THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 **-* - of . TT 
 
 OL-w^-
 
 INDIAN INK
 
 INDIAN INK 
 
 A COLLECTION OF VERSES 
 WRITTEN IN EXILE 
 
 BV 
 
 C. W. WADDINGTON, C.I.E. 
 
 BICKERS & SON, LTD. 
 
 LONDON, W.C. 
 1908 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 TO 
 
 F. C. O. B. 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF OLD DAYS 
 
 960SGO
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 THE greater number of these occasional Poems 
 have appeared at intervals in the * Times of 
 India ' over the nom-de-plume t Byronides,' and I 
 desire to express my gratitude to the proprietors 
 of that journal for their courteous permission to 
 republish them. 
 
 If there are any sojourners in the East whose 
 tedious leisure has been beguiled for a moment 
 by such verses, and who now think them worthy 
 to be resuscitated, I shall be rewarded beyond 
 expectation. 
 
 C. W. W. 
 
 CRAIGWEIL, 
 
 ALDWICK : 
 October 1908.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 N 
 
 PAE 
 
 I. DON JUAN UP TO DATE. . . .3 
 
 II. TO THE LAUREL 25 
 
 HI. ODE TO MEMORY 31 
 
 IV. TIME AND DEATH 36 
 
 V. ON THE GHATS 38 
 
 VI. DEATH'S GARLAND ..... 45 
 
 VII. SONNET 47 
 
 VIII. TO CYNTHIA 49 
 
 IX. AD AMICOS 53 
 
 X. BEAUTY'S EYES 5 6 
 
 XI. LAUDABUNT ALII S 8 
 
 XII. ABSENCE 62 
 
 XIII. TO BARINE 64
 
 X CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XIV. THE OLD GREY BOAR .... 66 
 
 XV. NEW YEAR'S DAY 71 
 
 XVI. A VISION OF SINGHAD .... 75 
 
 XVII. AT BRINDISI 78 
 
 XVIII. YOUNG INDIA 82 
 
 XIX. AFRICA 87 
 
 XX. CAWNPUR 92 
 
 XXI. FAREWELL TO INDIA .... 96
 
 INDIAN INK
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 MY friends and countrymen, I've got no hero, 
 
 Of this or any other age or clime, 
 As bold as Ajax, or as base as Nero ; 
 
 I must admit the blunder, or the crime ; 
 But still my motto is l Dum spiro, spero,' 
 
 And so I trust you'll read my random rhyme ; 
 Or if my aspirations vainly flatter, 
 We'll part good friends at least, and so no matter. 
 
 But ye who venture, whether right or wrong, 
 To read, mark, learn, and eke digest my lay, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 Who've got a taste for sober, serious song, 
 I can assure you that it will repay ; 
 
 Or, at the worst, it is not very long, 
 
 Because I've really nothing much to say ; 
 
 Besides, I'm but a 'prentice kind of poet, 
 
 Which if you doubt, my rhymes will clearly 
 show it. 
 
 I've no pretensions to the epic laurel, 
 
 My Pegasus is rather short in stride ; 
 With nobler bards I would not pick a quarrel, 
 
 And humbly leave them to their fame and 
 pride ; 
 
 But still my modest tale contains a moral, 
 By which you all may be much edified, 
 And so my Muse shall tell you what she knows 
 In simple, homely verse, next door to prose.
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 5 
 
 My Muse untutored cannot mouth with ease ; 
 
 She is an unsophisticated maid ; 
 I'll follow her example, if you please, 
 
 According to a maxim of the trade 
 That honesty with policy agrees, 
 
 And in my rhymes you'll find a spade's a spade ; 
 The sea's the sea, and not * the foaming main,' 
 A fool a fool, and not * a lovesick swain.' 
 
 A wife's a wife, and not ' a faithful spouse,' 
 I beg the sex's pardon, if I should, 
 
 But no offence is meant to nuptial vows, 
 
 My story soon will make this statement good ; 
 
 I do my best to give the * why's ' and * how's,' 
 And hope I shall not be misunderstood ; 
 
 Above all vices worthy of damnation 
 
 I most abominate insinuation.
 
 6 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 I like a bluff, bold, manly kind of fellow, 
 
 Who speaks his mind, both in and out of 
 
 season, 
 
 Who greets you with * You're looking rather 
 yellow,' 
 
 For which there sometimes is sufficient reason, 
 Particularly when the night's been mellow ; 
 
 The ladies too, (I'm sure this is no treason) 
 At least all those who've kept the bloom of youth, 
 Like to be told the honest, downright truth. 
 
 And so I'll tell it them, the lovely dears ; 
 
 Their charms are legion, virtues quite as many, 
 Alike enchanting in their smiles and tears ; 
 
 I'll lay my choicest lovelock to a penny 
 They never cause their lords one moment's fears, 
 
 Or if they do, I'm sure I've not met any ; 
 So now I've made my peace with them again, 
 I may proceed to safely damn the men.
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 7 
 
 I hate all Viceroys, Governors, and such, 
 All High Court Judges, howsoever sage, 
 
 All Humbugs, whether English, French, or 
 
 Dutch, 
 Who strut in borrowed plumes upon the stage ; 
 
 Perhaps my curses will not harm them much, 
 Considering that the prayer-book's foremost 
 page 
 
 Beseeches Heaven to bless them, as we do 
 
 On Sundays, and of course on weekdays too. 
 
 I hate Commissions, as I hate a Bore ; 
 
 The last on Opium was a trifle lame ; 
 Our noble friends at home who make the law 
 
 Are blessed with a peculiar sense of shame, 
 And keep the nation's virtues to the fore 
 
 By pointing out where others are to blame ; 
 I wonder how the British lord, or lackey, 
 Would like a stoppage on his beer and 'baccy !
 
 8 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 I do detest the vanishing rupee ; 
 
 But hope it will not vanish altogether, 
 For if it does, I really do not see 
 
 What we shall do for clothing or shoe leather ; 
 The times are changed from what they used 
 to be, 
 
 (But that remark's as trite as is the weather) 
 Old maxims, too, no longer hold their sway ; 
 Exchange is robbery, whate'er they say. 
 
 I've no great fancy for the income-tax, 
 Especially when paid on * Compensation ' ; 
 
 I deprecate all morals that are lax, 
 And so to obviate the like temptation 
 
 To mortal flesh, which is as melting wax, 
 According to my frequent observation, 
 
 I don't approve of moonlight walks or rides, 
 
 Or billet-doux and Heaven knows what besides.
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 9 
 
 You'll think there is no end to my aversions, 
 And beg me to cut short my good advice ; 
 I fear you'll disregard my wise assertions, 
 
 Although, like pearls, they are beyond all 
 
 price ; 
 And therefore, like the ancient Medes and 
 
 Persians, 
 
 I'll sum my moral creed up in a trice ; 
 If you desire my hearty approbation, 
 Avoid all lying, stealing, and flirtation. 
 
 All these are practices most reprehensible, 
 And several other things we're best without 
 
 Are quite eschewed by people who are sensible, 
 As lobster-salad, trifle, bottled stout ; 
 
 But that which is the least of all defensible, 
 Fond husbands, anxious mothers, bear me 
 out,
 
 10 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 In wilful wives, or bread-and-butter misses, 
 Is giving, taking, or exchanging kisses. 
 
 This brings me to my story. O the days, 
 The days of youth, but mine, alas, no more, 
 
 When Nature seemed a song of prayer and praise ! 
 Perhaps you may have heard that line before ; 
 
 Methinks I've somewhere read another phrase 
 Concerning * Nature red in tooth and claw,' 
 
 When little creatures are the big ones' food ; 
 
 But all depends upon the poet's mood. 
 
 So now I say, all Nature was a song ; 
 
 We'll waive the question of the teeth and 
 
 claws, 
 Because I fear 'twould occupy us long, 
 
 Since wisest brains have failed to show the 
 cause.
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE II 
 
 I beg you'll contradict me when I'm wrong, 
 And now proceed without a further pause 
 The history of my heroine relating ; 
 'Tis not polite to keep a lady waiting. 
 
