When her light mirth I check'd, to bless, 
 When thro' the woods her voice was rina:ins:. 
 
 And Heav'n was in my child's caress." 
 
 Prostrate upon his face he fell 
 In the heart's black despair, — ah, well 
 Had he ne'er risen thence ! But strong 
 Oft prove life's moorings when the gale comes on, 
 And fetter'd, 'mid the rocks we beat, 
 When our free wing thro' heav'n should fleet. 
 
 Slow, crushing with its cumbrous power, 
 Roll'd on th' interminable hour, 
 
 * The fiercest of the hawk tribe.
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 55 
 
 And prostrate yet the T'hakoor lay, 
 
 In utterness of his dismay : 
 
 Nor voice, nor sign of woe was there ; 
 
 The inward conflict with despair 
 
 Absorb'd his being. So hath hung. 
 
 From many an ancient day and long, 
 
 The tall, stern cliff, against whose feet 
 
 Hurls Ocean's might — whose forehead beat 
 
 The mad tornadoes ; black decay 
 
 Corroding its firm heart away. 
 
 So, without sign that man might spy. 
 
 He grappled with his misery ; 
 
 But at the midnight hour, when low 
 
 Moan'd the night-breeze ; when, wheeling slow, 
 
 Heav'n's* mystic watchers (^*) veil'd their light 
 
 Behind the tower-crown'd mountain height. 
 
 And the pale Pleiads' ("') forms were seen 
 
 (Unglass'd, as yet, of Rewa's stream) 
 
 O'er the rock strait, which peasants call 
 
 (Tradition taught) the herrun pahl ; f (^') 
 
 Then o'er his stony eye there beam'd 
 
 The radiance of an orient star, 
 And a sweet voice, that instant, seem'd 
 
 To charm all evil powers afar ; 
 And, from his trance uprising, sate 
 
 The T'hakoor Chief, and stood before him, 
 
 * The Septemtrioiies or Great Bear. 
 I t i.e. Deer's leap.
 
 56 THE t'hAKOORINE. canto II. 
 
 Sweet record of a bitter fate, 
 
 His child, his daughter, bending o'er him. 
 
 " Father, I cannot sleep : the night 
 Is fraught with phantoms of affright, 
 Haunting her pillow of unrest 
 Whom no fond father's voice hath bless'd. 
 Oh ! tell me of my crime! I'll weep 
 Tears that shall, like the rain-flood, sweep 
 All vestige from thy heart, and bear 
 The bitter load, with my despair, ~ 
 To that deep region of thy breast 
 Where my young faults, forgotten, rest," 
 
 He heard her with averted eye ; 
 A spasm of deep agony 
 Wrung his ag'd brow ; but at its close 
 The fond love of the father rose, 
 Triumphant o'er despair : — around 
 The maiden's form his arms were wound, 
 And in each sob that shook his frame, 
 A sense, so deep, of freedom came 
 From his late thrall, that Luxury spied 
 Her image in the troublous tide ; 
 And his fair child remember' d none 
 Of all the joys of days by-gone. 
 To mate with that, by anguish press'd. 
 In tear-showers, from the bleeding breast.
 
 CANTO II. THE T'hAKOOEINE. 57 
 
 But soon — too soon — the transport o'er, 
 From his ag'd neck her arms he tore, 
 Erect, in stern composure, stood, 
 And spake in voice that, deep subdued. 
 Amid the deeper hush around, 
 Jarr'd as the thunder's grating sound. 
 
 " Maiden ! a glorious lot is thine ; 
 A lover's, father's offerings shine 
 Together at thy feet. A King 
 Deigns o'er thy brow his robe (^^) to fling, — 
 His gift, thy people's ancient crown ; 
 Tarnish'd its gems, its lustre gone, 
 Its worth debas'd, yet mourn thou not ; 
 A glory new the old shall blot 
 From Memory's page, when Rama's blood 
 Shall blend its pure, time-honor'd flood 
 With the foul, stagnant pool that stains 
 The well-sink of a Moslem's veins. 
 Hail ! Queen of Malwa ! See where lie 
 Gems of rich price, thy faith to buy, — 
 Spoils of thine ancient throne, and meet 
 To lay at regal Beauty's feet." 
 He spurn'd the costly covering, laid 
 O'er the rich gifts, and there displayed 
 Gems flashing in the uncertain light, 
 Too glorious for her dazzled sight.
 
 58 THE t'hakoouise. canto II. 
 
 Oh — must we blame, if, for awhile, 
 A sight, so radiant, could beguile, 
 And steal same rays, of those, which dart 
 Direct from youth's untaniish'd heart? 
 Young, lovely, with the poet's fire 
 The bright, the beauteous to admire ; 
 With all the woman's graceful care 
 To seem, as heav'n had form'd her, fair, 
 This sudden blaze of rainbow dyes 
 Seem'd at one view to realize 
 The wealth, the pow'r, the glory told 
 Of Bhoje C) and Jaum in legend old : 
 The sight her childish fancy scann'd 
 In many a voyage to fairy-land. 
 Kindled her eye — her pallid cheek 
 Caught glory from emotion's streak, 
 And as the dawning radiance broke 
 The dimpling smile of pleasure woke. 
 Her father mark'd, and at the view 
 Sterner his brow, his accent grew ; 
 " Maiden, thy lovers gifts are there. 
 Thy sire's with such may scarce compare 
 Despoil'd his name — his country lost, 
 His lands to Moslem bloodhounds cast, 
 Small is his power — ^his wealth is small, 
 But great his love — He gives thee all. 
 Not ample lands, nor gems untold, 
 But freedom and the goblet old
 
 CANTO II. THE T'HAKOORINE. 59 
 
 In which full many a {'^^) T'hakoorine 
 Hath pledg'd th' inexorible queen."* 
 
 • Chilly smote, at that dread hour, 
 
 Th* announcement of her fatal dower 
 
 O'er the young heart, whose fancy gay 
 
 E'en then was wandering far away 
 
 From woe and trouble, to the land 
 
 Where hope's bright, sunny structures stand. 
 
 That cup which ne'er was nam'd, but crept 
 
 Gloom to the hearer's soul — Tliat slept 
 
 In deepest mystery, known to one, 
 
 The House's Lord — and her whose doom, 
 
 From time to time, in T'hakoor eyes 
 
 Rcquir'd the gloomy sacrifice; 
 
 To none beside its form was known ; 
 
 But old traditions, many an one, 
 
 Dwelt on its sculptur'd bowl and lid, 
 
 And all the direful mysteries, hid 
 
 In figures lowering, gaunt and grim, 
 
 A threatening phalanx, o'er the brim. 
 
 With terror curdling her young blood, 
 
 Now first, that fatal cup she view'd, 
 
 Full drugg'd with death — the taper's ray 
 
 Inform'd with life the fell array 
 
 Of demon forms, that scowl and glare, 
 
 Waiting the banquet dire to share 
 
 Of her young blood. 
 
 * Doorga, Demon of Destruction.
 
 60 TUE t'hakoorine. canto II. 
 
 She gaz'd around. 
 Was there no help ; — Oh, yet unfound 
 Life's golden promise ! — yet untrod 
 The future's fairy peopled road, 
 In strength of youth and life's warm glow, 
 To tread death's gloomy shores, and go, 
 Whence none return: — " Father," she cried, 
 " Is there no hope — Is flight denied ? 
 From childhood ever have I flown 
 For refuge to thine arms alone, 
 They never fail'd me. — If no more 
 Avails thy love's o'ershadowing power, 
 Still may we flee." 
 
 " Vain, vain, alas ! 
 That hope. — Beset each mountain pass — 
 Each river ford — so learn'd I when 
 At eve returning from the glen. 
 But knew not then the aim. My child, 
 Choose ye your lot; yon offerings pil'd, 
 Curs'd monuments of Moslem power, 
 Or this, sole, melancholy dower 
 To Thakoor left." 
 
 " Full well I know, 
 Father, how pure the virgin snow 
 Of T'hakoor fame must be. Thou ne'er, 
 For me, dishonor's brunt shalt bear. 
 As the first T'hakoorine, whose breath 
 Falter'd 'twixt infamy and death.
 
 CANTO II. THE t'hAKOORINE. 61 
 
 Father, my choice is made ! Yet ere 
 
 I braid in Doorga's knot my hair, 
 
 Oh ! let me once, once only, view, 
 
 The glad, green earth, the Heav'n's pure blue ; 
 
 Once more, from 'neath the old, lov'd tree. 
 
 Gaze o'er Narbudda's waters free. 
 
 Envy each wave, bright dancing past. 
 
 And look, and know that look my last. 
 
 Then one fond glance to heaven I'll fling, 
 
 To wood and wild my anthem sing ; 
 
 Take the last draught, th' oblation make, 
 
 Nor count it bitter, for thy sake !" 
 
 END OF canto II.
 
 62 
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Day o'er the mountain brow is dawning, 
 
 Day streaks the orient sky ; 
 Light bursts the dewy lids of morning, 
 
 The Dhayul's"^' wakeful eye. 
 That voicef mysterious, nightly heard, 
 Gives place to cha\int of greenwood bird. 
 As, waking up from bower and spray, 
 Each tmies his liveliest roundelay, 
 Shakes from his wing the dazzling shower 
 He shared with each unfolding flower, 
 Blesses the twinkling stars that long. 
 In dreams, have fed his soul with song, 
 
 * A small black and -white bird, -whose note is one of the 
 s-weetest and first heard in the morning. 
 
 f All Indian groves are haunted by the Goat Sucker, or Fern 
 Owl, the plumage of -which resembles in color the branch upon 
 ■which it lies ; so tliat, although its croak be constantly heard at 
 night, the bird is rarely seen. If you ask a native -what sound it 
 is that perplexes you, he will answer—" Oh ! dont you know ? — 
 that's the devil."
 
 CANTO III. THE t'hAKOORINE. 63 
 
 And from their thrones serenely bright, 
 Watch' d o'er his sleep the livelong night. 
 In tender accent, soft and low, 
 The Hurryvl* breathes her bridal vow, 
 The Bulbul and the Peeluc,f each. 
 In songs that love alone may teach, 
 Tones deep impassion'd, still impart 
 The fire that lights their mutual heart. 
 Fair dawns the morn : the storm is o'er, 
 The dew lies fresh on leaf and flower, 
 Transfus'd its pure and crystal hue 
 To ruby' blush, or sapphire' blue, 
 Or emerald' virgin green. On high, 
 Around, afar, light tremors fly, 
 As tho' through Nature's quivering frame 
 Shot Joy's swift pulse of living flame. 
 Majestic roll'd Narbudda's flood 
 'Mid waving copse and shadowy wood, 
 And field of freshest green. The sky 
 On Earth's fair, budding breast did lie, 
 Hush'd in supreme content. All quaff''d 
 Nepenthe's pure, empurpled draught. 
 And felt its genial current roll 
 Like a full concord o'er the soul, » 
 
 * The Green Wood-pigeon of the plains. 
 
 f A beautiful yellow bird, whose note so exactly resembles 
 that of the Indian Bulbul, that the Indians tliink they make love 
 to each other.
 
 64 THE t'iIAKOORINE. canto III. 
 
 Fair dawn'd, to all, that morn ; but ne'er 
 Had seem'd the morn so passing fair 
 In her young eyes, who look'd her last 
 Of the fresh glories round her mass'd. 
 Never so pure the sky — so free 
 The breeze, that through her Burgut tree 
 Its thousand voices wakes. That strain 
 For her shall never swell again ! 
 Silent, at morn, at even' hour, 
 The copse she made her greenwood bower ; 
 Silent to her, to others gay, 
 The woods, where winds and waters play ; 
 Their vernal bliss, so fresh, so dear, 
 Shall silence be and gloom, to her. 
 
 But little suits her alter' d guise 
 That languid step, those downcast eyes. 
 The costliest robes around her flow, 
 The richest gems adorn her brow. 
 Anklets of gold, with brilliants set, 
 Shackle her small and twinkling feet ; 
 Her rounded arm rich bracelets deck, 
 The harr* of brilliants round her neck. 
 The pearls that form her matchless zone, 
 Are spoils of many a rifled throne. 
 
 And marvel ye, at such dread hour, 
 A care so vain should still find power ? — 
 * The Indian necklace.
 
 CANTO III. THE T'iIAKOORINE. 65 
 
 That, her next step the cheerless grave, 
 
 Her heart those sparkUng gauds should crave, 
 
 Which to the soul no tribute pay, 
 
 Deceive us, aye, and oft betray ? 
 
