Tales of Ind And Other Poems

Excerpt

A TALE OF THE INDIAN FAMINE.

It was by far the loveliest scene in Ind:—

A deep sunk lonely vale, 'tween verdant hills

That, in eternal friendship, seemed to hold

Communion with the changing skies above;

Dark shady groves the haunts of shepherd boys

And wearied peasants in the midday noon;

A lake that shone in lustre clear and bright

Like a pure Indian diamond set amidst

Green emeralds, where every morn, with songs

Of parted lovers that tempted blooming maids

With pitchers on their heads to stay and hear

Those songs, the busy villagers of the vale

Their green fields watered that gave them sure hopes

Of future plenty and of future joys.

Oh, how uncertain man's sure hopes and joys!

In this enchanted hollow that was scooped—

For so it seemed—by God's own mighty hand,

Where Nature shower'd her richest gifts to make

Another paradise, stood Krishnapore

With her two score and seven huts reared by

The patient labour of her simple men.

In this blest hamlet one there was that owned

Its richest lands: beloved by all its men,

Their friend in times of need, their guide in life,

Partaker of their joys and woes as well,

The arbiter of all their petty strifes.

By him his friend the village master lived

That at his door a group of children taught;

A man he was well versed in ancient lore;

And oft at night, when ended was their toil,

The villagers with souls enraptured heard him

In fiery accents speak of Krishna's deeds

And Rama's warlike skill, and wondered that

He knew so well the deities they adored.

One only daughter this schoolmaster had,

And Seeta was her name, the prettiest maid

In all the village, nursed by the fond cares

Of her indulgent sire, and loved with all

The tender feelings that pure love inspires

By the rich villager's only son, the heir

Of all his father's wealth; the best at school,

The boldest of the village youths at play,

And the delight of all those that saw him;

And these seemed such a fitting pair that oft

The secret whisper round the village ran

That Seeta was to wed the rich man's son.

Thus, in this Eden, its blest inmates lived

And passed their days, the villagers at the fields,

Their busy women at the blazing hearths,

The village master at his cottage door,

And Rama and fair Seeta in true love.

Hither a monster came, that slowly sucked

The vigour, the very life of Krishnapore.

The brilliant lustre of the diamond lake,

The emerald greenness of the waving fields,

The shady groves and pleasant cottage grounds,

And all the beauties of the happy vale

Soon vanished imperceptibly, as if

Some unconsuming furnace underneath

Had baked the earth and rendered it all bare,

Until its inmates wandered desolate,

With hollow cheeks, sunk eyes, and haggard faces,

Like walking skeletons pasted o'er with skin.

No more would blooming girls with pitchers laden

Repair to the clear lake while curling smoke

Rose from their cottage roofs; no more at morn

Would Rama be the first at school to see

His Seeta deck her father's house with flowers;

No more at eve the village master pour

From Hindu lore the mighty deeds of gods

To the delighted ears of simple men;

For these have left their lands and their dear homes....