 I said I had a hero. Fairness claims 
 
 That I should introduce my heroine too. 
 
 My hero's patronymic shall be James, 
 As well as any other, this will do ; 
 
 It is not always wise to mention names, 
 Besides, this story's perfectly untrue, 
 
 Unless but this is most improbable you happen 
 
 To come across a pair to fit the cap on. 
 
 My heroine was called but let that pass 
 Enough that she was virtuous and fair, 
 
 Was not too fond of looking in the glass, 
 
 A merit, join'd with beauty, somewhat rare ;
 
 12 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 Her eyes were but 'twould be the merest farce 
 
 To try to picture you her eyes, or hair ; 
 She had a husband, who possessed her heart, 
 But owned a weakness for the healing art. 
 
 My hero, James, belonged to that profession, 
 Renowned for breaking hearts and saving lives ; 
 
 A curious fact, which came to my possession 
 By observation both of maids and wives ; 
 
 I'm confident pray pardon this digression 
 You'll see its value when the time arrives, 
 
 That e'en if ^sculapius saved a few, 
 
 He must have been a lady-killer too. 
 
 Merchants are men of wealth, and that has 
 
 charms ; 
 The lawyer's honesty deserves our praise ;
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 13 
 
 There's something to attract in well-stocked 
 farms, 
 
 Though Irish agriculture hardly pays ; 
 A curate's life is free from war's alarms ; 
 
 Sailors, I'm told, have most engaging ways ; 
 Than British soldiers no one less afraid is, 
 But doctors are more popular with ladies. 
 
 My time is short, my tale is scarce begun, 
 Explaining this would cost a deal of trouble, 
 
 Like showing how the earth goes round the sun, 
 And sometimes also why the moon looks 
 double ; 
 
 To quote examples is too often done, 
 A tiresome task, as empty as a bubble ; 
 
 Myself, if fickle Memory does not cozen, 
 
 Could well recount to you at least a dozen.
 
 14 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 O Memory ! Thine is the magic lamp 
 
 That summons up whate'er we fain would see, 
 That brings the light to dungeon dark and damp, 
 
 And cheers the exiled heart which clings to 
 
 thee, 
 That earth-worn captives from the iron clamp 
 
 Of custom and the weight of years doth free ; 
 Attend ! Thou Spirit of the mind, obey, 
 Breathe o'er my soul, and chase the mists away ! 
 
 Recall the hours, the winged hours of bliss, 
 
 That swift as homing birds have fled before ; 
 Recall young love's first, tender, passionate kiss, 
 The spell that bound us, but can bind no 
 
 more ; 
 Hope's radiant visions, which long since we 
 
 miss, 
 The syrens who beguiled us to their shore,
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 15 
 
 Our youth's enchanted garden, where we strayed, 
 And gazed on goddesses 'neath every shade. 
 
 Mnemosyne ! Thou art a goddess, too, 
 The saddest still that visits mortal sight ; 
 
 How often dost thou steal upon my view, 
 Thy face half hidden 'neath the veil of night, 
 
 Thy brow all pale with grief for ever new, 
 Dim eyes that seek, but cannot find, the light, 
 
 Faint hands outstretched to reach a bygone 
 while, 
 
 And lips that tremble even when they smile ! 
 
 James and his goddess sat, a blissful pair, 
 Upon a dogcart, as is now the fashion ; 
 
 Her eyes were bright, her spirits light as air, 
 She'd got an exquisitely pretty sash on ;
 
 16 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 His heart was like a schoolboy's at a fair, 
 
 Or like a coster's when he's got a * mash ' 
 
 on ; 
 
 A vulgar term, unsuited to my Muse, 
 But poets cannot always pick and choose. 
 
 How close they were, I can't pretend to say, 
 Upon their privacy we won't intrude ; 
 
 'Tis bad to be de trap in any way, 
 
 To spoil a tete-a-tete is downright rude ; 
 
 But using inference, if so I may, 
 By logical deduction I conclude 
 
 That they were close enough it must be said 
 
 To make the gallant doctor lose his head. 
 
 Saint Anthony, in the holy, ancient tale, 
 Was wont to keep a bed of snow for use 
 
 Whene'er the flesh seemed likely to prevail ; 
 But James's conduct was without excuse,
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 17 
 
 His resolutions proved so very frail, 
 
 Nor can we deem it may his guilt reduce 
 That here, if e'er forbidden fruits entice, 
 We've got no snow to put a check on vice. 
 
 Proximity ! Thou art the very deuce ! 
 
 Expression rather strong my feeling needs ; 
 I can't help quoting, though I seem abstruse, 
 
 * How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Makes ill deeds done.' But do not here deduce ; 
 
 A seeming-apt quotation oft misleads, 
 And this one is not really a propos, 
 Because the lady had no need of snow. 
 
 She ordered James to sever his connection, 
 Of course without the ghost of an embrace ; 
 
 He underwent a kind of vivisection, 
 
 So cutting were her words, and from her face 
 
 C
 
 1 8 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 He learned his crime was of the worst com- 
 plexion. 
 
 She banished him forthwith in deep disgrace, 
 And later this to wives I recommend 
 She told her husband all about her friend. 
 
 I can't enough commend her strict propriety, 
 A virtue sadly wanting here of late, 
 
 Her candour, caution, judgment, and sobriety, 
 Which must endear her greatly to her mate ; 
 
 The matter now is one of notoriety 
 
 That, spite of efforts to improve my state, 
 
 I still drag on a wretched single life, 
 
 But pray that Heaven may send me such a wife. 
 
 I wish I was a Turk, to marry four ! 
 
 My happiness would be increased fourfold ; 
 A simple calculation shows, the more 
 
 You have, the better, as with bags of gold ;
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 19 
 
 I'd never be obliged to lock the door, 
 
 Though they were not the least decayed, or 
 
 old; 
 
 If I were only certain of my pension, 
 I'd start to-morrow where, I need not mention. 
 
 The husband was a man of moderation ; 
 
 I'd wish to find his like in every foe ; 
 Without a trace of wrath or indignation 
 
 He spoke no hasty word, nor struck a blow ; 
 Desiring only James's reformation, 
 
 Extremely anxious that no blood should flow, 
 In candour, too, no whit his wife's inferior, 
 He just reported James to his superior. 
 
 I can't find words to laud his magnanimity, 
 His calmness under fearful provocation, 
 
 Forbearance, self-control, and equanimity ; 
 'Tis very rare in any rank or station 
 
 c 2
 
 2O DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 To find such paragons in close proximity 
 
 Alike insensible to all temptation ; 
 Virtues like theirs on earth are highly prized ; 
 I doubt not they will both be canonized. 
 
 But for Don James I've not the slightest pity ; 
 
 I further state, I can't abide the jokes 
 Of stupid people striving to be witty 
 
 By poking fun at sober married folks ; 
 The humour of a comic coster's ditty 
 
 'Tis on a level with a vulgar hoax, 
 To true morality most deleterious ; 
 I beg you won't suppose I am not serious. 
 
 Don James's case was tried without delay, 
 But yet without indecent haste or fury, 
 
 They sent him to perdition, that's to say, 
 Without a counsel, witness, judge, or jury.
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 21 
 
 'Twas prompt and expeditious, like the way 
 
 They execute the villain at old Drury ; 
 The gods, and eke the pit, rejoice to find 
 That Justice does not always lag behind. 
 
 There is no doubt we are a moral nation ; 
 
 'Tis greatly owing to our good democracy, 
 And also to the rigid reformation 
 
 Displayed of late by all our aristocracy ; 
 But that which chiefly claims our veneration 
 
 Is what we'll style our Exeter-Hall-ocracy ; 
 Don Juans have existed since the Flood, 
 But nowadays we nip them in the bud. 
 