 Ah ! blame her not. A woman, she 
 
 That witching, blest perversity, 
 
 Heav'n's last, best work; yet form'd of all 
 
 Th' obliquest rays, from Heav'n that fall, 
 
 Blending, converging into one 
 
 Bright blaze, that melts the granite stone. 
 
 Not this the first rich coronet. 
 
 Upon the brow of anguish set ; 
 
 The first fair zone, whose treacherous art 
 
 Hath labell'd false a bleeding heart. 
 
 Beside the margent green she stood. 
 Where waters of the tiny flood. 
 Arrested, in calm current lie. 
 That renders back the soft blue sky, 
 The Burgut's massive arms, outspread, 
 The green, crisp leaves, that o'er her head 
 Have still their shelter flung, the long 
 Root tufted tendrils, graceful hung 
 E'en to the streamlet's verge — all lay 
 Revers'd in fair and fresh array. 
 And her own form, in mystery furl'd, 
 The Fay of that deep, crystal world. 
 
 F
 
 66 THE t'iiakoorine. canto hi. 
 
 Awhile in mute amaze she stood, 
 Her woe, her deadly doom forgot ; 
 
 Her eye, spell-fasten'd on the flood, 
 Her foot, earth -rooted to the spot ; 
 Her childish admiration growing 
 O'er the foir form, before her glowing. 
 So far in lustrous grace transcending 
 The Peris, C^^) in her dreams descending 
 From their realms of power and light 
 Awhile to dazzle mortal sight. 
 
 She stood — Ah ! could she at that hour 
 Forget her hapless passion's power. 
 Forbear a secret wish, that he 
 Might once again his chosen see 
 In this, her glorious, costly guise, 
 Deck'd for the gloomy sacrifice : 
 Now that earth's chilly reign was o'er. 
 That she might break its laws no more, 
 It were a bliss — her love to tell, 
 To breathe one sacred, sad farewell, 
 To hope, that in some better state 
 Her spirit might around him wait, 
 Breath'd m the woodland songster's note, 
 Or wafted by the wings, that float 
 From flower to flower, on sunny day ; 
 Or stealing near him in the ray 
 Of evening star, or borne along 
 The burthen of a soul breath'd song.
 
 CANTO III. THE t'hAKOORINE. 67 
 
 Her bosom heav'd — a large, bright tear 
 Fell sparkling in the streamlet clear, 
 And tremulous response, the wave 
 Throughout its crystal labyrinths gave ; 
 That tremor o'er the surface pass'd 
 And gave the form, distinctly glass'd, 
 The wavering, unsubstantial line 
 Of phantom shape or form divine ; 
 Then rippling to the further bank 
 Beneath the sedges' goodly rank 
 Drew, chain'd her eye, where gleam'd beneath 
 The fatal cup, full charg'd with death. 
 
 She struggled with the spell, she tore 
 Her footstep from the fatal shore : 
 With restless step and fever'd eye 
 Review'd the haunts of days gone by ; 
 Then sinking, where, in happier hour, 
 She oft' had cull'd life's sweetest flower, 
 Budding from a guileless breast, 
 And conscience with itself at rest ; 
 She call'd around, from far and near. 
 Her vassals wild, the greenwood deer. 
 They came around her, bounding all, 
 Rejoicing in the well known call. 
 They came around, they bounded near. 
 But when they saw, those timorous deer, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE t'hakoorine. canto hi. 
 
 Her alter'd guise, the vivid blaze 
 Of gems, that shed surnatural rays 
 And Ughten o'er her graceful mien, 
 They paus'd, abrupt, as they had seen 
 Sudden reveal'd the yognie* queen ; 
 And larger grew the wild, dark eye, 
 And rose the antler d crest on high ; 
 And trembled every limb so frail, 
 And the wide nostril snufF'd the gale ; 
 Then, as she rose and nearer drew, 
 One startled glance ofterrow threw; 
 And bounding, scattering, fled afar 
 The blighted of an evil star. 
 
 Alone, the young and shy gazelle, 
 
 Most timorous of the things, that dwell 
 
 In greenwood free, her panic o'er, 
 
 Returns to greet her eye once more ; 
 
 Crops the green herb and, stealing near, 
 
 With coyness mock, but lingering fear, 
 
 Endures with well feign'd discontent, 
 
 Allows, then wooes the blandishment. 
 She twin'd in Doorga's braid her hair, 
 
 Three garlands wove of flow"rets fair. 
 
 One for the young gazelle, and one 
 
 To form her sacrificial zone ; 
 The third with murmur'd prayer she throws 
 Where bright Narbudda's current flows ; 
 
 * Fairv.
 
 CANTO III. THE T'hAKOORINE. 69 
 
 Then o'er the rolling flood she bends, 
 And tow'rd the sacred heaven extends 
 Her hands, with his bright wave replete, 
 And whilst the current laves her feet 
 Bearing that emblem of her doom 
 To whelm in depths of watery gloom ; 
 O'er the lov'd tide her glance she flings 
 And thus her funeral anthem sings, 
 
 SONG 
 
 OF THE RAJPOOTNIE. 
 
 Wreathe, wreathe the bowl with flowers for me ; 
 
 Let not my last, deep draught be sad ; 
 The butterfly, the summer bee, 
 
 The woodland bird, is glad, is glad ; 
 
 Like them, in smiles would I be clad, 
 (Creatures of one, bright, sunny clime,) 
 
 Till the cold wave my couch be made, 
 Cut oS in virgin prime. 
 
 Wreathe, wreathe with smiles the bowl for me. 
 Bring clusters from each laughing flower ; 
 
 Lord of the future, death shall be 
 My vassal, till th' appointed hour ; 
 Then, seek nor tomb nor cypress bower.
 
 70 THE t'hAKOORINE. CANTO III. 
 
 Emotion's wealth a smile may shrine ; 
 
 But muse thou o'er some lone, frail flower, 
 Cut off in virgin prime. 
 
 A step disturb'd the stillness o'er her ; 
 
 She paus'd — ^her father stood before her, 
 
 His brow deep scath'd by passion's brand, 
 
 The deadly chalice in his hand. 
 
 His eye to her's he dared not raise, 
 
 — He dared not on his daughter gaze. 
 
 But awe-struck in her presence stood ; 
 
 Whilst lier fond eye, with tears imbued, 
 
 Dwelt on those traits revered, until 
 
 Death's anguish ceas'd her heart to thrill, 
 
 And the dire cup her father bore 
 
 Held death, but death's worst plague — no more. 
 
 " Fatlier," she said, with bright'ning look. 
 As from his hand the cup she took, 
 " For thy young T'hakoor maiden, here 
 Is deck'd the widow's double bier ; 
 Perchance the maid of Rajhasthan 
 Is deem'd to spousal honors born. 
 Since to her sire's long glory wed. 
 And fame of the illustrious dead." 
 
 " My child, one bier, alas ! is thine ; 
 The second, all too welcome, mine : 
 Death parts us not."
 
 CANTO III. THE t'HAKOORINE. 71 
 
 " Nay, father, nay ! 
 Live for our sake. A brighter ray 
 May yet upon our country break ; 
 But not if thou her cause forsake." 
 
 " Vain, vain the hope ! Extinct, not set. 
 Each star of Rama's coronet. 
 Long, for thy sake, I've linger'd on, 
 Our country wreck'd, our honor flown : 
 More wouldst thou ask ?" 
 
 " Yes ! father, more ! 
 Virtue's blest conflict ne'er is o'er . 
 He the true hero, who shall dare 
 O'er Hope's cold dust confront Despair, 
 And jealous watch, unknowing rest, 
 Each spark that consecrates his breast ; 
 More blest, more precious, as around 
 Night's blackness settles more profound. 
 Now, father, friend, farewell ! Whene'er 
 My song shall fail upon thine ear. 
 Know that I quaff" the cup. Then come. 
 Ere stoops the dreadful Eagle down 
 From his high realm." 
 
 'O' 
 
 The cup she plac'd 
 High on the bier, and mutely gaz'd 
 O'er the lov'd tide ; then sad and slow 
 Renew'd her funeral notes of woe.
 
 72 THE t"hakoorine. canto hi. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 (COKTINUED.) 
 
 King of the crystal depths ! ah ! where, 
 
 Narbudda, shall thy sparkling wave 
 The young Rajpootnic's ashes bear? 
 
 Leave them where thy ripples lave 
 
 The emerald marge, and lilies wave 
 Their deathless petals. Let the chime 
 
 Of thy glad wave sound o'er her grave, 
 Cut off in virgin prime. 
 
 But bear not to a foreign land 
 
 The dust, that hath no hall of rest 
 Beyond thine own paternal strand ; 
 
 And ah ! let not the wave unblest 
 
 Of the black ocean thrall her breast ; 
 But at the spring, the summer time. 
 
 Be her green grave with flow'rets dress'd, 
 Cut off in virgin prime. 
 
 And when at morn the deer shall seek 
 
 Her foot-print 'mid the early dews, 
 And find it not ; and when to break 
 
 The death-like silence, that imbues 
 
 The heart bereav'd, no voice renews
 
 CANTO III. THE t'hAKOORINE. 73 
 
 The memory of the old, lov'd time, 
 Tell him that peace her pillow strews, 
 Cut off in virgin prime. 
 
 And if, perchance, of foreign blood 
 
 But kindred soul, a warrior come 
 To ponder o'er thy twilight flood, 
 
 And seek the form, for ever gone, 
 
 Tell him the maid of Rajhasthan (^^) 
 True to her faith, nor false to him, 
 
 Thus binds her bridal garland on. 
 Cut down in virgin prime. 
 
 The cup was in her hand ; a sound 
 As of some steed, whose frantic bound 
 Shatters the solid rock, did cause 
 Her hand to quail, her heart to pause. 
 One steed's alone, that frantic speed, 
 One hand alone might rule that steed. 
 Nearer it hurries, and more near. 
 Until, upon the list'ner's ear, 
 Blent with the icy tides, that start 
 In giddy timiult through her heart. 
 
 Thrice, desperate, strove she to lift up 
 And timely quaff the fated cup, — 
 Thrice, Love, more potent than Despair, 
 Breath'd his still spell, and triumph'd there ;
 
 74 THE THAKOORINE. CANTO HI. 
 
 And yet her trembling hand essay'd 
 The purpose of her soul to aid, 
 When, like an eagle lighting down 
 In thunder from his cloud-pil'd throne, 
 In strength of youth — in the warm glow, 
 Which love and hope shed o'er his brow, 
 On warrior's living throne of state, 
 
 Her bosom' lord before her sate ; 
 
 A moment sate, and gaz'd, as one 
 
 From dungeon 'scap'd, who views the sun 
 
 In glory ris'n ; then sudden sprang 
 
 From selle to earth, and ere the clang 
 
 Of his rich arms hath foimd a grave 
 
 In Kewa's blue, far-rolling wave. 
 
 Hath climb'd the pyre, resum'd his seat 
 
 Of happier days at Roopnie's feet. 
 
 " My love," he cried, " my beauteous bird. 
 Thy music from afar I heard ; 
 Sad was the strain ; and in thine eye 
 Hangs the large tear, its fires should dry. 
 Say, that mine absence caus'd thee mourn ; 
 Say, thou wilt smile on my return. 
 Alas ! thy tears fall fast and bright ! 
 My love, my bride, what secret blight 
 Hath been by evil genii shed 
 Upon thy young, devoted head ?
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 75 
 
 And wheace this pyre, like those which grace 
 The funerals of thine ancient race ? 
 And yonder chalice, old and grim. 
 With figures chas'd, that o'er the brim 
 Grin, glare and threaten ? See, I throw 
 Into the boiling surge below 
 This cup accurst : it haunts mine eye 
 With its unholy imagery." 
 
 " Nay ! touch it not," the maid replied : 
 " With that old beaker are allied 
 The fortunes of my house. No hand 
 Of alien ere with touch profan'd 
 Its sacred mysteries. None may sup, 
 Save the young bride, that solemn cup." 
 
 " My bride thou art ; whate'er to thee 
 Beseemeth right, is right for me ; 
 Mix'd in one stream, our lives shall flow, 
 One cup, one lot of joy, of woe — 
 Then share we this grim bowl ; my hand 
 Thus rends the superstitious band 
 That guards it round." — The maid upsprung, 
 And o'er his arms her own were flung. 
 Pale was her cheek, and chill dismay 
 Shot from her eye a quivering ray, 
 Icy as death. Her shuddering dread, 
 The cup — the funeral pyre — all shed
 
 76 THE T'hAKOORINE. canto III. 
 
 Conviction sudden o'er his mind, 
 Of the dire sacrifice design'd. 
 Absorb'd in horror deep, 'twas long 
 Ere words reliev'd his trembling tongue. 
 
