(VI.) O sight of grief! the wives of Arvalan, With gold and jewels bright, With symphony, and dance, and song, The clarions' stirring breath Lifts their thin robes in every flowing fold, That on the agitated air Flutters and glitters to the torches' glare. (VII.) A man and maid of aspect wan and wild, Then, side by side, by bowmen guarded, came; O wretched father! O unhappy child! Them were all eyes of all the throng exploring— Is this the daring man Who raised his fatal hand at Arvalan? Then were all hearts of all the throng deploring, Was one who loved the dead; for who could know What aggravated wrong Provoked the desperate blow! (VIII.) Far, far behind, beyond all reach of sight, Rolls on the undistinguishable clamour Of streams which down the wintry mountain pour, When the winds rage over the waves, (IX.) And now toward the bank they go, Where, winding on their way below, Deep and strong the waters flow. Here doth the funeral pile appear With myrrh and ambergris bestrew'd, And built of precious sandalwood. They cease their music, and their outcry here; Gently they rest their bier; They wet the face of Arvalan— No sign of life the sprinkled drops excite; For not with feeble, nor with erring hand, II. THE RETREAT. From Book XIII. (v.) 'Twas a fair scene wherein they stood, For o'er the lawn, irregularly spread, Straight like a plummet, grew towards the ground. Others of younger growth, unmoved, were hung Nor weeds nor briars deform'd the natural floor, So like a temple did it seem, that there (VII.) They built them here a bower, of jointed cane, Strong for the needful use, and light and long Was the slight framework rear'd, with little pain; Lithe creepers, then, the wicker sides supply, And the tall jungle-grass fit roofing gave And here did Kailyal, each returning day, Upon the gales of even, And gliding in religious dance along, Moved graceful as the dark-eyed Nymphs of Heaven, Such harmony to all her steps was given. (VIII.) Thus ever, in her Father's doating eye, Would gleam upon his aweful countenance. To her, who, on her secret throne reclin'd, There Voomdavee beholds this lower clime, (Ix.) O force of faith! O strength of virtuous will! Behold him in his endless martyrdom, Triumphant still! The Curse still burning in his heart and brain, Patient the while, and tranquil, and content! (x.) Such strength the will reveal'd had given This holy pair, such influxes of grace, That to their solitary resting place They brought the peace of Heaven. Yea, all around was hallow'd! Danger, Fear, Nor thought of evil ever enter'd here. A charm was on the Leopard when he came Within the circle of that mystic glade; Submiss he crouch'd before the heavenly maid, And offer'd to her touch his speckled side; Or with arch'd back erect, and bending head, And eyes half-closed for pleasure, would he stand, Courting the pressure of her gentle hand. (x1.) Trampling his path through wood and brake, And canes which crackling fall before his way, And tassel-grass, whose silvery feathers play |