 I greatly fear my tale is nipped as well, 
 
 And so will take my leave, with your per- 
 mission.
 
 22 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 Although I wish that there were more to tell. 
 My rhyming fills me with profound con- 
 trition, 
 
 But still the moral makes my bosom swell, 
 'Tis such as will improve your soul's con- 
 dition, 
 
 And raise you far above Don James's level, 
 Whose virtuous friends consigned him to the 
 devil. 
 
 They clasped each other close, that saintly pair ; 
 
 We leave them in a conjugal embrace ; 
 Meanwhile poor James was verging on despair, 
 
 Confronted thus by ruin and disgrace ; 
 'Tis time to leave him, too, you'll all declare, 
 
 He's lost his reputation and his place, 
 And, till his footing gets a little stronger, 
 We can associate with him no longer.
 
 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 23 
 
 Alas ! How fleeting are all human ties ! 
 
 We love to-day where we may loathe to- 
 morrow, 
 And, as the wheel of fickle Fortune flies, 
 
 Now lend to those from whom full soon we 
 
 borrow. 
 Life is but change, Hereafter but surmise, 
 
 And Ignorance is but our crown of sorrow ; 
 There's nothing certain, said the sage sardonic, 
 And least of all that love miscalled Platonic. 
 
 To cease to sing is worst of poet's woes ; 
 
 But yet, my readers, it may well appear 
 That you would crave from me some slight repose ; 
 
 Glad is the pilgrim when the haven's near ; 
 The sermon's, or the curtain-lecture's close 
 
 Is welcome to the sinner's wearied ear ; 
 Since Friendship is so fleeting, yield to Fate, 
 And let us part, before perchance we hate !
 
 24 DON JUAN UP TO DATE 
 
 Yet one more moral, ere my story ends, 
 
 (Of others you'll discover not a few) 
 Don't drive in dogcarts with your lady friends, 
 
 And never ask for kisses, if you do. 
 For one false step 'tis vain to make amends ; 
 
 Farewell to James, farewell, my readers, too ; 
 I fain would linger with you, yet, farewell, 
 And envy those who do not kiss but tell.
 
 TO THE LAUREL 
 
 NYMPH thou wast, until the God 
 Changed thee to a matchless tree, 
 To grace the soil thy feet had trod 
 
 With more divinity. 
 The Olive and the Myrtle fair, 
 
 Thy sister plants of Love and Peace, 
 Fragrant beside thee filled the air, 
 The hallow'd air of Greece. 
 
 Thou the meed of victor's brow 
 Where the high triumphal car 
 
 With brazen wheel and gilded prow 
 Displayed the spoils of war ;
 
 26 TO THE LAUREL 
 
 Or where the bard's melodious rage, 
 Enkindled at the eternal shrine, 
 Inspired of old the listening sage 
 With madness all divine. 
 
 Thee the Sun-god, bard and seer, 
 Gave to guard his altar's pale, 
 
 Where by Castalia's fountain clear 
 
 The cliffs o'erhang the vale ; 
 Where heaven-illumined embers kept 
 The flame that age to age supplies ; 
 Around in bronze and marble slept 
 A thousand effigies. 
 
 From the Hyampeian steep 
 
 Hear the swelling trumpets peal, 
 Till o'er the far Crissaean deep 
 The echoes faintly steal !
 
 TO THE LAUREL 
 
 Through pillar'd court and colonnade 
 The solemn chanting softly winds, 
 And in the green encircling glade 
 Responsive murmur finds. 
 
 Lo ! The snowy-cinctured band 
 Round the bleeding victim go, 
 
 With wreathed staff, and burning brand, 
 
 And censer swinging slow ; 
 They pace by many a statue tall, 
 By many a gift of Eastern kings, 
 
 By sculptured frieze, and pictured wall, 
 And strange emblazonings. 
 
 Lustral water sprinkle now 
 
 From the golden fonts around ! 
 Let laurel bind the favoured brow 
 That enters holy ground !
 
 28 TO THE LAUREL 
 
 Again uplift the trumpet's blast 
 To hail the God's attentive sign ! 
 The pilgrim" stands alone, aghast, 
 Before the inmost shrine. 
 
 Back the burnish'd gates are rolled ; 
 Louder yet the trumpets bray ; 
 
 The yawning rocks their depths unfold ; 
 
 The quivering lightnings play ; 
 The thunder rolls, the skies are rent, 
 The laurels nod, the tripod reels, 
 The gulf in smoke and vapour blent 
 A fearful form reveals. 
 
 Fast and faster beats his heart ; 
 Dizzy, mazed, he scarce can hear 
 The priestess on her throne apart, 
 In mystery and fear,
 
 TO THE LAUREL 29 
 
 With lips that foam, and eyes that flame, 
 And fever'd limbs to frenzy given, 
 In accents dark and dread- proclaim 
 The high decrees of Heaven. 
 
 Long hath ceased that ancient spell, 
 Long by Delphi's ruin'd shrine, 
 By lonely cliff, and vacant cell, 
 
 The echoes dumbly pine ; 
 No more beside their fountain fair 
 The Muses chant at sunset hour ; 
 No more the riven rocks declare 
 The God's prophetic power. 
 
 Far from that forsaken fire 
 Strays Apollo, bard and seer ; 
 
 Yet still 'tis thine to wreathe the lyre, 
 To deck the hero's bier ;
 
 30 TO THE LAUREL 
 
 The serried host of stars that wheel 
 In endless march across the sky 
 Shall falter ere thy garlands feel 
 Time's fatal enmity. 
 
 Me no wreath of bay shall bless, 
 
 Pluck'd from off thy deathless boughs ; 
 No fire divine my lips confess, 
 
 The guerdon of my vows ; 
 Yet mine the inward bliss to feel 
 
 That happier tongues perchance may stir, 
 And in those awful courts to kneel 
 The humblest worshipper.
 
 ODE TO MEMORY 
 
 MOST sovereign Goddess, whose ennobling power 
 
 Uplifted Man from out his brutish birth, 
 Thou for Man's guidance still from hour to hour 
 Kindlest thy beacon o'er the wastes of earth ; 
 Great Mother of the Muses nine, 
 A beauty more divinely bright 
 Than all thy daughters fair is thine ! 
 Thou dost enchant the illumined soul 
 
 With pictured stores of rare delight ; 
 By thee, where'er the trackless waters roll, 
 The sailor steers his bark from pole to distant 
 pole.
 
 32 ODE TO MEMORY 
 
 What clouds of thunder wreathe thy judgment 
 
 bar, 
 
 When self-accusing Crime before thee stands 
 To meet the doom that tracks him from afar ! 
 The shadowy minions of thy stern commands, 
 Remorse, and all his ghostly crew, 
 The Phantoms of the Past, arise 
 To wreak the curse of vengeance due. 
 Behold the wretch they thirst to slay, 
 
 His frozen lips, his staring eyes ! 
 The Vulture-Furies own thy ruthless sway, 
 And rend with beak and claw their unresisting 
 prey. 
 
 But far from felon guilt and frenzied cry 
 Sweet Innocence obeys thy mild command ; 
 
 Content in yon sequester'd nook to lie, 
 
 Thou dost not deign to lead thy pensive band
 
 ODE TO MEMORY 33 
 
 With Revel's train to speed the hours ; 
 The voice of Glee and vain Delight 
 Is heard not in thy tranquil bowers ; 
 No friend to Fancy crimson-hued 
 
 Is he who worships thee aright ; 
 Afar from Mirth and all her glittering 
 
 brood, 
 He loves to walk with thee in blissful solitude. 
 