 "Alas! fair thing, what art accurst, 
 In cave of Ghowl or sorcerer nurst. 
 Perverting thy young mind, hath driv'n 
 To act abhorr'd of man — of heaven ? 
 Did peril threaten — couldst thou see 
 No arm, devote to thine and thee ; 
 In spell of thine all potent charms. 
 To triumph o'er a world in arms ; 
 Say, loveliest, who thy foe?" — 
 
 "Tis one 
 Too mighty for thine arm, yet whom 
 A T'hakoor maid defies." 
 
 "The king? 
 Thy silence answers. Say I bring 
 Fetter'd, submiss, before thee, here, 
 Thy haughty foe, wilt thou forbear 
 Thy desperate purpose?" 
 
 A faint gleam. 
 As Meteor's o'er some icy stream. 
 Her pallid cheek illum'd, then died, 
 Sudden, extinct, as she replied,
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 77 
 
 " Never shall maid of Rajasthan 
 Seek refuge 'neath an alien arm ! 
 Sooner shall Rewa's free-born tide, 
 In Maandoo' fortress, recreant, hide, 
 Than the Rajpootnie deign to owe, 
 Her safety to her country's foe ; 
 Or risk that generous foeman's life, 
 To lengthen her poor being's strife ; 
 Kind is thy wish, but vain : — Farewell ! 
 Leave me in peace ! Her ruin'd cell, 
 For the wild bee, no alien hand 
 Can reconstruct — nor honor's band, 
 Untarnish'd, bind the Maiden's zone. 
 Thro' any virtue but her own." 
 
 Up rose the chief, the fold vmwound. 
 That veil'd his glittering turban round. 
 Cast from his robes the gay disguise, 
 And stood, transform'd, before her eyes, 
 A monarch, heaven endow'd ; each gem 
 Of Malwa's regal diadem 
 Blaz'd on his brow ; his sheeny vest. 
 So rich in gorgeous jewels dress'd, 
 It seem'd etherial breast-plate, dight 
 By warrior, from the realms of light, 
 Transform'd he stood ; that princely brow, 
 The throne of majesty; that eye, whose glow,
 
 78 THE T'hAKOORINE. canto III. 
 
 Ere while, but love's soft radiance shed, 
 Now wore the air, severe and dread, 
 Of monarch sway. Scarce could her pure 
 And virgin dignity endure 
 The weight of that high look; and she 
 Marveird if this, indeed, were he, 
 Whom, prostrate at her feet, she'd known, 
 The vassal of her smile and frown. 
 
 He mark'd her wonder : "See," he said, 
 "Thy foe, thy monarch captive led ; 
 Thy triumph all complete — no charm, 
 Receiv'd from alien, Moslem arm. 
 Can'st thou forgive the guile, by love 
 Inspir'd thy virgin truth to prove ; 
 With bvit a hvmtsman's name I wooed ; 
 Won thee by wile of warrior rude ; 
 But wed thee with a sceptred hand ; 
 Wear thee as queen of this fair land. 
 Alas ! how nigh my treacherous wile. 
 Had quench'd in death that beauteous smile ; 
 In which, awhile, like insect gay, 
 I've bask'd, as in sunny ray. 
 With whose decline had set mine eyes 
 On earth, and earth's dull vanities." 
 
 High rose the tumult of her breast, 
 Until th' imprison'd and opprest
 
 CANTO III. THE T'HAKOORINE. 79 
 
 Emotions found a channel blind, 
 
 By hopes delusive runnel min'd ; 
 
 Until, throughout her shuddering frame, 
 
 In tides of ice or living flame, 
 
 Rush'd the quick pulse, and fainting fast, 
 
 Each painful life-throb seem'd her last. 
 
 He caught her in his arms, he press'd 
 His soul's rich treasure to his breast. 
 In that brief, fatal rapture drown'd 
 All care, all thought : — Thus oft are bound 
 In the fond clasp the ivy throws 
 Round her own pine — the very foes 
 That his life-fountain drain. Her head 
 Droop'd o'er his breast. Her locks were shed 
 Wide o'er his arms and falling low 
 Met his rich robe in blended flow : 
 The hyacinthine cloud that fell, 
 Conceal'd the desperate art too well. 
 With which o'er Nature's failing brand 
 Pair Virtue arm'd her woman's hand ; 
 And whilst to his her heart was press'd 
 And took its life-throb from his breast ; 
 The cup, she late abhorr'd to sip 
 In thought, now met her fever'd lip, 
 And half its baleful poison shed, 
 Ere conscience of the desperate deed
 
 80 THE T'hAKOORINE. CANTO III. 
 
 Flash'd on her lover's mind — he caught 
 The cup accurst — its deadly draught 
 Himself had drain'd ; hut her fond hand 
 Dispers'd o'er Rewa's iron strand 
 The drops unblest, and on his own 
 Her glance, upturn'd, serenely shone, 
 Not hi the coy and bashful guise, 
 With which love lights the maiden's eyes. 
 His bright, immortal glories blending 
 With human hopes and fears contending ; 
 But his pure blaze, full orb'd and whole. 
 Reflected from th' unclouded soul. 
 
 " Now am I thine," she cried, " yet fast 
 May hold, unblemish'd, to the last, 
 My faith to country, kmdred, name ! 
 Sweet was that draught ! it quench'd the flame 
 Of vain regret ; it taught to know 
 In thee no more my honor's foe. 
 Then mourn me not ; or if thou mourn, 
 Let peace with sorrow's ebb return ; 
 Think that, our feverish dream now past, 
 We wake, as all must wake, at last; 
 Yet, blest in this peculiar charm. 
 Wake, circled, each in other's arm. 
 Farewell, my heart's lone joy ! whate'er 
 My lot, decreed of Heaven, to bear.
 
 CANTO III. THE t'hAKOORINE. 81 
 
 Whether, with soaring lark* to fly, 
 
 At morn, through yon' delicious sky ; 
 
 Or on the wing of bee return, 
 
 At eve, replete my fairy urn 
 
 With nectarous gold ; or thro' the wild 
 
 To roam, the greenwood's free-born child ; 
 
 Whate'er my fate, my bliss must be 
 
 To watch around, to follow thee. 
 
 Then should some songstress love the bower 
 
 Where thou dost while thy lonely hour, 
 
 Or some young bee still haunt the flower 
 
 Touch'd of thy dear hand ; 
 Or from the greenwood covert shy 
 Some young gazelle, with soft, black eye, 
 Still gaze, as those who, exiled, sigh, 
 Dim seen, in clouds of even sky. 
 
 Fay built, their native land ; 
 Then, suffer no rude eye or garish. 
 Thy bee, thy bird of song to banish ; 
 Look kindly, lest for aye she vanish. 
 
 Thy fawn, to fairy land." 
 
 " Think not," the frantic lover cried, 
 " Or life or death shall thus divide 
 Our mutual hearts. Beheld Avith thee, 
 The sun hath light, the heavens are free 
 
 * It must "be remembered that a Hindoo speaks; a believer 
 in the metemsvchosis.
 
 82 THE t'hakoorine. canto in. 
 
 And glorious, and the earth is blest — 
 A paradise, with thee possest : 
 But thou hast chosen to illume, 
 With thy sweet light, the silent tomb ; 
 And think not, I from thee will stay, 
 'Mid the black gloom which men term day. 
 No woman's arm is round thee press'd. 
 No faint heart meets thy throbbing breast ; 
 Clos'd is one gate, but death can number 
 More than the rocks, which Rewa cumber ; 
 Each in one common centre ending. 
 All blest as tow'rd thy presence tending. 
 But thou shah live : thy tender heart 
 Will not — ah ! cannot from me part ! 
 Spoil'd of his prey, death's stubborn pride 
 Shall bend to my all beauteous bride. 
 Haste thee from pasture, my strong steed. 
 One last, deep debt of thee I need ; 
 Haste, Ilderim,*' life, death, with thee. 
 Are racing to Eternity !" 
 
 Fleetly, beneath his double freight. 
 Springs the wild steed, his race with Fate 
 Keen urging. Swift as storm-clouds, fly 
 Eock, brake, glade, o'er his fiery eye. 
 
 * All Arabic name, signifying ' liglitiiing.'
 
 CANTO III, THE t"iIAKOORIXE. 83 
 
 But through the haze of trance, alone, 
 
 Was ought to his fair burthen known ; 
 
 For even now, death's subtle tide 
 
 Thro' her sweet veins did stealthy glide, 
 
 And of the scene, her eye surveyed 
 
 But the disjoin'd, fantastic shade ; 
 
 Not e"en her fathers form, as, wild 
 
 With woe, he call'd his lov'd, lost child, 
 
 (Bearing the sun-illumind fire, 
 
 To feed, with sacred flame, her pyre) 
 
 Could break the spell ; though from her touo^ue 
 
 Some incoherent blessinos hunar. 
 
 Found faltering voice, and oft she strove 
 
 Tow'rd him her languid arms to move ; 
 
 At each fond effort forc'd to rest. 
 
 More helpless, on her lover's breast. 
 
 But fleetly boimds the gallant steed. 
 Nor rock nor hollow checks his speed ; 
 The wild deer catch th' approaching sound. 
 And lightly from their covert bound, 
 To gaze ; but, ere the glade is won. 
 The steed hath shot, like fire-bolt, on : 
 And thus, from Maandoo's fortress stern. 
 The watchman may his course discern, 
 By the Jong ranks of gazing deer. 
 That, motionless from panic fear, 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE t'hakoorine. canto hi. 
 
 And spell-bound, in his wake remain, 
 Like dust clouds, o'er the dusky plain. 
 
 Thrice rose the dreadful morn ; tlirice set. 
 O'er tower, and dome, and minaret. 
 The sun ; and thrice the endless night 
 Brought its fell phantoms of affright. 
 But not, o'er that lone watcher's sky. 
 Fled there a shade, with morn's glad eye. 
 Nor at the day's decline arose 
 The eve' star of his soul's repose ; 
 For still, in trance supine she lay, 
 
 Cold, silent, as sepulchral clay ; 
 
 So still, that scarce the sapphire, laid 
 
 On her pale lips, the dew betrayed 
 
 Of life upon its tablet fine ; 
 
 And from her eye, the fire divine 
 
 Was past — and art had frequent tried. 
 
 And proved how vain its solemn pride ; 
 
 And still, throughout that cheerless night, 
 
 (For day was none to his dim sight,) 
 
 Beside the couch of her unrest 
 
 He stood, unchang'd his dazzling vest. 
 
 E'en as untouch'd the jewels set 
 
 In her rich harrh* and coronet. 
 
 * The Indian necklace.
 
 CAiNTO II [. THE t"hAKOORINE. 85 
 
 It was a ghastly sight, to see 
 
 The form ot" death-like apathy 
 
 Of that young maid, with jewels bright 
 
 Adorn'd, as for the spousal rite. 
 
 It was a ghastly sight, to view 
 
 His haggard eye, his cheek's pale hue, 
 
 Crown'd with each glorious, lustrous gem 
 
 Of Malwa's regal diadem. 
 
 'Twas dire, o'er that rich coverlet 
 
 To see the keen-edg'd dagger set. 
 
 And sometimes, o'er the death-like maid 
 
 He hung, then ponder'd o'er the blade. 
 
 Oft' would his hand its keen edge try, 
 
 Devour'd its glare his famish'd eye ; 
 
 Impatient seem'd he, as again 
 
 The sapphire caught a transient stain, — 
 
 A cloud, sufficing but to shew 
 
 Life's mockery, and prolong his woe. 
 
 But as the fourth dread morning broke 
 O'er Rewa's giant crags, and woke 
 From slumber soft the young koklete,* 
 In murmur' d accent, soft and sweet, 
 Her tender love-tale to repeat ; 
 A change came o'er the death-like maid ; 
 The gems upon her bosom laid, 
 
 * A bird, whose note is a most musical repetition of its own 
 najne.
 
 86 THE T'iIAKOORINE. canto III. 
 
 Were stirr'd — the eye, wide fixed, and fast, 
 Was clos'd— Ob ! Heav'n \—soft clos'd at last ; 
 And, save that now a murmur'd word 
 From her half parted lips was heard ; 
 Save that throughout her stilly frame, 
 At times, a transient tremor came. 
 She seem'd as one that calm reposes. 
 What time the sun his bright eye closes. 
 
 Long hung he with a jealous care 
 O'er the blest brow extended there. 
 His breath^uppress'd, his eager eye 
 Watching the shades that o'er it fly ; 
 But when successive hours were flown, 
 And still the maid slept calmly on, 
 Hope, struggling thro' despair, did break 
 The firmness, anguish could not shake ; 
 And in thanksgiving, prostrate cast, 
 The grateful tears gush'd, free and fast. 
 And rapture, mask'd hi sorrow's guise, 
 Rent his full heart, in frequent sighs. 
 
