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Title: The Curse of Kehama, Volume 1 (of 2) - Volume the First
Author: Southey, Robert
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Curse of Kehama, Volume 1 (of 2) - Volume the First" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

  Curse of Kehama:
  Robert Southey.

  Καταραι, ως και τα αλεκτρυονονεοττα, οικον αει, οψε κεν επανηξαν
                     Αποφθ. Ανεκ. του Γυλιελ. του Μητ.






This book was originally digitized by Google and is intended for
personal, non-commercial use only.

Original page numbers are given in curly brackets. Footnotes have been
relocated to the end of the book. Passages originally rendered in
small-caps have been changed to all-caps in the text version of this

Alterations: [pp. 168, 191] Correct misspellings of Edward Moor's
last name; [p. 194] change "battel" to "battle"; and [p. 237] change
"Son and Moon" to "Sun and Moon".



IN the religion of the Hindoos, which of all false religions is the
most monstrous in its fables, and the most fatal in its effects, there
is one remarkable peculiarity. Prayers, penances, and sacrifices, are
supposed to possess an inherent and actual value, in no degree
depending upon the disposition or motive of the person who performs
them. They are drafts upon Heaven, for which the Gods cannot refuse
payment. The worst men, bent upon the worst designs, have in this
manner obtained power which has made them formidable to the Supreme
Deities themselves, and rendered an _Avatar_, or Incarnation of
Veeshnoo the Preserver, necessary. This belief is the foundation of
the following Poem. The story is original; but, in all its parts,
consistent with the superstition upon which it is built; and however
startling the fictions may appear, they might almost be called
credible when compared with the genuine tales of Hindoo mythology.

No figures can be imagined more anti-picturesque, and less poetical,
than the mythological personages of the Bramins. This deformity was
easily kept out of sight:--their hundred hands are but a clumsy
personification of power; their numerous heads only a gross image of
divinity, "whose countenance," as the Bhagvat-Geeta expresses it, "is
turned on every side." To the other obvious objection, that the religion
of Hindostan is not generally known enough to supply fit machinery for
an English poem, I can only answer, that, if every allusion to it
throughout the work is not sufficiently self-explained to render the
passage intelligible, there is a want of skill in the poet. Even those
readers who should be wholly unacquainted with the writings of our
learned Orientalists, will find all the preliminary knowledge that can
be needful, in the brief explanation of mythological names prefixed to
the Poem.


  1. The Funeral
  2. The Curse
  3. The Recovery
  4. The Departure
  5. The Separation
  6. Casyapa
  7. The Swerga
  8. The Sacrifice
  9. The Home Scene
  10. Mount Meru
  11. The Enchantress
  12. The Sacrifice Completed


  Στησατε μοι Πρωτηα πολυτροπον, οφρα φανειη
  Ποικιλον ειδος εχων, οτι ποικιλον υμνον αρασσω.
                               Νον. Διον.

  For I will for no man's pleasure
  Change a syllable or measure;
  Pedants shall not tie my strains
  To our antique poets' veins;
  Being born as free as these,
  I will sing as I shall please.
                   George Wither.


BRAMA, the Creator.

VEESHNOO, the Preserver.

SEEVA, the Destroyer.

These form the Trimourtee, or Trinity, as it has been called, of the
Bramins. The allegory is obvious, but it has been made for the
Trimourtee, not the Trimourtee for the allegory; and these Deities are
regarded by the people as three distinct and personal Gods. The two
latter have at this day their hostile sects of worshippers; that of
Seeva is the most numerous; and in this Poem, Seeva is represented as
Supreme among the Gods. This is the same God whose name is variously
written Seeb, Sieven and Siva, Chiven by the French, Xiven by the
Portugueze, and whom European writers sometimes denominate Eswara,
Iswaren, Mahadeo, Mahadeva, Rutren,--according to which of his
thousand and eight names prevailed in the country where they obtained
their Information.

INDRA, God of the Elements.