 Within thy quiet courts the cypress grows, 
 
 The pansy at thy feet, and all around 
 If aught among the flowers of Heaven bestows 
 A breath more soft and fragrant, here 'tis 
 
 found ; 
 
 Here Silence dwells, and calm Content 
 With folded hands doth muse apart ; 
 And here, to those whose youth is spent, 
 
 D
 
 34 ODE TO MEMORY 
 
 The magic mirror by thy side 
 
 Displays with inexpressive art 
 Such scenes as o'er the charmed spirit glide 
 More fair than Hope can show with all her 
 boasted pride. 
 
 To me full oft at evening's sacred hour 
 
 Thy summons came, with thee once more to 
 
 roam 
 
 My native fields, led by thy mystic power, 
 And hear the wished-for greetings of my 
 
 home. 
 Now is thy voice the echoing horn, 
 
 And now the huntsman's ringing cry, 
 Now 'tis the lark at early dawn, 
 
 And now, more sweet than aught hath 
 
 been, 
 
 Steals on my soul Love's whisper'd 
 sigh,
 
 ODE TO MEMORY 35 
 
 And eyes, more tender through the mists 
 
 between, 
 
 Like midnight stars that sleep in some still lake, 
 are seen. 
 
 And when the festal lights of life are low, 
 
 And Hope and Health are from the banquet 
 
 fled, 
 
 No solace shall my spirit need to know, 
 So thou be near to raise my drooping head. 
 O, let my life so ordered be, 
 
 Most awful goddess, that thy face 
 May wear no parting frown for me, 
 But that serene and solemn light 
 
 Which gives to Death its only grace ; 
 May'st thou revive with bygone visions 
 
 bright 
 
 My faint and fearful soul in that tempestuous 
 night ! 
 
 D 2
 
 TIME AND DEATH 
 
 WHEN sinks the sun beneath the western wave, 
 And spreads the twilight o'er the dusky skies, 
 
 We watch the day descend into the grave 
 
 Which gives not up its dead, though ghosts 
 may rise 
 
 To mock us, phantom wrecks we may not save 
 From out the Past, whose depth unfathomed 
 lies 
 
 Awaiting all Ambition, Hate, and Strife, 
 
 And Love, alike the crown and curse of life. 
 
 We do not add, by living, to our store 
 Of joys that Wisdom bids us to forget ;
 
 TIME AND DEATH 37 
 
 Even in the tasting Pleasure is no more, 
 
 And Memory is sister to Regret ; 
 The heart that once hath felt will own no law 
 
 To measure Time by suns that rise and set ; 
 'Tis but intensity of joys and fears 
 That makes a life. Some moments count for 
 years. 
 
 Why keep the garland wither'd of its grace ? 
 
 Why linger till the leaf be dry and sere 
 Upon the bough ? Come, Death, with stealthy 
 pace, 
 
 Or fiery foot, regarding sigh nor tear ; 
 Come thou with kindly smile upon thy face, 
 
 Or frowning in thy panoply of fear, 
 It matters not when thou and I may meet, 
 Come, Death, when Life has something still of 
 sweet !
 
 ON THE GHATS 
 
 NOT a breath to stir the leaves, not a rustle in 
 
 the eaves, 
 Not a ripple on the waters of the steely 
 
 mountain lake ; 
 Not a cry of beast or bird in the silent forest 
 
 heard, 
 
 Not a spirit, as I ween, of the earth or sky 
 awake ! 
 
 Not a cloud that floats or flies in the burning, 
 
 brazen skies ; 
 
 All the winds that lie enchained in their cave 
 are still as death ;
 
 ON THE GHATS 39 
 
 And the mountains at their post, like a grim 
 
 and sleepless host, 
 
 Through the slow and sultry hours of the 
 noonday hold their breath. 
 
 But mark ! On yonder hill, like a lion sleeping 
 
 still, 
 How that purple cloud o'erhangs, how it 
 
 darkly glooms and lowers ! 
 And listen ! like the sound of an earthquake 
 
 underground, 
 
 The distant voice of thunder tolls a knell to 
 wake the hours. 
 
 There's a stir among the leaves, there's a rustle 
 
 in the eaves, 
 
 And a sweeping shiver passes o'er the bosom 
 of the lake ;
 
 4O ON THE GHATS 
 
 Not a cry of beast or bird in the frighten'd 
 
 forest heard, 
 
 But the Spirit of the storm and his legions are 
 awake. 
 
 Now the skies are overcast, and the winds are 
 
 loose at last, 
 And a thick and murky pall is drawn athwart 
 
 the sun, 
 And the twisted branches sway with the fitful 
 
 gusts at play, 
 
 And the big and heavy drops fall slowly one 
 by one. 
 
 And now there bellows forth, like the tiger in 
 
 his wrath, 
 
 A roar that peals and echoes all along the 
 shuddering sky,
 
 ON THE GHATS 41 
 
 And through the cloven cloud, on the forest 
 
 bent and bow'd, 
 
 Strikes the flaming sword of Heaven from the 
 surging strife on high. 
 
 As the charging squadrons come, with the 
 
 trumpet and the drum, 
 All the floods of Heaven are loosed on the 
 
 mountain and the plain ; 
 And the tawny-maned cascades through the 
 
 sounding valley-glades 
 
 Go rushing like a steed that has never felt 
 the rein. 
 
 Lo ! a huge and misty form, that comes riding 
 
 o'er the storm, 
 
 How he rallies to the fight every demon of 
 the flood !
 
 42 ON THE GHATS 
 
 'Tis the Spirit of the Blast, on his courser fierce 
 
 and fast, 
 
 And his ringing cry of battle, how it pulses 
 through my blood ! 
 
 Oh, to ride, for ever ride, on that phantom 
 
 steed astride, 
 Like a cloud of morning borne over rocks 
 
 and stormy waves, 
 Over frozen peaks of snow, where the icy 
 
 whirlwinds blow, 
 
 To the Islands of the West that my weary 
 spirit craves ! 
 
 Oh, to ride, for ever ride, on that tameless steed 
 
 astride, 
 
 From the Self that masters earth, from the 
 death in life below !
 
 ON THE GHATS 43 
 
 But the Spirit wild and free, he has turned him 
 
 now to flee, 
 
 And his laughter seems to mock me as his 
 courser wheels to go. 
 
 For the storm has pass'd and fled, and the forest 
 
 lifts its head, 
 And faint and still more faintly sounds the 
 
 clarion of the blast ; 
 See, the sunlight strikes again on the mountain 
 
 and the plain, 
 
 And the distant thunder mutters like a lion 
 dying fast. 
 
 In the breeze the branches sway, and the 
 
 rippling waters play, 
 
 But my spirit with the Spirit of the storm is 
 fain to flee ;
 
 44 ON THE GHATS 
 
 And beast and bird rejoice with the forest's 
 
 myriad voice, 
 
 But the calm of earth and sky will it e'er 
 return to me ?
 
 DEATH'S GARLAND 
 
 To Death I dedicate my vows, 
 If aught avail our vows and tears 
 To stubborn Death, that stops his ears, 
 
 And plucks to wreathe his dusky brows 
 
 The lily pale, the violet rare, 
 
 The rose that with the sun is born 
 And scarcely blooms a summer morn, 
 
 And all that is most sweet and fair. 
 
 Among the countless pleading throng 
 
 Before his altar-steps astir, 
 
 I come, a frail petitioner, 
 To place a worthless gift of song.
 
 46 DEATH'S GARLAND 
 
 Unmoved by frenzied grief I call ; 
 
 No wild unreason stirs my blood ; 
 
 But on my spirit's silent flood 
 The stillness of despair doth fall. 
 
 Death, a simple boon I pray ; 
 Thou hast not found a foe in me, 
 And I have never railed on thee ; 
 
 1 ask thee not thy hand to stay ; 
 
 I ask thee not to spare the flowers 
 
 Thou lovest, though I love them too, 
 I love them, and they are but few, 
 
 Go, snatch them from the weeping Hours, 
 
 The starry blooms that crown the mead, 
 
 The lily, rose, and violet ; 
 
 But leave me not to linger yet, 
 And in thy garland place a weed.
 