 EAD OF CANTO III.
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE, 
 
 A TALE OF MAANDOO. 
 
 CANTO IV.
 
 89 
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE. 
 
 A TALE OF MAANDOO. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 O'er old Maheswa's f^) time-worn tower 
 Flutters the Moslem badge of power, 
 Flinging its ample, silken fold. 
 Like sun-gleam, o'er the mouldering hold ; 
 And down Narbudda's stately banks 
 Unnumber'd throng the warrior ranks. 
 Till from dread Maandoo's battled keep, 
 Stern pois'd upon the mountain steep, 
 Down to the lordly river's side, 
 A deluge, swells the living tide ; 
 Through wilds, erst waken' d to man's cry, 
 But when the hunter' train swept by. 
 But not for sylvan pastime gay, 
 Nor yet equipp'd in war's array, 
 Those countless hosts ; each taper spear, 
 Fix'd in the earth, stands aimless here ; 
 Adorns the side no jewell'd brand. 
 Nor waves, wide gleaming, in the hand ;
 
 90 THE t'hAKOORINE, CANTO IV 
 
 Not theirs the foe, of woman born, 
 
 Nor this the strife maids, widows, mourn ; 
 
 But, muster'd there, 'gainst Nature's might. 
 
 The rock, the wood, the mountain height, 
 
 A task insane they dauntless prove, 
 
 If any be too hard for Love. 
 
 Not such his boast who muster'd there 
 His kingdom's might, th' essay to dare ; 
 For he liad sworn no solemn rest 
 Should seal the temple of his breast. 
 Till, driv'n from his deep channell'd vale, 
 Yon' mountain-brow Narbvidda scale, 
 And his strong tide, resistless roll'd. 
 Tumultuous, through the mountain hold, 
 Shall to th' assembled nations prove 
 How matchless is the might of love. 
 
 To aid this vast design, from far 
 Came floating in his air borne car 
 A Greek magician (-^), deeply skill'd 
 With aid of deeves and fays to build 
 Engines gigantic. First, his might 
 In stages twelve subdued the height 
 And delv'd, in basin deep, each grade, 
 And prostrate many a forest laid 
 Of ancient palms — selecting still 
 Each loftier stem his ranks to fill,
 
 CANTO IV. THE x'llAKOOKINE. 91 
 
 Till numb'ring on the mountain side, 
 
 Full twelve score, twelve times multiplied ; 
 
 These, slopewise rang'd from grade to grade, 
 
 Form many a prostrate colonnade, 
 
 Tier upon tier, successive, led 
 
 E'en to the tower-crown'd mountain's head. 
 
 Then, by his spell — from out th' abyss* 
 
 Where writhing serpents coil and hiss. 
 
 Vast hydras, call'd at midnight throng, 
 
 Trailing their volum'd length along. 
 
 Submiss to him — in spiral gold 
 
 Each, his appointed stem doth fold, 
 
 And whirling round in ceaseless glide 
 
 Bears up aloft the hissing tide. 
 
 At eve, the columns naked stood ; 
 
 At morn the awe struck peasant view'd 
 
 Their monster freight, and thro' the night 
 
 Dire sounds were heard, and dismal light 
 
 The sleepless shepherd did affray, 
 
 Of their red eyes the meteor ray. 
 
 But say, for what surpassing end 
 A river from its course must bend ? 
 Nature's strong laws, inverted, prove. 
 And fate submit to sov'reign love "? 
 
 * The Region of Serpents; one of the Infernal Abodes, filled 
 ■with demons formed as snakes.
 
 92 
 
 THE T HAKOORINE. CANTO IV. 
 
 Hast thou not heard ? Tiirough Rewa's vale 
 The groves are vocal with the tale ! 
 Vindheia's crags with bright'ning cheer, 
 Vindheia's glens the love notes hear ; 
 With them his mate the stock dove wooes, 
 To them, his course, the stream pursues ; 
 The eagle quits his heaven to brood, 
 Thron'd on that mountain solitude, 
 O'er the rapt lay. — The tiger gaunt, 
 Hath left his old ancestral haunt ; 
 And the aw'd peasant, scatheless meets 
 His shadow in the twilight streets ! 
 The maiden, coy to all beside. 
 Quells at the tale her bashful pride ; 
 And to the turret oft will steal. 
 And hourly list the soft appeal. 
 Till, as the pleading measure tells, 
 How in yon bower the maiden dwells 
 Deaf to her lover's suit, hath vow'd, 
 Ne'er to be his, 'till Rewa's flood 
 Shall scale the tower-crown'd mountain brow, 
 And through the cloud-capp'd fortress flow : 
 And how. Fate's fix'd decree must prove, 
 Submissive to the voice of love ; 
 The changing cheek, the panting breast, 
 The witchery of the lay attest ; 
 And one coy maiden's ice supplies 
 The fuel to a thousand sighs.
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 93 
 
 Thrice, o'er the khigdom's might array'd, 
 Ills torch the bright-ey'd sun display'd ; 
 And thrice the moon held watch above, 
 To guide that mightiest work of love. 
 The fourth bright morn serenely shone. 
 And found the mighty labor done, 
 The engines rear'd, the channel plough'd. 
 And to sustain Narbudda's flood 
 In its primeval course, — but one. 
 Frail flood-gate o'er the chasm thrown. 
 
 Who shall the gorgeous scene display, 
 On which first glanc'd the level ray, 
 Where darkness, late, her mantle spread, 
 O'er the wide vale and river's bed ; 
 In silver, now, the flood is roll'd, 
 Between two seas of living gold ; 
 Not the dull gold, the sordid prize. 
 But blended with the richest dyes. 
 By love e'er cuH'd, for beauty's eyes. 
 Cashmera's, China's, India's loom. 
 Their wealth exhaust. — Brocades of Roume ;* 
 The costly web of Franguestan, 
 Carpet the life-encumber' d plain. 
 
 But chief the pomp, the splendid show 
 Concentrates round yon turret's brow, 
 
 * Constantinople.
 
 94 THE t'hAKOORINE. canto IV, 
 
 Where, from pavilion's silken shade, 
 Looks o'er the waves the captive maid ; 
 There, dazzling in rich focus, shine 
 The spoils of many an eastern mine ; 
 There, Malwa's chiefs and nobles wait ; 
 There, calFd from many a neighbour state, 
 The fam'd in arms, the free, the gay, 
 And whosoe'er loves minstrel' lay, 
 Or hath for beauty's glance a sigh. 
 Has throng'd to swell the pageantry. 
 
 And there, the graceful Arab steed. 
 The bold in heart, th' unmatch'd in speed ; 
 And there, the Northern (-*) steed of war. 
 His challenge to the sun doth pour, 
 Impatient paws, and tosses high. 
 His thundrous crest and fiery eye ; 
 And rank by rank, and band by band, 
 The monsters of the forest stand. 
 Each ivory tusk, with jewels set. 
 And on each brow a coronet 
 Of lotus flowers. — Aloft in air 
 Their towers and gorgeous thrones they bear, 
 'Splendent with gold beyond compare. 
 Select, of all that giant train, 
 The regal trophies to sustain, 
 Sxu'passing far the rest in height. 
 And mightiest of the sons of might,
 
 CANTO IV. THE t'hAKOORIKE. 95 
 
 One lordly elephant appears ; 
 
 Of snowy white, the bulk he rears, 
 
 Lord of full many a forest black. 
 
 Where Sarduh ('-^) rends her head long track, 
 
 Down from the mountain's icy chain. — 
 
 Here seems on fire the living plain. 
 
 With lances' flash and armours' light. 
 
 And shimmering gleam of jewels bright, 
 
 'Mid dancing plumes and turbans gay. 
 
 And banners fluttering far away. 
 
 Whilst yet the pompous train progress'd, 
 Whispers and murmers half suppress'd, 
 Rose from the crowded vale, as rise, 
 O'er slumbering waves, night's breezy sighs; 
 But when, above the barrier stood 
 The king, and o'er Narbudda's flood, 
 Stretch'd his right hand, and bade the tide. 
 Back from its ancient channel glide, 
 And tow'rd the tower-crown'd mountain move 
 Obedient to the will of love. 
 So deep the hush, the charm so strong. 
 That held enchain'd the listening throng ; 
 The Sarus' distant clarion smote 
 O'er each, like some deep funeral note; 
 And from yon rapid's chain, the roar 
 Of Rewa, with his rocks at war,
 
 96 THE t'HAKOORINE, canto IV. 
 
 Seem'd to the mind, fantastic grown, 
 The mighty river's answering moan. 
 
 His ghttering axe the monarch rear'd. 
 To sever that frail barrier's guard ; 
 But, ere it fell, a chilly cry, 
 Peal'd from the earth, the waves, the sky, 
 Appall'd a heart ne'er chill'd before. 
 And fetter-bound an arm, in war 
 Resistless known. — Was it the scream 
 Of nymphs and deeves, who haunt the stream, 
 Compell'd, their ancient grots and caves 
 To quit, with his receding waves. 
 Or vengeful cry of river-god ; 
 Forc'd from the path, his steps have trod 
 Prom immemorial days ! — That cry 
 Of vengeance and of agony, 
 Came from a father's heart! — From one 
 To whom man's baleful dower is known, 
 Of sympathy and woe. No tone 
 Of frantic nymph, or spirit's moan, 
 Could thus the hearer's heart appal ; 
 Or thus the warrior's arm enthral. 
 It died — but in its death gave birth 
 To tuimilt wild, (as wildest mirth ; 
 The demon host and saytrs (^^) gave. 
 When, o'er Serendib's* pearl sown wave 
 
 * Serendib. Ceylon, scene of the rape of Seeta, wife of Raam.
 
 CANTO IV. THE t'hAKOORINE. 97 
 
 Raam's giant foe young Seeta bore) 
 And, with an ocean's heave and roar, 
 Sway'dthe dense crowd, till those who stood, 
 On margin of Narbudda's flood, 
 Were o'er the brink resistless hurl'd, 
 And in one watery ruin whirl'd. 
 
 And now, where most the tumult raves, 
 Where most the concourse quails and waves, 
 Whence, the wild charger frantic flies. 
 Where, shrieks, and groans, and dying cries, 
 Nerve heroes' hearts — the faint appal, 
 Flash answering flash, are seen to fall, 
 Thro' the haze of smoke and blood, 
 Like meteor showers o'er some red flood, 
 Those vengeful swords — and o'er the rest 
 Full well are known the towering crest, 
 The snowy beard and features grim 
 And red right arm of Bulwunt Singh. 
 Onward he hews his deathful way : 
 The panic stricken guards obey 
 The impulse of their fears, and fly 
 His sweeping blade and fiery eye. 
 
 The monarch saw, and call'd with speed 
 For his keen blade and Arab steed : 
 Paws the wild charger, as from far 
 He snuffs the sulphurous breath of war, 
 
 H
 
 98 THE t'hakoorine. canto 1\ 
 
 And neighs with joy once more to feel 
 
 His lord's lov'd weight and rattling steel. 
 
 E'en on the monarch's cheek, the while, 
 
 Was seen that stern, heroic smile. 
 
 Which oft' was hail'd when blades waved higli. 
 
 The guiding star of victory. 
 
 " Nobles !" he cried, " and whosoe'er 
 With us this field of arms would share. 
 Hear ye ! For him, whose arm in fight 
 Captive — unharm'd, shall lead yon knight, 
 A princely ransom is decreed : — 
 But torture, death shall be his meed, 
 Whose blade one silvery lock shall shred 
 Of all which grace that noble head. 
 Ye have our will — Let him depart 
 Who hears it with misgiving heart." 
 
 The king's approach the T'hakoor scann'd, 
 And check' d his small but dauntless band ; 
 Eoiis'd his proud war-horse with the spur, 
 And sheath'd his gory scimitar ; 
 Then forward dash'd at fiery pace, 
 And met the monarch face to face. 
 
 ** Monarch," the T'hakoor said, " whate'er 
 Thy sires, in their blind zeal, did spare
 
 CANTO IV. THE t'hAKOORINE. 99 
 
 t 
 
 To the sad relics of a line, 
 
 Which reign'd, 'ere earth had note of thine, 
 
 That has thy robber rapine reft. 
 
 To the lone T'hakoor's heart was left, 
 
 His realm usurp'd, his glory gone, 
 
 His land, his birthright spoil'd, but one 
 
 Sole record of a better day, — 
 
 His daughter ; and in her the ray 
 
 That, still, some lingering glory shed 
 
 Around his grey and care-worn head. 
 