The SWERGA, his Paradise,--one of the Hindoo heavens.

YAMEN, Lord of Hell, and Judge of the Dead.

PADALON, Hell,--under the Earth, and, like the Earth, of an octagon
shape; its eight gates are guarded by as many Gods.

MARRIATALY, the Goddess who is chiefly worshipped by the lower casts.

POLLEAR, or Ganesa,--the Protector of Travellers. His statues are
placed in the highways, and sometimes in a small lonely sanctuary, in
the streets and in the fields.

CASYAPA, the Father of the Immortals.

DEVETAS, The Inferior Deities.

SURAS, Good Spirits.

ASURAS, Evil Spirits, or Devils.

GLENDOVEERS, the most beautiful of the Good Spirits, the Grindouvers
of Sonnerat.




 Midnight, and yet no eye
 Through all the Imperial City clos'd in sleep!
 Behold her streets a-blaze
 With light that seems to kindle the red sky,
 Her myriads swarming through the crowded ways!
 Master and slave, old age and infancy,
 All, all abroad to gaze;
 House-top and balcony
 Clustered with women, who throw back their veils,
 With unimpeded and insatiate sight
 To view the funeral pomp which passes by,
 As if the mournful rite
 Were but to them a scene of joyance and delight.

 Vainly, ye blessed twinklers of the night,
 Your feeble beams ye shed,
 Quench'd in the unnatural light which might out-stare
 Even the broad eye of day;
 And thou from thy celestial way
 Pourest, O Moon, an ineffectual ray!
 For lo! ten thousand torches flame and flare
 Upon the midnight air,
 Blotting the lights of heaven
 With one portentous glare.
 Behold the fragrant smoke in many a fold,
 Ascending floats along the fiery sky,
 And hangeth visible on high,
 A dark and waving canopy.

 Hark! 'tis the funeral trumpet's breath!
 'Tis the dirge of death!
 At once ten thousand drums begin,
 With one long thunder-peal the ear assailing;
 Ten thousand voices then join in,
 And with one deep and general din
 Pour their wild wailing.
 The song of praise is drown'd
 Amid that deafening sound;
 You hear no more the trumpet's tone,
 You hear no more the mourner's moan,
 Though the trumpet's breath, and the dirge of death,
 Mingle and swell the funeral yell.
 But rising over all in one acclaim
 Is heard the echoed and re-echoed name,
 From all that countless rout:
 Arvalan! Arvalan!
 Arvalan! Arvalan!
 Ten times ten thousand voices in one shout
 Call Arvalan! The overpowering sound
 From house to house repeated rings about,
 From tower to tower rolls round.

 The death-procession moves along;
 Their bald heads shining to the torches' ray,
 The Bramins lead the way,
 Chaunting the funeral song.
 And now at once they shout
 Arvalan! Arvalan!
 With quick rebound of sound,
 All in accordant cry,
 Arvalan! Arvalan!
 The universal multitude reply.
 In vain ye thunder on his ear the name!
 Would ye awake the dead?
 Borne upright in his palankeen,
 There Arvalan is seen!
 A glow is on his face, . . . a lively red;
 'Tis but the crimson canopy
 Which o'er his cheek the reddening shade hath shed.
 He moves, . . . he nods his head; . . .
 But the motion comes from the bearers' tread,
 As the body, borne aloft in state,
 Sways with the impulse of its own dead weight.

 Close following his dead son, Kehama came,
 Nor joining in the ritual song,
 Nor calling the dear name;
 With head deprest and funeral vest,
 And arms enfolded on his breast,
 Silent and lost in thought he moves along.
 King of the world, his slaves unenvying now
 Behold their wretched Lord; rejoiced they see
 The mighty Rajah's misery;
 For nature in his pride hath dealt the blow,
 And taught the master of mankind to know
 Even he himself is man, and not exempt from woe.