 SONNET 
 
 LIFE has full many an hour of bitter breath, 
 When depths unfathomed of despair and hate 
 Engulf the soul, the scorn of grinning Fate, 
 
 And Earth is but the charnel-house of Death ; 
 
 No longer light of Hope illumineth 
 
 The dungeon where we languish soon and 
 
 late, 
 And desperate Reason mocks our maddening 
 
 state ; 
 Then have I turned to lean on One that saith,
 
 48 SONNET 
 
 * No single hour by its sole self is weighed, 
 But linked with those behind and those 
 
 before ; 
 The Past is thine, and see before thee laid 
 
 The Future with its myriad-teeming store, 
 Like stars within the boundless vault display'd, 
 Or waves that dimple countless from the 
 shore.'
 
 TO CYNTHIA 
 
 On having her photograph taken for the first time 
 
 'MiD the cushions' soft recess, 
 Soothed by many a fond caress, 
 See the little maid serene 
 Smiling like a conscious queen ! 
 Tiny limbs in dainty pose, 
 Baby fingers, baby toes, 
 Laughing lips, and dimple sweet, 
 Eyes, where Joy and Wonder meet, 
 Damsel to such graces born 
 Was not made to live forlorn. 
 Now, methinks, I see her stand 
 Blithest of a lightsome band,
 
 50 TO CYNTHIA 
 
 Weaving flowers in childish glee, 
 Chaplets not so bright as she ; 
 Dancing 'neath the woodland screen, 
 (Sweeter Dryad ne'er was seen) 
 Now more stately, tall, and fair, 
 With step sedate and banded hair, 
 Hearing lover's whisper tell 
 Tale her heart has told her well. 
 Stay ! Enough of vain surmise, 
 Lest a darker phantom rise ! 
 Who shall give to Life a date, 
 Or spell the dim decrees of Fate ? 
 Rather let me breathe a prayer, 
 Blessing thee from every snare, 
 While unconscious thou dost rest, 
 Baby, in thy pillow'd nest. 
 From thy cradle harsh Reproof, 
 Pain, and Sorrow, stand aloof !
 
 TO CYNTHIA 51 
 
 May thy happy playmates be 
 
 Buxom Health, and harmless Glee, 
 
 Best of all, Simplicity ! 
 
 Days be thine of sweet content, 
 
 Happiness with duty blent ; 
 
 Store of wealth I wish thee not ; 
 
 Love requited be thy lot, 
 
 And never on thy peace intrude 
 
 Sting of Man's ingratitude ! 
 
 Stay once more ! Those drooping eyes 
 
 Heed not my soliloquies. 
 
 Baby, sleep, and on thee steal 
 
 Dreams thou never shalt reveal, 
 
 Dreams of innocence and bliss 
 
 Such as elder mortals miss, 
 
 Dreams to wiser hearts denied, 
 
 Wise in selfishness and pride ; 
 
 Hearts how fain, alas, to change
 
 52 TO CYNTHIA 
 
 For that childish slumber sweet 
 Every vision sad and strange 
 Brought by Time's unresting feet !- 
 
 Morning rosebud, tender, pure ! 
 While the morning dews endure, 
 Ere the -breeze of morning dies, 
 And the smile from out the skies, 
 Ere the noonday heats prevail, 
 If thy petals, faint and frail, 
 Close in one unending sleep, 
 Surely none would dare to weep !
 
 AD AMICOS 
 
 YONDER Moon, whose silver light 
 Makes the stars no longer seen, 
 
 'Tis but on a nearer sight 
 
 That she seems to shine a queen ; 
 
 Many an orb those deeps do hide 
 
 Would eclipse her pomp and pride. 
 
 See the Rose, by morn bedew'd, 
 
 Fann'd by Zephyrs young and gay ; 
 
 Though the noon's embraces rude 
 Wither all her charms away, 
 
 Yet to-morrow's dew shall fill 
 
 Roses fresher, lovelier still.
 
 54 AD AMICOS 
 
 When the Thrush, that all day long 
 
 Watching o'er her leafy nest 
 Filled the listening grove with song, 
 
 Silent sinks at length to rest, 
 Philomel her want supplies 
 With diviner ecstasies. 
 
 When the Year has reached his prime, 
 Cruel Winter chills his breath ; 
 
 Though we weep the ruin'd time, 
 'Tis a brief, a seeming death ; 
 
 Soon the Spring, with splendour new, 
 
 Decks the earth in varied hue. 
 
 Golden Hours of pure delight, 
 Swift on silken wings ye fly !
 
 AD AMICOS 55 
 
 Yet 'tis vain to mark your flight, 
 
 Gazing still with backward eye ; 
 Lock'd within the bars of Fate 
 Others sweet as ye do wait.
 
 BEAUTY'S EYES 
 
 HER eyes are the mist of the morning, 
 
 When the night has been still, 
 And the earliest flush of the dawning 
 
 Rises over the hill. 
 Though the field and the woodland and river 
 
 On Earth's bosom slept, 
 They would answer and tremble and quiver, 
 
 If she wept. 
 
 Her eyes are the starlight of even, 
 
 When the Moon is away, 
 And Mystery reigns in the heaven 
 
 In her mantle of gray.
 
 BEAUTY'S EYES 57 
 
 Though the spheres were with sorrow o'erladen, 
 
 By the Ages defiled, 
 Yet their song would respond to the Maiden, 
 
 If she smiled.
 
 LAUDABUNT ALII 
 
 THE huntsman, with the dawn astir, 
 
 Doth stoutly to his soul aver, 
 
 For him the steed that needs no spur, 
 
 For him the headlong pace, 
 The freshness of the misty morn, 
 And o'er the dewy uplands borne 
 The echoes of the ringing horn, 
 
 The glories of the chase. 
 
 The rover loves from land of snow 
 To where the palm and myrtle grow 
 To steer, howe'er the tempest blow, 
 The good ship plunging free ;
 
 LAUDABUNT ALII 59 
 
 To him the billows' surging swell 
 Makes music like a marriage bell, 
 To him more sweet than tongue can tell 
 The savour of the sea. 
 
 The soldier's breast with bliss doth fill, 
 When war's alarms his pulses thrill, 
 And Danger hails the hero still 
 
 To play his stirring part ; 
 The trumpet's call, the charger's neigh, 
 To him no sound as sweet as they, 
 And Carnage holds her sombre sway 
 
 The mistress of his heart. 
 
 The statesman, self-contained and proud, 
 To strife and stern ambition vow'd, 
 Contemns and woos the fickle crowd, 
 To win a blazon'd name ;
 
 6O LAUDABUNT ALII 
 
 For him doth Glory's beacon light 
 The rugged path, the toilsome height, 
 That well may meaner souls affright, 
 The steep ascent of Fame. 
 
 The scholar pores with rapture deep 
 On tomes which garner'd wisdom keep 
 Of minds that now for ever sleep, 
 
 That naught can now estrange ; 
 No solace does he seek or find 
 But what the Past has left behind, 
 And gives his unimprison'd mind 
 
 Through Space and Time to range. 
 
 The poet, in his land of dreams 
 Illumined by celestial gleams 
 From realm of golden light, that teems 
 With visions none may tell,
 
 LAUDABUNT ALII 6 1 
 
 On him, to Contemplation wed, 
 No earthly beauty's rays are shed, 
 And Fancy round his charmed head 
 Has wove her mystic spell. 
 
 Let others praise the hunter's pride, 
 And all that charms the rest beside ; 
 To all the rest whate'er betide, 
 
 A dearer prize I see ; 
 A glance from one half-downward eye, 
 A smile divinely sweet and shy, 
 A whisper'd word, a stifled sigh, 
 
 Are worth the world to me.
 
 ABSENCE 
 
 IF time and distance had the skill 
 
 To keep our souls apart, 
 If dull Forgetfulness could chill 
 
 A lonely, exiled heart, 
 If Love could ne'er his path retrace 
 To his remember'd trysting-place 
 
 With more than magic art, 
 I could not brook to mark above 
 The star that sealed our plighted love. 
 