 Girt with thy thousand luxuries, thou 
 
 Beheldst with greedy eye the glow 
 
 Of that lone ray — too pure to bless 
 
 Thy pamper'd, gorg'd luxuriousness. 
 
 Bhahts,* sages, well have sung and said. 
 
 That he who wrongs the lowly head, 
 
 Is sunk, by that base act, below 
 
 His grade, who writhes beneath the blow. 
 
 'Tis also said, thy pamper'd pride 
 
 Does, 'neath its grosser ashes, hide 
 
 Some sparks of generous fire ; that thou 
 
 Art not in luxury sunk so low, 
 
 But that thy hand can brook to wield 
 
 The hero's blade, in battle-field : 
 
 Be this the proof, — Dismiss thy band. 
 
 At distance from the fight to stand, 
 
 * The Hindoo Bard. 
 h2
 
 100 THE t'hAKOORINE. CANTO IV. 
 
 Whilst, front to front with me, thou prove 
 That the base act thou charg'st on love 
 Was not, indeed, the baser part. 
 The felon deed of dastard heart." 
 
 " Chief," said the monarch, " if to save 
 Thy daughter from a fiery grave, 
 To count her sacred as the shrine 
 Which holds some relic, deem'd divine, 
 And seek, in her sweet hand to place 
 The sceptre of thine ancient race, 
 Thro' hard conditions, which her will 
 Impos'd, as hopeless to fulfil : 
 If such be traitor's, dastard's part, 
 I've fill'd it, with exulting heart ; 
 If such the warrior's gage demand, 
 I yield — but with no willing hand ; 
 Far rather would I shed the ray 
 Of peace, on this, thy latter day ; 
 Foremost in honor, bid thee stand, 
 The glory of thine ancient land." 
 
 " Perish thine honors with thee ! Could 
 Narbudda's pure, unbounded flood 
 Draw glory from the drops that feed 
 Your Khizr's* lamps, then, then indeed 
 
 * Qwajuv Khizv, literally " my Lord Elija," whom Mahom- 
 medans suppose to preside, as an angel, over rivers, and to -svliom 
 are offered the floating lights already noticed.
 
 CANTO IV. THE T'HAKOORINE. 101 
 
 Might Moslem blood in T'hakoor vein 
 Find place, (") yet leave no damning stain." 
 
 He said, and- caus'd his manag'd steed 
 Wheel round his foe with levin speed. 
 Whilst o'er the Moslem crest down pour'd, 
 A tempest* sway, his vengeful sword. 
 And ne'er did Maandoo's mountain hold 
 More calmly brave the thunders, roU'd 
 By whirlwind round his haughty brow, 
 Than, proof 'gainst each descending blow. 
 Thrice arm'd, in skill and courage tried. 
 His noble foe that storm defied. 
 
 Thrice, desperate, to the onset sprang 
 The T'hakoor Chief: blade, buckler rang 
 A knell, till now unheard, but when 
 Answer'd by dying groans of men. 
 And shrieks of slaughter-fiends. And still, 
 Collected, calm, as when his will 
 To millions serv'd for law and fate, 
 Erect, unharm'd, the monarch sate, 
 Turn'd with his blade each blow aside, 
 Nor to the bitter taunt replied. 
 By which his foe would urge him on 
 T' assail a life, so hateful grown ; 
 But, when his strength, his vigor spent, 
 His hatred, like some fire-flood pent,
 
 102 THE THAKOOUINE. CANTO IV. 
 
 His rage inflam'd to frenzy's height, 
 Once more the T'hakoor rush'd to fight, 
 A shriek disturb'd the silence long, 
 That held enchain'd the gazing throng, 
 And thro' the opening crowd was seen. 
 As thro' rent clouds the day-star's beam, 
 The young Rajpootnie, borne along 
 By manag'd war-horse, fleet and strong ; 
 Which, as inspir'd by her wild dread, 
 Devour'd the plain o'er which he fled, 
 Then, sudden, 'twixt the foemen stood, 
 Still as some rock in Rewa's flood. 
 Some rock, that bears a wavelet bright, 
 Disporting o'er its breast of night. 
 
 The maiden's beauteous brow was bare; 
 The wind had cast her long, dark hair 
 Back, with the costly covering, laid 
 On head of hia:h-born Eastern maid. 
 One hand the silver thong (-®) sustain'd, 
 With which her fiery steed was rein'd ; 
 The better, 'twixt the foemen stay'd 
 A warrior's glittering battle-blade. 
 Pale washer cheek, her breast heav'd high, 
 The large tear trembled in her eye ; 
 But, when upon the king it turn'd, 
 A flush intense the pallor burn'd,
 
 CAMTO IV. THE t'hAKOORINE. 103 
 
 As, with imperious voice and air, 
 She utter'd her command — " Forbear! — 
 Him canst thou reach but thro' my hfe." 
 Then, on the author of the strife, 
 Her sire, she fix'd her ardent gaze — 
 Quell'd, that high hearing, in the rays 
 Of fihal love— 
 
 " Dear father, see 
 Thy child restor'd to love and thee : 
 Pure, as when late she sought to prove, 
 As now, that honor masters love. 
 Where, then, the cause of strife 1 Thy child 
 Eeturn'd, unharm'd, and undefil'd ; 
 To feed the sacred funeral blaze ! — 
 Oh ! not to roam the sunny maze, 
 Pictur'd of youthful hope. — Oh ! not 
 Around each holier, happier spot 
 Of my own blue Narbiidda's shore, 
 To live times' past, blest moments o'er ; 
 Or with my guileless friends to dwell. 
 The free-born heirs of brake and dell. 
 No ! not the very wish to prove, 
 Mindfid of his all beauteous love ; 
 Who, tho' by heaven's severe decree. 
 By birth, by faith, a foe to thee ; 
 To me hath fill'd a brother's part, 
 Nobly, and with a princely heart.
 
 104 THE T'hAKOORINE, CANTO IV. 
 
 Not e'en this hope, so fondly springing, 
 
 Can rend the heart's strong tendrils, clinging 
 
 Around thee. Oh ! my sire, around 
 
 Past memories, and the depths profound, 
 
 Of poetry and lore divine, 
 
 Whence dimly grows our honor'd line. 
 
 Thy bird, from unsought freedom flies, 
 
 Back to the pyre of sacrifice ! 
 
 See ! she exclaim'd, as from her hand 
 
 She cast the glittering battle brand, 
 
 And bar'd the kean kuttarr,^' " what knight, 
 
 Fam'd for high prowess in the fight. 
 
 Would the Rajpootnie's step arrest? 
 
 Her blood shall wither his proud crest — 
 
 Haste ! — Father ! — break that fatal spell ; 
 
 Noblest of foes — sweet friend ! — farewell!" 
 
 She ceas'd : applausive murmm-s long 
 And deep, convuls'd the entranced throng. 
 Love had they seen Fate's conqueror prove, 
 And now, fair Virtue master'd Love. 
 E'en th' ummeers, tho' Moslem all, 
 Forgot, awhile, the slavish thrall 
 Of selfish hope and fear. The King 
 Was awe-struck — the devoted ring 
 Of T'hakoor youth around her press'd. 
 And fervent swore, by each stain'd vest,f 
 
 * A double edged dagger, 
 t The folorn hope of the Hindoos staiu their dress yellow.
 
 CANTO IV. THE t'iiAKOORINE. 105 
 
 By the palladium of their line, 
 Chittore's immortal towers and shrine, 
 Her freedom or their death. Her sire. 
 Now chill'd by doubt — now by the fire 
 Of glory warm'd — now by the glow 
 Of pride, that sire, alone, may know, 
 Around whose brow, a daughter's hand. 
 Hath bound fair honour's deathless band : 
 Now agonized, as chill despair, 
 Pictur'd the fate of thing so fair; 
 The poison'd bowl and murderous fire : — 
 Oh ! spell-bound sate her fond, proud sire, 
 Unheeding her imploring eye. 
 And anxious prayer with her to fly ; 
 Nor, conscious the wide world possest, 
 Aught save his child and tortur'd breast. 
 
 'Twas then o'er heaven's unclouded blue, 
 A dark'ning flush portentous grew ; 
 A twilight dim, thro' which the star 
 Of war was seen, in his red car 
 Rolling sublime. — And whilst, on high, 
 Each, wond'ring turned the awe-struck eye. 
 The airy tides were rent asunder. 
 By peal on peal of volleying thunder ; 
 And, like some giant, whose huge breast. 
 Is by the night-fiend's weight oppress'd,
 
 106 THE t'hAKOORINE. CANTO IV. 
 
 Reel'd the firm earth, till living things, 
 Affrighted, spread their cowering wings; 
 And the grim tiger from his lair, 
 The leopard fierce, and grisly bear. 
 The wolf, and laughing fiend* of night, 
 Fled from their dens, in wild affright ; 
 And, 'mid the trembling throng were found, 
 With infants on the reeling ground. 
 But, far above the earthquake's height, 
 Rose the dread river's voice of might: 
 As if, thro' his deep channel hurl'd. 
 Old ocean cleft the stable world. 
 Then whilst the rocks, the skies around, 
 Deep vibrate the soul-chilling sound. 
 And old Vindheia's haunted cave 
 And crag, responsive thunders gave ; 
 The darkening flush of Ether grew 
 More dense — bvit liquid still of hue ; 
 And gathering, in huge column stood, 
 'Twixt heaven and blue Narbudda's flood ; 
 Then, gradual moulding, line by line, 
 Assum'd the lineaments divine, 
 The awful front, the fateful nod, 
 And form sublime of river-god. 
 
 O'erflow'd his bulk the vaulted sky, 
 O'ertower'd his head the canopy, 
 
 * The hyaena
 
 CANTO IV. THE T'HAKOOBINE. 107 
 
 Where hang the golden stars. Around 
 His brow white river-shells were bound, 
 With sedges green and lilies fair, 
 And curl'd in mist his dusky hair ; 
 Half hid in ocean clouds his form, 
 Or lucid clear, or black with storm : 
 But, where it thro' the haze did shine, 
 It seem'd of substance crystalline. 
 Thro' which unnumber'd rivers wander'd. 
 And streams of softer flow meander'd. 
 His sceptre, like thy granite rock, 
 Himahla, thro' the storm rack broke, 
 A spire of height unknown. And when 
 His voice was heard, the hearts of men 
 Frore terrors ic'd. And who had stood 
 Unscath'd, the roar of fire and flood ; 
 The reeling earth and darken'd air, 
 Fell, prostrate, in the heart's despair : 
 A waving sea of turbans gay. 
 And plumes and banner-folds that play. 
 In the morn's blaze, that instant shone — 
 And now, — a wilderness o'erthrown. 
 So the simoom his sickle wields — 
 But his be spoils of desert fields. 
 
 Three of that countless throng, alone, 
 Unquailing, heard the spirit tone.
 
 108 THE T'hAKOORINE. CANTO IV. 
 
 On their war steeds erect, they sate 
 Aw'd, but beyond the dread of fate. 
 A power all mortal powers above 
 Its egis spread : that power was love. 
 Arm'd in his might, submiss they heard, 
 But dauntless, each soul-quelling word. 
 
 " Chieftain, forbear ! thy child is won : 
 Bid her the bridal garland don. 
 First of her sex, nor cast away. 
 On throne, illum'd by love's pure ray. 
 
 " Monarch ! thy rash attempt forbear ! 
 Nor farther our dread potence dare, 
 Content, thus far o'er fate to prove, 
 The might and majesty of love. 
 But search that spot on Maandoo's height, 
 Whence our broad stream salutes the sight ; 
 Where springs our sacred Tamarisk, know. 
 Beneath our own, bright waters flow ; 
 There dig thy font, thy palace rear, 
 Thy Bride of Beauty thither bear. 
 To live, to love, whilst Bewa's wave, 
 Sparkles in Maandoo's movmtain cave." 
 