 O sight of grief! the wives of Arvalan,
 Young Azla, young Nealliny, are seen!
 Their widow-robes of white,
 With gold and jewels bright,
 Each like an Eastern queen.
 Woe! woe! around their palankeen,
 As on a bridal day,
 With symphony, and dance, and song,
 Their kindred and their friends come on, . . .
 The dance of sacrifice! the funeral song!
 And next the victim slaves in long array,
 Richly bedight to grace the fatal day,
 Move onward to their death;
 The clarions' stirring breath
 Lifts their thin robes in every flowing fold,
 And swells the woven gold,
 That on the agitated air
 Trembles, and glitters to the torches' glare.

 A man and maid of aspect wan and wild,
 Then, side by side, by bowmen guarded, came.
 O wretched father! O unhappy child!
 Them were all eyes of all the throng exploring; . . .
 Is this the daring man
 Who raised his fatal hand at Arvalan?
 Is this the wretch condemned to feel
 Kehama's dreadful wrath?
 Them were all hearts of all the throng deploring,
 For not in that innumerable throng
 Was one who lov'd the dead; for who could know
 What aggravated wrong
 Provok'd the desperate blow!
 Far, far behind, beyond all reach of sight,
 In ordered files the torches flow along,
 One ever-lengthening line of gliding light:
 Far . . . far behind,
 Rolls on the undistinguishable clamour,
 Of horn, and trump, and tambour;
 Incessant at the roar
 Of streams which down the wintry mountain pour,
 And louder than the dread commotion
 Of stormy billows on a rocky shore,
 When the winds rage over the wares,
 And Ocean to the Tempest raves.

 And now toward the bank they go,
 Where, winding on their way below,
 Deep and strong the waters flow.
 Here doth the funeral pile appear
 With myrrh and ambergris bestrew'd,
 And built of precious sandal wood.
 They cease their music and their outcry here;
 Gently they rest the bier:
 They wet the face of Arvalan,
 No sign of life the sprinkled drops excite.
 They feel his breast, . . . no motion there;
 They feel his lips, . . . no breath;
 For not with feeble, nor with erring hand,
 The stern avenger dealt the blow of death.
 Then with a doubling peal and deeper blast,
 The tambours and the trumpets sound on high,
 And with a last and loudest cry
 They call on Arvalan.

 Woe! woe! for Azla takes her seat
 Upon the funeral pile!
 Calmly she took her seat,
 Calmly the whole terrific pomp survey'd;
 As on her lap the while
 The lifeless head of Arvalan was laid.
 Woe! woe! Nealliny,
 The young Nealliny!
 They strip her ornaments away,
 Bracelet and anklet, ring, and chain, and zone;
 Around her neck they leave
 The marriage knot alone, . . .
 That marriage band, which when
 Yon waning moon was young,
 Around her virgin neck
 With bridal joy was hung.
 Then with white flowers, the coronal of death,
 Her jetty locks they crown.
 O sight of misery!
 Yon cannot hear her cries, . . . all other sound
 In that wild dissonance is drown'd; . . .
 But in her face you see
 The supplication and the agony, . . .
 See in her swelling throat the desperate strength
 That with vain effort struggles yet for life;
 Her arms contracted now in fruitless strife,
 Now wildly at full length
 Towards the crowd in vain for pity spread, . . .
 They force her on, they bind her to the dead.

 Then all around retire;
 Circling the pile, the ministring Bramins stand,
 Each lifting in his hand a torch on fire.
 Alone the Father of the dead advanced
 And lit the funeral pyre.

 At once on every side
 The circling torches drop;
 At once on every side
 The fragrant oil is pour'd;
 At once on every side
 The rapid flames rush up.
 Then hand in hand the victim band
 Roll in the dance around the funeral pyre;
 Their garments' flying folds
 Float inward to the fire.
 In drunken whirl they wheel around;
 One drops, . . . another plunges in;
 And still with overwhelming din
 The tambours and the trumpets sound;
 And clap of hand, and shouts, and cries,
 From all the multitude arise:
 While round and round, in giddy wheel,
 Intoxicate they roll and reel,
 Till one by one whirl'd in they fall,
 And the devouring flames have swallowed all.