 If we could meet, as once we met, 
 
 Beneath that sacred star, 
 If jealous winds and waves could set 
 
 No unremoving bar,
 
 ABSENCE 63 
 
 I know not if thy matchless charms 
 Would be more dear within my arms 
 
 Than felt as now they are ; 
 To me thy absent beauty's pride 
 Surpasses all the world beside. 
 
 And since I thus can think of thee, 
 
 I scarcely wish thee here ; 
 The love that bridges land and sea 
 
 Admits not doubt or fear. 
 Thy vanish'd grace to me returns, 
 Thy light of beauty softly burns, 
 
 Thy spirit hovers near, 
 And absence brings a nameless bliss 
 To fill the loss of all I miss.
 
 TO BARINE 
 
 MAIDEN, faithless and forsworn, 
 
 Here I bid a last farewell. 
 By the bier of Love forlorn 
 
 Pale Despair doth sound his knell ; 
 Me, that once like Love was blind, 
 Never more thy spell shall bind. 
 
 Star, that sealest vows of love, 
 
 Hear and seal my vows of hate ! 
 Stooping from thy seat above 
 Others save from kindred fate ; 
 Let not eyes that do but slay 
 Scatheless keep their wanton sway.
 
 TO BARINE 65 
 
 Yet that dainty, perjured head 
 
 Shines more bright from broken vows ! 
 Lovely lips, to falsehood wed, 
 
 Love from death itself can rouse ; 
 From thy fetters vainly free 
 Beats my heart for none but thee.
 
 THE OLD GREY BOAR 
 
 LET them talk of their polo, their races and 
 
 'chases, 
 
 We care not a rap for the world and its lore ; 
 Have done with your sweethearts and sweet 
 
 pretty faces, 
 Come away to the home of the old grey 
 
 Boar! 
 ' Tis the song of an old grey Boar, my boys^ 
 
 And we often have sung it before ; 
 We are up with the sun, for there's work to be 
 
 done 
 In the chase of the old grey Boar.
 
 THE OLD GREY BOAR 67 
 
 All night on the villagers' crops he has fed, 
 
 And now he is tracked to his midday lair, 
 Where the tamarisk grows in its sandy bed, 
 
 And the high grass shakes in the sultry air. 
 There's an old grey Boar in the jungle, boys, 
 
 A Boar 'tisn't easy to match , 
 From the size of his slot, if I know what is what, 
 
 He's a pig we must gallop to catch. 
 
 There's a stir in the jungle, the beaters are 
 
 raving, 
 Keep back there, don't head him, hold hard 
 
 on the grey, 
 
 But see, now the flagmen are calling and waving, 
 And I'll lay you long odds that the Boar's 
 gone away. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE OLD GREY BOAR 
 
 The old grey Boar's gone away there, boys, 
 You must ride, if you want to be in it j 
 
 Steady, now, he's too near, give him time, let him 
 
 clear, 
 You may go like the deuce in a minute. 
 
 Sit down in your saddle, and shorten your rein, 
 Catch hold in your stirrups, and drive your 
 
 feet home, 
 
 All words will be wasted, all caution in vain, 
 When you see but his crest and his tushes 
 
 that foam. 
 The old grey Boar's on in front there, boys, 
 
 And there's nothing in Asia will stop him ; 
 You must gallop your best, with your eye on his 
 
 crest, 
 Till the thrust of the spear that will drop him.
 
 THE OLD GREY BOAR 69 
 
 We have galloped a league without swerving or 
 
 check, 
 Over nullahs and hedges and rocks in our 
 
 way; 
 
 Of such trifles as these 'tis but folly to reck, 
 When the Boar in a moment will turn him 
 
 to bay. 
 
 The old grey Boar's on the charge, my boys, 
 And his flanks are all covered with gore ; 
 See the curl of his tush, drop your spear to his rush 
 That was one for the old grey Boar ! 
 
 When the sunset fades, and the jackals roam, 
 And the heat of the headlong hunt is o'er, 
 With the breeze in our faces we gallop for 
 home, 
 
 And we shout as we think of the old grey 
 Boar.
 
 7O THE OLD GREY BOAR 
 
 Oh, the old grey Boards on his side, my boys. 
 And he II never get up any more ; 
 
 Ten inches, no less, are his tushes, I guess, 
 Then hurrah for the old grey Boar I
 
 NEW YEAR'S DAY 
 
 IN the East the great Sun is uprising, and we 
 
 hail him the Lord of the land, 
 As he brings us awaiting expectant we know 
 
 not what gifts in his hand ; 
 Farewell to trie Year that is ended. Shall we 
 
 welcome the one that is here ? 
 Who can say if the Sun that is rising shall bring 
 
 us a Happy New Year ? 
 
 Whate'er be the fate that awaits us, where'er in 
 
 the world we may roam, 
 In the arms of the brave is our fortress, in our 
 
 hearts will be ever our home ;
 
 72 NEW YEAR'S DAY 
 
 What matter the place of our sojourn, be it far 
 
 from our country or near ? 
 So here's to the Land of our exile, we wish her 
 
 a Happy New Year ! 
 
 Though our foes may be arming against us, and 
 
 factions be cause for regrets, 
 Yet our faith shall be firm in the Ruler of the 
 
 realm where the Sun never sets ; 
 Whate'er be the clouds that may darken, through 
 
 the tempest unharmed we shall steer, 
 So here's to our King and our Country, we 
 
 wish them a Happy New Year ! 
 
 There are those that will watch, as we're watch- 
 ing, the Sun that is rising to-day, 
 
 And think, as we think, of the absent, in homes 
 that we love far away ;
 
 NEW YEAR'S DAY 73 
 
 There are those that will fill up their glasses and 
 
 drink with a smile and a tear 
 To the health of the exiles in India, and wish 
 
 them a Happy New Year. 
 
 Though between us be leagues of salt water, 
 
 and years may have fled since our meeting, 
 Yet Space cannot alter our friendship, nor Time 
 
 chill the warmth of our greeting ; 
 Whate'er be the gulf that divides us, to our 
 
 fancy they still may be near, 
 So here's to our friends in Old England, we 
 
 wish them a Happy New Year ! 
 
 There are those that are with us in exile, and 
 whate'er in the year may betide, 
 
 Be it pleasure or sickness or sorrow, we shall 
 meet it with them by our side ;
 
 74 NEW YEAR'S DAY 
 
 Let us hail them our comrades and brothers, 'tis 
 the time of good will and good cheer, 
 
 So here's to the friends that are round us, we 
 wish them a Happy New Year ! 
 
 There are those that are gone from beside us, 
 
 there are those to whom greeting is vain, 
 Whose faces we never shall look on, whose 
 
 hands we shall clasp not again ; 
 Though they live in our hearts that forget not, 
 
 their voices we never may hear, 
 And we need not have care for their welfare, 
 
 nor wish them a Happy New Year !
 
 A VISION OF SINGHAD 
 
 LONG on this rugged steep the storm has beat, 
 
 The summer's heat ; 
 Long have these battled crags upheld in air 
 
 The Lion's lair ; 
 
 Long from his lair the Lion in his pride 
 With flashing eye the shrinking plain defied. 
 
 'Tis sweet to pause, and mark along the height 
 
 The wheeling kite, 
 To scent the fragrance of the jungle, blown 
 
 From depths unknown, 
 And muse with pleasure that is half regret 
 On days gone by that linger with us yet.
 
 76 A VISION OF SINGHAD 
 
 They linger still, and yet return no more, 
 
 Those days of yore ; 
 Gone the Mahratta spear, the moonlight raid 
 
 For wife and maid, 
 
 The cattle driven from the distant fold, 
 The blazing hamlet, and the ruin'd hold. 
 