 He ceas'd : again the mountains rock, 
 And 'mid the earthquake's giddy shock. 
 And o'er Narbudda's ocean roar. 
 Wild yells of torment quell the shore,
 
 CAjSTO IV. THE T'hAKOORINE. 109 
 
 Mix'd with the crash of chffs o'erthrown, 
 Where Maandoo roars her mountain throne ; 
 And sudden o'er the prostrate throng, 
 With fiery eye and forked tongue, 
 And nostrils, breathing sulpliurous fire, 
 And coils vast volum'd, spire on spire, 
 Huge Hydras dash ; and in thy tide, 
 Narbudda, their dread volumes hide : 
 And fading as tlie portents rise. 
 As grey clouds melt in summer skies, 
 Narbudda's form, by slow decay. 
 Dissolves, in vacant space, away. 
 Yet, spell-bound, lay the people, long. 
 With beating heart, and fetter'd tongue ; 
 They fear'd to break, with murmur rude, 
 The silence of that solitude. 
 And now, to Bulwunt's raptur'd breast, 
 The young Rajpootnie fondly press'd, 
 Scarce yields to e'en her father's nod. 
 The mandate of the river god. 
 Her king, her lover's earnest prayer. 
 Her own, fond heart, Jiis throne to share, 
 Whose love o'er fate had triumphs won. 
 And all, but Virtue's might, o'erthrown. 
 For the fair child of virtue saw. 
 In virtue's code, no wavering law, 
 Yielding to highest mortal's nod. 
 Or voice, oft' falsely deem'd, of God,
 
 110 THE T'hAKOORINE. CANTO IV. 
 
 But graven o'er the spirit's shrine, 
 And, e'en 'mid Nature's wreck, divine. 
 
 And bards of ancient strain record. 
 That when she, with her chosen lord, 
 Queen of his throne and bosom, sate 
 In Maandoo's halls of regal state, 
 She thought upon her playmates, free, 
 She thought upon the greenwood tree, 
 Her simple joys, her peasant cheer, 
 She thought — and dropp'd th' unbidden tear. 
 And oft, when he she lov'd was gay. 
 Her thoughts were wandering far away. 
 And when, for him, a measure glad 
 She strove to sing, her voice was sad ; 
 And oft', her train dismiss'd, she'd steal 
 To yon kiosk, which crowns the hill, 
 (Built by her lover's thoughtful care ;) 
 And, hour by hour, would linger there. 
 Gazing on her far distant home. 
 And living o'er the days by-gone, 
 And half condemning partial fate 
 For the fair joys that round her wait, 
 First of her stainless line, to stray 
 Beside the old, time-honor'd way. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE, 
 
 A TALE OF MAANDOO. 
 
 CONCLUSION.
 
 113 
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE, 
 
 A TALE OP MAANDOO. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 City of silence ! o'er thy lordly towers 
 
 What foe to mirth has fixed his dreary reign ? 
 What sordid gnomes usurp the living bowers, 
 
 Sacred to beauty and her silken train '? 
 
 Ah me ! mine ear, attentive, lists, in vain, 
 The stir, that told of pomp and passing state, 
 
 The hum, the tumult : still from fane to fane 
 Mine eye pursues the phantom shapes, that wait 
 On Fancy, 'mid a scene, so waste and desolate. 
 
 'Tis not beneath the glance of Beauty, falls, 
 Piecemeal dissolv'd, each yet reluctant pile ; 
 
 'Tis not, Love's murmur'd accent shakes thy walls. 
 So long the witness of his truth or guile. 
 And where Love's witchery could once beguile 
 
 Man's stern dominion ; nature's hand alone 
 Presumes to consecrate, with faiiy wile, 
 
 I
 
 1 14 THE t'hAKOORINE. CONCLUSION. 
 
 The shatter'd relics of his potence, strewn, 
 Ruins of perish'd pomp, and majesty o'erthrown. 
 
 Within thy marble baths, whose crystal kiss'd, 
 
 Trembling, the beauteous limbs, abandoned there 
 To soft, voluptuous langour ; whilst the mist 
 
 Of gushing founts shed perfume through the air ; 
 
 Within those walls the tigress (■") strows her lair, 
 And rears her savage brood, and 'tis her eye 
 
 Awes the intruder with its deadly glare, 
 E'en from the spot where linger'd, coy an.^ shy. 
 The form, all dread her own, unrivall'd charms to spy. 
 
 Thither the monster drags her slaughter'd prey. 
 Where but soft conquest whil'd th' inglorious hour ; 
 
 She rends and portions out the spoil, which they. 
 Her cubs unwieldy, mangle and devour ; [power 
 They growl and gloat o'er limbs, from which the 
 
 Of life, of glory scarce hath pass'd away. — 
 Beauty ! is this thine own inviolate bower ? — 
 
 List, how they jangle o'er the yet warm prey, [they. 
 And cranch the ivory bones : — young, princely feasters. 
 
 And now, 'tis night upon the glassy lake, 
 That imag'd once full many a lordly pile; 
 
 And stars in that deep mirror love to make 
 Their fairy toilet. But from yonder isle 
 Beams not the votive light, illum'd, 'erewhile.
 
 CONCLUSION. THE t'hAKOORINE. 115 
 
 To him whose sainted ashes sleep beneath : 
 
 And love's lone watchfire sheds no glad'ning smile 
 O'er waves, soft trembling to the delicate breath 
 Of eve, from casementhigh, — extinct those rays in death. 
 
 Death ! name of potence — thou hast borne thy shrine 
 And sceptre, wisely, hither. — 'Tis a spot 
 
 Where, mix'd with awful thoughts of thee and thine, 
 Comes many a dream, not wilHngly forgot : 
 Thy wing, the past o'ershadowing, presses not 
 
 Too rudely o'er our spirit : but we steal 
 From garish memories, gladly, to allot 
 
 Our unreserved powers, to see, to feel 
 Thy solemn mysteries, set beneath so fair a seal. 
 
 Thine is the dense, deep silence — thine the gloom. 
 That like a pall o'er curtains earth and sky, 
 
 Thine be the banners waving o'er the tomb 
 That haunted treasury of years gone by, — 
 These be the trophies of thy victory. 
 
 These be thy triumphs, conqueror o'er the past 
 But say, what claim on dim futurity 
 
 Holds tliy black sceptre ? shall its empire last 
 When o'er th' unpeopled world sweeps thy cold, final 
 blast. 
 
 Death ! 'tis thy final triumph — 'Tis the dirge 
 
 Of thy destruction — Thou hast swallow'd all 
 Of mortal growth — till ent'ring on the verge 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE T'HAKOORINE. CONCLUSION. 
 
 Of that dim region, where the sand showers fall 
 
 Of past and present, mingling with the small, 
 Dim dust that was the future. Here to sate 
 
 Thy demon maw, thou findest but the pall 
 That shrouded once thy victim. Eat, for fate 
 In thy gaunt, fleshless limbs reserves thee yet one Gate. 
 But now thy reign is prosperous. Ethiop night 
 
 Thy ready vassal, broods o'er earth and sky. 
 Silent as o'er the dense Korounda light 
 
 The dews, evolv'd from fen and marsh-weed nigh ; 
 
 Deep in reverse the lifeless shadows lie 
 Of many a shattcr'd fane and crumbling tower. 
 
 And trees, through whose dense gloom no busy sigh 
 Of the night-breeze may stir, portentous lower. 
 And all attests thy sway, built on man's ruin'd power. 
 
 But list, the spell is broken. Spirits fling 
 Their long, wild yell upon the burthen' d air, 
 
 And many a busy echo wakes to ring. 
 
 O'er the dread lake, that anthem of despair : 
 Around the lakelet's marge, imnumber'd, glare 
 
 Eyes of unholy fire and shrieks resound, 
 
 The peacock, slumbering on the goollur near. 
 
 Hath wak'd to life and his deep clarion wound, 
 And from his watchtower whoops the owl -his signal 
 soimd. 
 
 And the night raven answers, and their laugh 
 
 Grim, mowing satyrs to the chorus join 
 From out the hollow i*uins, where they quaflf
 
 CONCLUSION. THE t'hAKOORINE. 117 
 
 O'er beauty's relics, their unholy wine ; 
 ■Till from his gorg'd and heavy trance, supine, 
 The Tiger' self is waken'd ; — at his roar 
 
 Shudders the forest dense and many a line 
 Of light, uprising, cracks the lakelet o'er, 
 'Showing how quail its depths of gloom from shore to 
 shore. 
 
 He stands, the echo of yon' cavern 'd halls 
 And vaulted roofs still busy, with the sound 
 
 Of his terrific mandate ; the dank walls 
 
 Drooping their hearse — like banners, as rebound 
 Those deep tones, volura'd o'er the haunted ground. 
 
 And seeming from the lake's black depths to rise ; 
 He stands, arch fiend and tyrant, and aromid 
 
 Rolls the keen lightning of his crafty eyes, 
 Flames of full many a dire, unholiest sacrifice. 
 
 And once again 'tis silence, but no more 
 Deem we of darkness, as a desert waste. 
 
 But rather, as a ruin, peopl'd o'er [chas'd ; 
 
 By sights and sounds, from memory's empire 
 Loath'd and abhorr'd creations, which the past 
 
 Hurls on the future, and the future sees 
 
 With shrinking horror. List ! the midnight blast 
 
 Is stirring, trembling 'mid the peepul trees ; 
 In its dank waft we feel the pavising life-stream freeze.
 
 118 THE t'hAKOORINE, CONCLUSION. 
 
 It swells, it sweeps ; yon' forest of black leaves, 
 Each with a voice, its lordly potence owns ; 
 
 Yon billowy mass of sombre foliage heaves ; 
 Yon leafless skeleton despairing moans. 
 And the huge giant of the forest groans, 
 
 Disturb'd his sacred rest ; and many a sere, 
 Time-blighted banner bends its shrilly tones 
 
 From o'er yon ruin'd battlements, that rear [tear. 
 Their towers, erewhile the shrine of beauty's smile and 
 
 'Tis life and motion all ; but not that life 
 
 Of glee, which dances in the sunny ray ; 
 But power, but gloom excited into strife. 
 
 Emblem of manhood and his stormy day ; 
 
 The game of life and death — tlie mighty play, 
 With haggard eye, and stern, unwrinkl'd brow, 
 
 And cheek, unlighted by one transient ray, 
 Save that, in mockery shed, to garnish woe. 
 Ice of the tide that rolls, black, fathomless, below. 
 
 Is this the queenly capital ? — the deep. 
 
 Full tide of being, like an ocean roll'd, 
 Tumultuous, through her portals. Now they keep 
 
 Their watch, unblest, upon the haunted wold. 
 
 Whither, ah ! whither fled the throngs, of old 
 Countless as summer foliage ? — To the tomb ; 
 
 And where the marble stone the legend told
 
 CONCLUSION. THE T'hAKOORINE, 119 
 
 Of their dominion, springeth to assume [of gloom. 
 Their rights, their power and pride, some forest child 
 
 Weak is man's boasted sapience. Can he say 
 The present race claims not the race of yore 
 
 To be its ancestry ? One common clay 
 
 Subserveth each ; and that, man hoarded for 
 His blood inheritor, now swells the dower 
 
 Of some vast scion of the forest grim : 
 
 The peepul flutters in the begum's* bower, 
 
 And o'er the throne reclines each giant limb, [dim. 
 The burgut,f lord of aisles, green glades, and twilight 
 
 Behold, how mighty is his sway ! Below, 
 Full fifty fathom deeper than man's reign, 
 
 The mighty searchers on his mission go : 
 
 He lifts his head, and round him shower, as rain, 
 The massive fragments, which the roof sustain, 
 
 Built for a pigmy race : he eastward flings, 
 And west, his random arms, to shew how vain. 
 
 The column'd aisles, proud boast of former kings. — 
 High o'er the palace roof his matchless forehead springs. 
 
 Lone and in silence ; — 'tis the general doom ; 
 
 Successor of a race since pass'd away, 
 Each holds his heritage, in awful gloom, 
 
 * A princess. f The Banian Tree.
 
 120 THE T'hAKOORINE. CONCLUSION. 
 
 As pondering o'er some dim, far-distant day. 
 The soil that feeds them is the cast off clay 
 Of their forerunners. To the heavens are flown 
 
 Their love, their virtue, proof 'gainst chill decay, 
 And the dark shadow of their crimes, alone, 
 Broods in concentrate gloom, o'er flood and forest 
 
 [thrown. 
 
 Child of a vanish'd race ! what dost thou here ? 
 
 Woiildst thou the grim, gaunt tigress for thy mate, 
 Or, with the owl, her midnight mopings share, 
 
 Sagest of moralists o'er chance and fate ? 
 
 Is not thy couch prepar'd with the great. 
 Whom silence curtains in their marble halls ? 
 
 Where royal beauty shares thy pillow'd state, 
 
 And murmur'd anthems tremble round the walls. 
 
 As for the mighty dead, some whisper'd requiem falls. 
 
 Thine aching head upon thy pillow rest ! 
 
 Close there thine eye, ere stiff the curtain grow ! 
 Whiles yet the tomb accounts thee hut a guest. 
 
 Whilst yet thy night another morn may know. 
 
 Yet, tho' thou slumber, time shall onward flow ; 
 And tho' thou sleep, death opes the lidless eye ; 
 
 And tho' they deeper sleep, who sleep below, 
 Soon shall thy rest, with theirs, in soundness vie. 
 And ages, as they roll, unheeded, pass thee by ! 
 