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



 Alone towards the Table of the dead,
 Kehama mov'd; there on the altar-stone
 Honey and rice he spread,
 There with collected voice and painful tone
 He call'd upon his son.
 Lo! Arvalan appears.
 Only Kehama's powerful eye beheld
 The thin etherial spirit hovering nigh;
 Only the Rajah's ear
 Receiv'd his feeble breath.
 And is this all? the mournful spirit said,
 This all that thou canst give me after death?
 This unavailing pomp,
 These empty pageantries that mock the dead!

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

 Art thou not powerful, . . . even like a God?
 And must I, through my years of wandering,
 Shivering and naked to the elements,
 In wretchedness await
 The hour of Yamen's wrath?
 I thought thou wouldst embody me anew.
 Undying as I am, . . .
 Yea, re-create me! . . . Father, is this all!
 This all! and thou Almighty!

 But in that wrongful and upbraiding tone,
 Kehama found relief,
 For rising anger half supprest his grief.
 Reproach not me! he cried;
 Had I not spell-secur'd thee from disease,
 Fire, sword, . . . all common accidents of man, . . .
 And thou! . . . fool, fool, . . . to perish by a stake!
 And by a peasant's arm! . . .
 Even now, when from reluctant Heaven
 Forcing new gifts and mightier attributes,
 So soon I should have quell'd the Death-God's power.

 Waste not thy wrath on me, quoth Arvalan,
 It was my hour of folly! Fate prevail'd,
 Nor boots it to reproach me that I fell.
 I am in misery, Father! Other souls
 Predoom'd to Indra's Heaven, enjoy the dawn
 Of bliss: . . . to them the tempered elements
 Minister joy, genial delight the sun
 Sheds on their happy being, and the stars
 Effuse on them benignant influencies;
 And thus o'er earth and air they roam at will,
 And when the number of their days is full,
 Go fearlessly before the awful throne.
 But I, . . . all naked feeling and raw life, . . .
 What worse than this hath Yamen's hell in store?
 If ever thou didst love me, mercy, Father!
 Save me, for thou canst save: . . . the Elements
 Know and obey thy voice.

 The Elements
 Shall torture thee no more; even while I speak
 Already dost then feel their power is gone.
 Fear not! I cannot call again the past,
 Fate hath made that its own; but Fate shall yield
 To me the future; and thy doom be fix'd
 By mine, not Yamen's will. Meantime, all power
 Whereof thy feeble spirit can be made
 Participant, I give. Is there aught else
 To mitigate thy lot?

 Only the sight of vengeance. Give me that!
 Vengeance, full, worthy vengeance! . . . not the stroke
 Of sodden punishment, . . . no agony
 That spends itself and leaves the wretch at rest,
 But lasting long revenge.

 What, boy? is that cup sweet? then take thy fill!


 So as he spake, a glow of dreadful pride
 Inflam'd his cheek: with quick and angry stride
 He mov'd toward the pile,
 And rais'd his hand to hush the crowd, and cried
 Bring forth the murderer! At the Rajah's voice,
 Calmly, and like a man whom fear had stunn'd,
 Ladurlad came, obedient to the call.
 But Kailyal started at the sound,
 And gave a womanly shriek, and back she drew,
 And eagerly she roll'd her eyes around,
 As if to seek for aid, albeit she knew
 No aid could there be found.