 The long line winding, as the twilight falls, 
 
 From hostile walls ; 
 The whisper'd plot, the ambush in the glade, 
 
 The escalade ; 
 Brows knit, lips lock'd, save where perchance a 
 
 prayer 
 Or mutter'd curse scarce stirs the evening air. 
 
 Lithe limbs that cling upon the rocky steep, 
 And upward creep,
 
 A VISION OF SINGHAD 77 
 
 Dark faces, gleaming eyes, and faintly seen 
 
 The tulwar's sheen ; 
 And silence, save where haply overhead 
 Echoes the midnight sentry's hollow tread. 
 
 Anon the challenge, and the clash of arms, 
 
 The wild alarms ; 
 The rousing trumpet and the tuck of drum, 
 
 White lips and dumb ; 
 The wail of women, and the torches' flare, 
 And ringing shouts that rend the frighted air. 
 
 Beneath the sinking moon the heaps of dead 
 
 Lie thickly spread ; 
 The foeman's hand is on the Lion's mane, 
 
 The foeman's chain ; 
 
 The captive's groan is hushed, and on the height 
 Descends the stillness of the summer night.
 
 AT BRINDISI 
 
 THE fishing boats at anchor lie ; 
 
 Now fall the evening shades ; 
 Slow sinks the sun : the western sky 
 
 Flames for a while, and fades. 
 
 A distant bell the curfew peals, 
 
 And faintly borne afar 
 Across the silent harbour steals 
 
 The southern soft guitar. 
 
 Where sleeps the town beside the bay, 
 With vine and olive crowned, 
 
 A Caesar held his splendid sway, 
 An Empire's portal frowned.
 
 AT BRINDISI 79 
 
 To Fancy's eye, methinks, an hour 
 
 Returns from days of yore ; 
 The pomp and pride of Roman power 
 
 Goes forth to Eastern war. 
 
 By yonder castle's rugged walls, 
 
 Along the ancient quays, 
 The tramp of armd legions falls, 
 
 The galleys ride the seas. 
 
 The Eagles flaunt against the sky ; 
 
 Before the sounding drums 
 The lictors bear the rods on high ; 
 
 The stern Proconsul comes ! 
 
 The sun is set : the vision flies : 
 
 I sit and muse a space : 
 The little port before me lies : 
 
 The darkness comes apace.
 
 80 AT BRINDISI 
 
 The Fate, that bids an Empire fall, 
 To each his lot doth send ; 
 
 We go and come at duty's call, 
 And know not yet the end. 
 
 I sit and gaze with inward eyes, 
 And heart too full to grieve ; 
 
 The little port before me lies, 
 The gate of all we leave. 
 
 The gate of hopes we leave behind, 
 Of joys perchance the grave 
 
 To those that journey forth to find 
 A home beyond the wave. 
 
 Beyond the wave our lives are spent 
 
 On us, an exile band, 
 The East, that knows not to relent, 
 
 Long since has laid her hand.
 
 AT BRINDISI 8 1 
 
 O little port, be this my prayer 
 
 For those that hold us dear, 
 May God in mercy rest them fair, 
 
 When we are far or near !
 
 YOUNG INDIA 
 
 WHEN the Tartar's fierce descendant 
 Heard a myriad captives groan ; 
 
 When the Moghul sat resplendent 
 On his throne ; 
 
 Came the Empire's bold forerunner, 
 
 Trader roving far alone, 
 Saw the land of Ind, and won her 
 
 For his own. 
 
 Bade the robbers cease from plunder, 
 Cruel slaughter, faithless guile, 
 
 Bade the land, that bowed in wonder, 
 Rest awhile.
 
 YOUNG INDIA 83 
 
 Foreign Moghu.l, fierce Mahratta 
 Humbled shrank in fear and shame 
 
 At the voice that none could flatter, 
 None could tame. 
 
 Anarchy beyond the border 
 
 Fled with grisly Famine far ; 
 Rose the holy light of Order 
 
 Like a star. 
 
 Peace and plenty reign in quiet, 
 
 Justice gives her calm award ; 
 But behind the toiling ryot 
 
 Gleams the sword. 
 
 How shall discord, foe to power, 
 
 Give a budding nation life ? 
 Shall the tree of Freedom flower, 
 
 Sprung from strife ? 
 
 G 2
 
 84 YOUNG INDIA 
 
 Chains of Custom, still unbroken, 
 
 Fetter those that slaves will be ; 
 Freedom only grants her token 
 
 To the free. 
 
 Shall the night of Superstition 
 End in Wisdom's fairer day, 
 
 Hurling Caste and blind Tradition 
 From their sway ? 
 
 Is the Land for ever blighted ? 
 
 Shall a Nation rise at last, 
 Firm in purpose, strong, united 
 
 From the Past ? 
 
 Haply may the seed be growing 
 Hidden in the womb of Fate ; 
 
 But the people's day of knowing 
 Cometh late.
 
 YOUNG INDIA 85 
 
 Let them cease their idle prattle, 
 
 Girding at a foreign sway ; 
 Hardly hath the din of battle 
 
 Died away. 
 
 Let them cease their vain inveighing ; 
 
 Let the scales be fairly held, 
 Peace and plenty far outweighing 
 
 Wrong of Eld. 
 
 Ask ye not, in fear and wonder, 
 
 Whence the jackal's howl hath come ; 
 
 For the tiger's voice of thunder 
 Still is dumb. 
 
 On the surface, foam and bubble 
 Seethe upon the billow's crest ; 
 
 But the depths, which none may trouble, 
 Lie at rest.
 
 86 YOUNG INDIA 
 
 Foam and bubble, who shall number, 
 Petty clamour, strife, and plot ? 
 
 For the Nation in its slumber 
 Stirreth not.
 
 AFRICA 
 
 DECEMBER 1899 
 
 ON thy lion -guarded throne, 
 Girt with many-jewelled zone, 
 Dark, inscrutable, sublime, 
 Tameless from the birth of Time, 
 Like thy daughter, Egypt's Queen, 
 Proud of soul and fierce of mien, 
 Nurse of beasts that crouch and slay, 
 And men more brutish-wild than they, 
 Thee the Persian ne'er enslaved, 
 Not Arbela's victor host, 
 Nor he whose haughty eagles waved 
 Erst o'er Albion's cloudy coast.
 
 88 AFRICA 
 
 Land of ancient mysteries 
 Hidden yet from mortal eyes, 
 Thou to me from childhood's hour 
 Ever wast a name of power. 
 Let my wayward fancy range 
 Over all thy wizard reign, 
 Rich, barbaric, vast, and strange, 
 Desert, river, crag, and plain ; 
 Where by Nile's ancestral stream 
 Pictured rock and temple gleam ; 
 Where by Niger gliding still 
 'Mid the fever-haunted cane, 
 Deafening drum and clamour shrill 
 Urge the horrid rite profane ; 
 Where the Arab, camel-borne 
 O'er the waste, from eve to dawn 
 Star-directed wanders on ; 
 Where the wilder'd sailor wan
 
 AFRICA 89 
 
 Flees aghast from phantom forms 
 Round thy fearful Cape of Storms. 
 Mighty mount and pathless brake, 
 Cataract and silent lake, 
 Forest, where the step forlorn 
 Finds a night without a morn, 
 These are thine, and thou canst tell 
 Tales of wonder-working spell 
 Of him who many a weary mile 
 Sought the secret springs of Nile, 
 And him who, pent in far Khartoum, 
 Fearless faced his lonely doom. 
 
 To me, when at the closing year 
 Came the tuneful sound of chimes, 
 A sterner music met mine ear, 
 And mingled with my musing rhymes.
 