 FINIS.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE T'HAKOOEINE. 
 
 When an author adds anything to the tradition upon which he 
 founds a narrative, he is perhaps bound to quote the tradition as 
 he received it, lest that which is simple invention be confounded 
 with the fact or fable of more ancient origin. The Mahomme- 
 dan writers of the court of Delhi, bitterly prejudiced against a 
 race which, though subdued, regarded their conquerors with 
 scorn ; ignorant of the local traditions of Maandoo, and moreover, 
 disposed to sacrifice truth to court flattery in treating of a king 
 who was the rival of the great Mogul ; cannot be relied upon for 
 the history of the loves of Roope Muttie and Bauz Bahadoor. 
 
 The Hindoos appear to have no written record of the period ; 
 but they have many traditions which are sufficiently credible, 
 when due allowance has been made for superstition. I have 
 preferred following these, as better harmonizing with the asso- 
 ciations proper to a scene so romantic, whilst they render intelli- 
 gible the frenzy of the raonarcli's passion for this beautiful Hin- 
 doo maiden. 
 
 Sir John Malcolm, deceived as were the Mahommedans by her
 
 124 NOTES TO 
 
 name, which resembles those of the Nutlnies, has followed those 
 •writers in the notice he takes of her history. But the Hindoos 
 who are particularly jealous of the connections of their high-born 
 females with the Mahommedans, whom they detest, persist in 
 calling her a Rajpootnie, when, by allowing her to have been a 
 Nuttnie, the connection would not, in their eyes, be attended 
 with disgrace. 
 
 According, then, to the existing traditions, with which every Hin- 
 doo peasant is familiar, Bauz Bahadoor, the last king of Mahva, 
 a young and gallant prince, passionately fond of music, was one 
 day hunting in the forest bordering the right bank of the Nar- 
 budda : he had outridden all his retinue, (a very common occur- 
 rence when a king takes the field,) and was eagerly pursuing the 
 leopard and wild deer, when his ear was attracted by the most 
 exquisite flood of melody, from a neighbouring glade. He fol- 
 lowed the sound, and soon reached a spot where, seated beneath 
 a Burgut (Banian) tree, a young maiden was singing to the 
 woods, and to the wild deer and birds which had thronged thi- 
 ther, from far and near, to listen to her voice. He was dazzled 
 by her beauty, and enchanted by her unrivalled vocal powers. — 
 Her conversation riveted his love. He strove to win her heart 
 and hand. The first was speedily his, but the splendid lot to 
 which he wooed her could not tempt her to dishonour the sacred 
 race from which she had sprung. She replied to all his over- 
 tures, " when the Narbudda shall flow through Maandoo I will 
 be your bride, but not till then." Bauz Bahadoor was an ab- 
 solute monarch, and wanted not a thousand precedents for using 
 force where persuasion had failed. But his was genuine love, 
 that reverenced its beautiful object. He preferred rather to do 
 violence to nature, and to triumph over the elements, than to 
 wrong the pure virtue of the being upon whom depended his 
 happiness. Maandoo is elevated by precipices, at least one
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 125 
 
 thousand two hundred feet above the stream of the Narbudda ; 
 he determined that it should obey the voice of love and climb 
 this mountain height. He assembled for this purpose the whole 
 strength of his kingdom, and, axe in hand, himself led the way 
 to the river, confident in the power of the principle which in- 
 spired him. The river god beheld his approach with dismay. 
 He had often risen in his might and swept away the nations who 
 found their petty cities upon his shores, but he dreaded to try 
 his strength against the majesty of love. He rose before the 
 astonished people, in the form of a giant, whose forehead was 
 lost in the skies. " Desist," he cried, " from your rash attempt, 
 but receive the well merited reward of your love. Repair to 
 Maandoo, to a spot which overlooks our flood ; search there for 
 our sacred tamarisk and dig wherever it is found. Beneath it 
 thou shalt come to a pure spring, which being tributary to us 
 is part of our divinity. Thither bear thy bride, to live, as she 
 has often sworn to live, on the borders of her natal river." The 
 king obeyed ; he found the tamarisk ; he dug the fountain ; he 
 built near it a palace, and constructed a fine aqueduct to lead 
 the waters of the fountain to the baths of the palace. He 
 erected also an elegant kiosk, or summer-house, on a neigh- 
 bouring height, whence his bride might gaze down upon the 
 home of her childhood and the river of her love. Again, he 
 sought the maiden, and no longer in vain. The powers of the 
 spirit world had been summoned by the might of a love so pure 
 and ardent, and heaven itself had sanctioned the alliance. 
 Roope Muttie became the bride of Bauz Bahadoor, and queen 
 of Maandoo. The palace, though much injured, is yet standing ; 
 the fountain is unharmed by the lapse of years, but the aque- 
 duct is in ruins, and the kiosk has suffered considerably. 
 Enough remains to attest the truth of the main points of this 
 tradition, viz., that the maiden had vowed to be the monarch's
 
 126 NOTES TO 
 
 bride only when the Narbudda should be found in Maandoo, 
 and that the wit of the monarch was as keen as his love in dis- 
 covering the means of reconciling her inclination with her vow. 
 As to the river god, he is said to have appeared to the Maho- 
 medans as Quajer Khizzr; to the Hindoos, as the spirit of the 
 Narbudda. Others say that he appeared only in a dream ; and 
 this is probably the tale with which the monarch cheated his 
 young and beauteous mistress. 
 
 The tradition, as above narrated, is complete, and no more is 
 known in the neighbourhood of Maandoo of the fate of the 
 beautiful siren ; but as Bauz Bahadoor was at length driven from 
 his throne by the armies of the emperor Akbar, it is natural to 
 enquire farther of her fate. This is to be found in histories com- 
 piled by Moosulmauns, who hate her race and would willingly 
 throw ridicule upon her royal lover as being the rival of their 
 emperor. Yet even they allow that she followed his fortunes, 
 shared his sufferings, and, at length, stabbed herself. 
 
 Had Malcolm been well acquainted with the traditions of 
 Maandoo he would scarcely have fallen into the error of the 
 Mahomedan writers, in supposing the maiden to have been a 
 Nuttnie ; for the costly sacrifices made by the monarch to win 
 her hand could scarcely have been requisite in the case of a 
 Nuttnie. Tlie Nuttnies are a race of wandering minstrels, who 
 conduct Avithin their several districts all the fetes and religious 
 festivals of the Hindoos. The women, although not habitually 
 unchaste, arc not over scrupulous, and have no rank to lose in 
 society. 
 
 Page 3. Line 9. 
 (') The Bhecl is the aborigines of Malwa, and remains nearly in 
 a state of nature after having been subdued or persecuted for 
 several thousand years by Hindoo and Moosulmauu. Driven to
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 127 
 
 the monntaiiis by his tyrants, and even there pursued by their 
 unrelenting hatred, he has become a plunderer, partly from 
 necessity, partly from revenge. 
 
 The Bheel is low of stature and spare of make. He has no 
 more clothing than is barely sufficient for decency in a country 
 ■where the person is freely exposed. His arms are the bow 
 and arrow ; the buckler of buffaloe's hide ; the spear and the 
 sabre. He lives partly upon the milk of the cattle which he 
 feeds amongst his wild hills, and partly by the chace. He is 
 quite fearless of wild beasts, which he will attack, and some- 
 times slay, single handed. He builds a hut of bamboo and 
 reeds upon the hill-side, and under the protection of the British 
 government, is beginning to congregate these into villages, and 
 even to cultivate the soil. His hatred for the Mahomedans is 
 very great, his chief persecutions having been from them. His 
 own religion is not well understood : of late years he has become 
 almost a Hindoo. Although of no account as a soldier, the 
 Bheel is sometimes found to be a dangerous foe, liis country 
 being a natural fortress. His bow is made of the male bamboo ; 
 it is about five feet in length, very strong, but not well graduated. 
 The arrow is of wood, pointed with a long double-edged knife. 
 The effect, at short distances, is terrible, but the range is very 
 limited. 
 
 Page 13. Line 8. 
 (^) The stars, according to Mahomedans, are each the size 
 of a mountain near Mecca, and are hung by golden chains from 
 the sixth heaven. 
 
 Page 17. Line IL 
 
 (') The Mangoe bird, so called from being first heard when the 
 mangoe tree blossoms, is a species of cuckoo, the male of which
 
 128 NOTES Ta 
 
 being black has obtained for the species the name koel, (or 
 black). The female is very beautiful ; their plumage is dark 
 brown with still deeper marks ; the eye of either is a deep red. 
 The habits of this bird are as singular as its note : the female is 
 very rarely seen. When she appears she is close followed by 
 the male, shouting and laughing by turns. The natives of India 
 do not generally know of the existence of the female, supposing 
 the male and female to be alike, a very natural supposition, 
 because it is very common to see two males flying together or 
 chasing one another from bough to bough, sometimes with 
 shouts of wild laughter, at other times with the most mournful 
 of plaints. When alone, the note of the koel is always melan- 
 choly. Like other cuckoos, it deposits its eggs in the nest of 
 some other bird. I have frequently observed a crow giving its 
 first lessons in flying to a brood of young koels, much perplexed 
 and almost frightened at times by their uncouth notes, which at 
 that age resemble the cries of young puppies. 
 
 The Ganges, is said by Hindoos, to have been given to earth 
 in answer to the prayer of a sainted hermit who lived at Ghur- 
 mukteeswar. 
 
 Page 19. Line L 
 
 (•*) The fortress of Chittore is the most celebrated and sacred of 
 those possessed by Hindoos. It crowns an isolated mountain, 
 about five-hundred feet in height, and scarped by frightful pre- 
 cipices; its circuit is about eighteen miles. It was the seat of 
 the Rajpootre Govt : very highly venerated, and deemed impreg- 
 nable until besieged and taken, after a ten years' investment, 
 by the emperor Akbar. — See Tod's Rajhasthan. 
 
 The night previous to the final and successful assault the 
 guardian demon of the place appeared to the king and took leave 
 of him.
 
 THE t'hakookine. 129 
 
 At this fatal announcement, the qneen invited all virtuous 
 Rajpootnes to follow her to freedon> from the threatened violation 
 of the Moslems; and at the head of nearly all the females of the 
 place, marched to a cavern sacred to Doorga, demon of destruc- 
 tion, where fuel had been piled for the purpose. She then fired 
 the pyre, and they were all destroyed by the flames. Their 
 bones are still to be seen in this vault, of which the Hindoos 
 have a superstitious dread. 
 
 Chittore was thrice sacked by the Mossulmauns, and this 
 triple sack of their most sacred city has become the most fearful 
 and inviolable of oaths amongst Rajpootnes. 
 
 The Govt, after the third attack, was removed to Oodipore, a 
 town bordering on a small but beautiful lake. There it still 
 continues, but as a mere wreck of its former self. 
 
 Page 26. Line 8. 
 
 (^) The Sahrus is a beautiful and very large variety of crane ; 
 the plumage is of a delicate slate color. The head is crimson. 
 The form of the body and neck is extremely graceful. This bird 
 is much respected by Hindoos, although not sacred according 
 to any of their scriptures. 
 
 I once asked a Hindoo why it was never molested ; he re- 
 plied, it lives in pairs and if one is killed the other cannot find a 
 mate, but pines away from grief. It is, therefore, an outrage of 
 nature to kill a sahrus. Many Hindoos, however, extend their 
 veneration further, and believe the sahrus to be especially 
 favoured of heaven. The servant of a friend of mine shot a 
 sahrus, and gave the following account of it. " The sahrus was 
 sitting in a fen ; I crept up under a bank, and fired at him — he 
 fell. I would have risen to seize him, but au invisible hand 
 struck me to the earth, and I could not for some time move.
 
 130 NOTES TO 
 
 When, at length I arose, I dared not approach the bird ; and so 
 long as I live I "svill never molest a salirus." It is probable 
 that the recoil of his gun was mistaken by this superstitious 
 creature for the invisible hand. 
 
 Page 27. Line 15. 
 
 (^) Qwajr Khysur, or Khizr, literally, " my Lord Elija." This 
 prophet is supposed by Mahometans to preside, in form of an 
 angel, seated upon a fish, over all rivers and streams. Boats, 
 laden with sweet spices and lamps, are set afloat at night upon 
 rivers, as offerings to this spirit for the safe return of an absent 
 friend, or the recovery of a beloved one from sickness. Even 
 the Hindoo of the present day has adopted this elegant super- 
 stition, and I found a temple upon an island in the Indus, near 
 Bukkur, erected by a Hindoo to Qwajur Khizr. 
 
 PageSL Line 21. 
 
 (J) The Bueyr is the Indian Grosbeak, a very small bird, that 
 weaves for itself a pensile nest from slender roots, so admirably 
 and elegantly constructing the fabric, and with so much ap- 
 pearance of forethought and design, that it is extremely difficult 
 to believe it the work of any but a rational being. The nest 
 is about sixteen inches in height, very narrow above, (where it 
 is fixed to some slender bough,) and terminating below in a 
 large bulb, at the bottom of which is the entrance. Ozi entering, 
 the bird ascends and afterwards descends into the nest. 
 
 As the nest is always suspended from some very delicate 
 though tough branch, (the date is usually preferred,) it is most 
 completely protected against the thousand foes, whether hawk, 
 kite, monkey, or ichneumon, which this little bird must other- 
 wise dread.
 
 THE T'HAKOORINE. ^31 
 
 Page 41. Lines. 
 («) The Rajpoolnes are divided into two grand families, the 
 Sooryapootra and Chundrapootra, or sun descended and moon 
 descended. 
 
 Page 42. Line 15. 
 
 (9) The Vindheeia moimtains are a range of precipices about 
 one thousand five hundred feet high, facing the south, in the 
 latitude of the tropic of Cancer, where the sun terminates his 
 journey northward and returns towards the line ; hence Hin- 
 doos believe that he is turned back by this insurmountable 
 barrier. The Narbudda flows between the Vindheeia and Sut- 
 poora ranges of mountains. 
 
 Page 44. Line G. 
 
 ('°) Cambaia. In this bay stood the sacred and celebrated 
 temple, in which Mahmood found such countless treasure on 
 breaking, with his mace, the golden idol that contained it. 
 Beyond the limits here described, a Hindoo loses his cast and 
 hopes of salvation. For this cause, in the Bengal service, there 
 are corps especially raised for foreign service, consisting chiefly 
 of Moosulmauns and low cast Hindoos. Yet we have seen, on 
 the late invasion of AfFghanistan, an army of some 15,000 
 Hindoos march across the Indus, their sacred Attok, without 
 hesitation or a murmur ; so great is their reverence for the Govt 
 they serve. 
 
 Page 45. Line 12. 
 (»') Both Hindoo and Moosulmaun decorate very highly their 
 state elephants. The ornaments are of gold, silver, and jewels ; 
 the trappings of coloured cloth and velvet, richly laced with gold. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 KOTES TO 
 
 Page 45. Line 14. 
 ('*) Many of the elephants are taught to roar the instant their 
 master has dismounted, and again when he mounts. The roar 
 of the elephant casts into shade the voices of all other animals. 
 The tiger's is scarcely heard near it. 
 
 Page 46. Line 5. 
 
 (") Asseer, (or Asseergurh, signifying fortress, of Asseer) is 
 a hill fort in the Dukkun, the mangoe of which is the most 
 delicious fruit I have ever tasted. 
 
 Page 47. Line 3. 
 
 ('•*) Until the Moslem conquest of India the Hindoo females 
 were unveiled ; but the presence of a supreme race, who veil 
 their females, inevitably leads to the seclusion of those of the 
 conquered race; and the Hindoo female, of the present day, is 
 almost as carefully veiled as the Moosulmaunee. In Hindoo 
 states, where Moosulmauns have had less influence, as, for in- 
 stance, amongst the Maharattas, the females still enjoy a little 
 freedom. 
 
 Page 55. Line 15. 
 ('*) The scptemtriones or great bear. The Arabs seem to 
 regard with great awe these mystic watchers, drawing omens, 
 from their position in the heavens, at the outset of a voyage. 
 
 Page 55. Line 17. 
 
 ('^) The Pleiades seem to be universally regarded as a benig- 
 nant constellation.
 
 THE T HAKOORINE. 
 
 133 
 
 Page 55. Line 22. 
 
 C) The Herrn pahl, or deer's leap, is a portion of the Nar- 
 budda, at which the stream is very much narrowed by its rocky 
 banks. An isolated rock in the centre forms a link between the 
 two shores ; and tradition says that a deer, hard pressed by the 
 hounds, here leapt the Narbudda. 
 
 Page 5. Line 10. 
 
 ('^) "And he said, who art thou? And she answered, I am 
 Ruth, thy handmaid : spread, therefore; thy skirt over thy 
 handmaid, for thou art a near kinsman." — Ruth, chap. iii. v. 9. 
 
 Page 58. Line 12. 
 
 ('^) Bhoje was one of the most wealthy of the kings of India. 
 His Govt was held at Oojyne, and many marvels are related of 
 his magnificence. 
 
 Jaum is Jaumsheed, or Jumsheed, "the endowed with the 
 cup," of whom there are traditions even amongst the Hindoos, 
 borrowed, perhaps, from their conquerors. 
 
 Page 59. Line 1. 
 (*") One of the most interesting cases of the sacrifice of a T'fea- 
 koorine by poison, to save her from a marriage derogatory to her 
 birth, is that of the young and lovely Kishen Kower, princess of 
 Oodipore ; for which see " Malcolm's Central India." The 
 inexorable queen is Doorga, or Kalie, goddess of hell and demon 
 of destruction, to whom all human sacrifices are offered. 
 
 About twelve years ago, a Brahmun carried to a money 
 changer at Bareilly, in Rohilkond a brick of gold which he had 
 found among the ruins, desiring the banker to give him its value 
 in cash. Fearing that if the case were known, the Govt might 
 seize part or whole, he did not take with him any witness of the
 
 134 NOTES TO 
 
 transaction. The money changer desired him to leave the mass 
 of gold, that it might be sawn assunder and tested. The Brahmun 
 complied. Upon returning to claim the price, the money changer 
 denied in toto the transaction. It was vain for the Brahmun to 
 argue or to threaten ; the gold was clearly lost. The blood of a 
 Brahmun is only less sacred than that of a cow. To incur the 
 stain of a Brahmun's blood is a curse so fearful, that few Hindoos 
 have ever dared it. The Brahmun, greedy of revenge, and 
 unable to procure it from any earthly tribunal, -went with his 
 only son to a temple of Doorgah, in one of the thick groves on 
 the North of Bareilly, and there, before the shrine of the demon, 
 deliberately beheaded his son and only child ; remaining with 
 the body after this horrible actjjin order that every circumstance 
 might be known to the world. 
 
 Page 65. Line 8. 
 ('^') I have here used the word Peri, or rather Purrie, as 
 better understood and more euphonious than Yukshnie or 
 Yognie, the Hindoo names for fairies. Purrie is the Arabic 
 and Persian fiiiry, but the offices are precisely similar. INIany 
 such liberties will be found in this poem. It may be once for 
 all observed, that the superstitions of two races, living in such 
 close contact, naturally became intermingled ; so that Mahome- 
 dans sometimes drink Ganges water to cleanse the heart, and 
 Hindoos set afloat lights and incense to my Lord Elija. 
 
 Page 3. Line 8. 
 (") I know not by what right Tod calls the kingdoms of the 
 Rajpootnes, Ilajhasthan, and I have not his work for reference. 
 It is an union of a Hindoo and a Persian word, Raja and Stahn. 
 
 Page 90. Line 19. 
 ('■') Throughout the east the science of Greece has given her
 
 THE t'hakoorine. 135 
 
 children great reputation as magicians. As the story required 
 some exposition of so miraculous a work as the compulson of a 
 mighty river to flow over a mountain summit, I have united 
 the possible with the marvellous, and introduced the screw of 
 Archimedes to solve the problem. 
 
 Page 94. Line 13. 
 (''') The Tooreumun horse, from Khaurism, is the most 
 esteemed in Asia for the purposes of war, owing to his superior 
 size and strength ; he bears accordingly an enormous price in 
 India. The most favourite breeds are those of the Tukka and 
 Yahmoot tribes ; the first is the more showy, the second, the 
 more serviceable. The finest of either kind may be purchased 
 in Khaurism for from fifty to sixty-five pounds. 
 
 Page 95. Line 4. 
 
 (**) The river Sarduh is a noble stream, tributary to the Gan- 
 ges, and formerly, according to Hindoo tradition, worshipped as 
 the sacred Ganges. Its source is more southern than that of the 
 Ganges, and skirting the cast of Rahilkimd, it flows through 
 Oude into that river. It is deeper and more rapid than the 
 Ganges at the same parallel of latitude. Its course through 
 forests of Sawl and Seesoo is very fine ; and those forests con- 
 tain tigers, wild elephants, the rhinoceros, leopard, bear, hog, 
 and deer iimumerable. 
 
 Page 96. Line, 25. 
 
 C"') The rape of Leeta, bride of the hero Saam, is one of the 
 most favorite subjects of Hindoo verse, and is annually cele- 
 brated by a performance in which the giants are represented 
 by huge figures filled with fireworks ; Raam and Seeta by young 
 children, the handsomest being chosen : and the bears and mon-
 
 136 NOTES TO THE T'HAKOORINE. 
 
 keys who assisted Raam, by men, so disguised. Formerly it 
 was the custom to administer to the two children enacting 
 Raam and Seeta, poison in their sweetmeats, that they might 
 never profane the mysteries they had celebrated ; but I have 
 reason to hope, that in many districts, this horrible custom is 
 prevented by the vigilance of our magistrates. 
 
 Page 101. Line 2. 
 (") The scorn and detestation in which the Rajpootre holds 
 the Moslem cannot be exaggerated by the strongest language ; 
 yet only the Oodipoor royal family escaped the pollution of an 
 alliance with the line of Timoor, fear and ambition alike pre- 
 vailing over the virtue of the rest. 
 
 Page 102. Line 19. 
 (^8) The Tartars and Moguls decorate the reins of their horses 
 with scales of silver and gold, set Avith precious stones ; these 
 trappings are often very costly and elegant. The thongs scaled 
 with silver, which fall over the neck to defend it from sabre 
 cuts, are especially so ; and the effect upon a dapple-grey, or 
 black horse, is extremely fine. 
 
 Page 114. Line 7. 
 
 (*'') See Malcolm's Central India for an account of a tigress 
 and her brood, found in one of these baths. 
 
 I, myself, saw the carcass of another lying in a bowlie, or sub- 
 terranean bath, in which it had been shot ; and none of the old 
 palaces can be entered, prudently, excepting in parties well 
 armed. During the time that I was sketching these beautiful 
 remains I had my double-barrelled gun in my lap, to prevent 
 surprise from any of the numerous tigers and leopards, now the 
 sole inhabitants of this once magnificent city. 
 
 B. VAKTY, PRINTER, 87, CAMOMILE STREET, BISHOPSGATE.
 
 ERKATA IN THE T'HAKOORINE 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 xxiv, line 8, for uinueasured, read immeasured. 
 2, line 11, fordeadful, read deadly. 
 
 13, transpose line 7 between lines 5 and 6. 
 
 14, line 21, for fall, read fell. 
 
 14, line 23, for minstrel's, read minstrel'. 
 
 25, line 12, for It's, read the. 
 
 26, line 1, to page 28, line 20, inverted commas. 
 28, line 21, inverted commas. 
 
 30, line 23, for like, read a. 
 
 50, line 22, for rests, read sleeps. 
 
 56, last line, for the, read her. 
 
 92, line 17, for the, read that. 
 
 95, line 12, for murmers, read murmurs, 
 
 95, line 22, for the, read that. 
 
 96, line 5, for chilly, read shrilly. 
 
 105, last line, for night-fiends, read night-hag's. 
 
 118, line 7, for bends, read lends. 
 
 118, last line, for the, read its. 
 
 120, line 11, for prepar'd, read prepar'd thee. 
 
 129, line 2, for Rajpootnes, read Rajpootres. 
 
 129, line 11, for Rajpootnes, read Rajpootres. 
 
 131, line 1, for Rajpootnes, read Rajpootres. 
 
 133, line 22, for Rohilkond, read Rohilkund, 
 
 134, line 25, for Rajpootnes, read Rajpootres. 
 
 135, line 2, for compulson, read conpulsion. 
 135, line 6, for Tooreumun, read Toorcumun. 
 135, line 16, for Rahilkund, read Rohilkund. 
 135, line 22, for Leeta, read Seeta. 
 
 135, line 32, for Saam, read Raam.
 
 136 NOTKS TO THE T HAKOORINE. 
 
 armed. During the time that I was sketching these beautiful 
 remains I had my double-barrelled gun in my lap, to prevent 
 surprise from any of the numerous tigers and leopards, now the 
 sole inhabitants of this once magnificent city. 
 
 n. VARTV, rRINTEU, 87, CAMOMILE STREET, BISHOrSGATE.
 
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