 90 AFRICA 
 
 Roll of drums and trumpets' blare 
 Yonder fill the frighted air, 
 Where against a stubborn foe 
 Leaguer'd hosts their vigil keep, 
 While beside them, cold and low, 
 Britain's best and bravest sleep. 
 Them no comrade's call shall stir, 
 Ringing shot, nor tramp of steeds ; 
 Sound they sleep, though Danger spur 
 Heroes on to glorious deeds ; 
 Sleeping sound, for them no more 
 Smiles the wished-for native shore, 
 Them no more shall fondly cheer 
 Greetings of the new-born year. 
 Land of strife ! whose stony breast 
 Keeps those hearts for aye at rest, 
 Guard thou well beyond the waves 
 Distant yet remember' d graves,
 
 AFRICA 91 
 
 Till the rolling year shall bring 
 Sweet fulfilment of the Spring, 
 Bidding battle's thunder cease, 
 Crowning Power linked with Peace. 
 Then shall come a nobler age, 
 Free from ancient hate and rage, 
 For our children's heritage, 
 Binding as by ties of birth, 
 Toward a common Nation's good, 
 Foes, that well have shown their worth, 
 In an Empire's brotherhood.
 
 CAWNPUR 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 JULY n, 1857-1907 
 
 LINGER and muse awhile, for little change is 
 
 here ; 
 This is the place, the vale of death, the haunt of 
 
 shame and fear ; 
 Linger and muse and mark the gleaming river 
 
 pass, 
 
 The brazen sky, the shimmering air, the tall 
 white-tufted grass.
 
 CAWNPUR 93 
 
 This is the place of doom, where darkest shades 
 
 are near, 
 Where deepest grief is mute and still, and wrath 
 
 can shed no tear ; 
 Haggard and worn and wan, in garments ghastly 
 
 red, 
 The phantom shapes flit to and fro, the spirits 
 
 of our dead ! 
 
 Hunger and pain and thirst, and fever's burning 
 
 breath 
 Long since had slain all hope of aid, save hope 
 
 of kindly death ; 
 See in yon grisly den, with anguish pale and 
 
 wild, 
 Waiting for death, their only friend, Mother, 
 
 and Maid, and Child !
 
 94 C AWN PUR 
 
 Ah, bitter was their cup, and ah, the fatal day, 
 
 When one fierce fiend in human shape o'er life 
 
 and death held sway ! 
 Horror beheld aghast, and Murder veiled his 
 
 eyes, 
 When men went forth, if men they were, to 
 
 work such butcheries. 
 
 This is the place of death, unchanged by fifty 
 
 years, 
 And still we wet the nameless grave with bitter, 
 
 blinding tears ; 
 Though graves, like grass, decay, and Time 
 
 must change the spot, 
 Full many a fifty years shall pass ere these will 
 
 be forgot.
 
 CAWNPUR 95 
 
 Now peace be on the dead, thrice peace beneath 
 
 the sod, 
 Unknown to us who weep their fate, how surely 
 
 known to God ! 
 Low in your grave lie still ! Saith not the Lord 
 
 of Hosts, 
 ' Vengeance is Mine, I will repay ' ? Lie still, 
 
 ye piteous ghosts ! 
 
 Low in your grave lie still, ye hapless tortured 
 souls, 
 
 Till the new Dawn shall rise to light the dark- 
 ness of the poles, 
 
 Justice and Truth on earth with Mercy shall 
 prevail, 
 
 And the great Trump in glorious might the 
 Lord of Hosts shall hail !
 
 FAREWELL TO INDIA 
 
 LAND of Ind, O land of story, 
 
 Listen ere I leave thy shore, 
 Fabled land of wealth and glory, 
 
 Land of ancient, sacred lore ! 
 Land of promise, rich, resplendent, 
 
 Cynosure of Fancy's eye, 
 Land of hope, whose rays transcendent 
 
 Beacon Youth to venture nigh ! 
 Land of wonder, 
 Storm and thunder,
 
 FAREWELL TO INDIA 97 
 
 Roaring floods and wild typhoons, 
 Mountains craggy, 
 Forests shaggy, 
 
 Burning suns, and matchless moons ! 
 Land of toil, and land of pleasure, 
 Listen to my parting measure ! 
 
 Where the summits snow-besprinkled 
 
 Rise along the northern sky ; 
 Where the cities, old and wrinkled, 
 
 By the holy river lie ; 
 Where the sandy desert stretches, 
 
 Where the fruitful valleys smile, 
 Where the swarthy diver fetches 
 
 Pearls by Lanka's gorgeous isle ; 
 Where the ryot, 
 Patient, quiet,
 
 98 FAREWELL TO INDIA 
 
 Guides his oxen by the well, 
 Till the village 
 Rest from tillage 
 With the temple's evening bell ; 
 Dusky millions, toiling blindly, 
 Hear a voice that greets you kindly ! 
 
 Land of sport, in jungle tangled, 
 
 Grassy plain, and rugged hill, 
 When the skies are star-bespangled, 
 
 When the noon is blazing still. 
 Grisly boar, and tiger stealthy ! 
 
 Joys the hunter's heart has found 
 Worth the wealth of all the wealthy ! 
 
 Spear and rifle, horse and hound, 
 Mates unchanging, 
 Never ranging
 
 FAREWELL TO INDIA 99 
 
 From your lord and master's side, 
 Comrades trusty, 
 Stout and lusty, 
 Friends unfailing, often tried ! 
 Friends unfailing, here I hail you, 
 Let me perish ere I fail you ! 
 
 Land of love, and land of laughter, 
 
 Balmy nights and purple skies ! 
 Reck not of before and after, 
 
 While ye gaze in lovelit eyes ! 
 Odours in the breeze distilling, 
 
 Born of jasmin, champak, rose j 
 Youth within our pulses thrilling, 
 
 See beside us Beauty glows ! 
 Shyly glancing 
 Looks entrancing
 
 100 FAREWELL TO INDIA 
 
 Back to eyes that smile their story, 
 Gently weaving, 
 Past retrieving, 
 
 Spell more sweet than dreams of glory 
 Spell that ne'er shall cease to bind us, 
 Though the land be far behind us. 
 
 Hail thee now by name more bitter, 
 
 Land of exile and regret ! 
 She-wolf, can thy stranger litter 
 
 Nurture such as thine forget ? 
 Foster-land, whose stony bosom 
 
 Solace to thy brood denies, 
 Yielding from a baneful blossom 
 
 Fruit that whoso eateth dies ; 
 Wanton Circe, 
 Void of mercy,
 
 FAREWELL TO INDIA IOI 
 
 False enchantress, charmer cruel ! 
 By thy glamour 
 Dost enamour 
 
 Hearts that deemed thy love a jewel ; 
 Hearts that sought thee fondly sighing 
 Break at last, and curse thee dying. 
 
 Land of sickness, land of parting, 
 
 Land of many a lonely grave ! 
 Land that knows no balm for smarting, 
 
 Swift to slay and slow to save ! 
 Land of drought and hunger haunting, 
 
 Death that smiteth unawares, 
 Land of phantoms, vainly taunting, 
 
 Mocking empty hopes and prayers ! 
 Phantoms dreary, 
 Mournful, weary,
 
 IO2 FAREWELL TO INDIA 
 
 Vex our hearts for evermore, 
 Rising dimly, 
 Fiercely, grimly, 
 From that unrelenting shore ; 
 Shore that ne'er can be forgiven, 
 Wheresoe'er my bark is driven. 
 
 Dreams, begone ! The dawn is breaking ; 
 
 Ends the dismal, brooding spell ; 
 Brighter visions come with waking ; 
 
 Land of exile, fare thee well ! 
 Distant welcome sounds to greet us, 
 
 Faces loved of old arise, 
 Friends of youth in fancy meet us, 
 
 Greener shores and softer skies ; 
 Spectres vanish, 
 Care we banish,
 
 FAREWELL TO INDIA 103 
 
 Yonder gleams the harbour bar ; 
 Hope undying 
 Forward flying 
 Turns, and bids us gaze afar ; 
 Homeward bound ! A truce to grieving, 
 Here's to Ind, the land we're leaving ! 
 
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