 It chanced that near her, on the river-brink,
 The sculptur'd form of Marriataly stood;
 It was an idol roughly hewn of wood,
 Artless, and poor, and rude.
 The Goddess of the poor was she;
 None else regarded her with piety.
 But when that holy image Kailyal view'd,
 To that she sprung, to that she clung,
 On her own goddess with close-clasping arms,
 For life the maiden hung.
 They seiz'd the maid; with unrelenting grasp
 They bruis'd her tender limbs;
 She, nothing yielding, to this only hope
 Clings with the strength of frenzy and despair.
 She screams not now, she breathes not now,
 She sends not up one vow,
 She forms not in her soul one secret prayer,
 All thought, all feeling, and all powers' of life
 In the one effort centering. Wrathful they
 With tug and strain would force the maid away. . . .
 Didst thou, O Marriataly, see their strife?
 In pity didst thou see the suffering maid?
 Or was thine anger kindled, that rude hands
 Assail'd thy holy image? . . . for behold
 The holy image shakes!
 Irreverently bold, they deem the maid
 Relax'd her stubborn hold,
 And now with force redoubled drag their prey;
 And now the rooted idol to their sway
 Bends, . . . yields, . . . and now it falls. But then they scream,
 For lo! they feel the crumbling bank give way,
 And all are plunged into the stream.


 She hath escap'd my will, Kehama cried,
 She hath escap'd, . . . but thou art here,
 I have thee still,
 The worser criminal!
 And on Ladurlad, while he spake, severe
 He fix'd his dreadful frown.
 The strong reflection of the pile
 Lit his dark lineaments,
 Lit the protruded brow, the gathered front,
 The steady eye of wrath.

 But while the fearful silence yet endur'd,
 Ladurlad rous'd his soul;
 Ere yet the voice of destiny
 Which trembled on the Rajah's lips was loos'd,
 Eager he interpos'd,
 As if despair had waken'd him to hope;
 Mercy! oh mercy! only in defence . . .
 Only instinctively, . . .
 Only to save my child, I smote the Prince.
 King of the world, be merciful!
 Crush me, . . . but torture not!


 The Man-Almighty deign'd him no reply,
 Still he stood silent; in no human mood
 Of mercy, in no hesitating thought
 Of right and justice. At the length he rais'd
 His brow yet unrelax'd, . . . his lips unclos'd,
 And utter'd from the heart,
 With the whole feeling of his soul enforced,
 The gather'd vengeance came.

 I charm thy life
 From the weapons of strife,
 From stone and from wood,
 From fire and from flood,
 From the serpent's tooth,
 And the beasts of blood:
 From Sickness I charm thee,
 And Time shall not harm thee;
 But Earth, which is mine,
 Its fruits shall deny thee;
 And Water shall hear me,
 And know thee and fly thee;
 And the Winds shall not touch thee
 When they pass by thee,
 And the Dews shall not wet thee,
 When they fall nigh thee:
 And thou shalt seek Death
 To release thee, in vain;
 Thou shalt live in thy pain,
 While Kehama shall reign,
 With a fire in thy heart,
 And a fire in thy brain;
 And sleep shall obey me,
 And visit thee never,
 And the Curse shall be on thee
 For ever and ever.

 There where the Curse had stricken him,
 There stood the miserable man,
 There stood Ladurlad, with loose-hanging arms,
 And eyes of idiot wandering.
 Was it a dream? alas,
 He heard the river flow,
 He heard the crumbling of the pile,
 He heard the wind which shower'd
 The thin white ashes round.
 There motionless he stood,
 As if he hop'd it were a dream,
 And fear'd to move, lest he should prove
 The actual misery;
 And still at times he met Kehama's eye,
 Kehama's eye that fasten'd on him still.



 The Rajah turn'd toward the pile again,
 Loud rose the song of death from all the crowd;
 Their din the instruments begin,
 And once again join in
 With overwhelming sound.
 Ladurlad starts, . . . he looks around.
 What hast thou here in view,
 O wretched man, in this disastrous scene?
 The soldier train, the Bramins who renew
 Their ministry around the funeral pyre,
 The empty palankeens,
 The dimly-fading fire.
 Where too is she whom most his heart held dear,
 His best-beloved Kailyal, where is she,
 The solace and the joy of many a year
 Of widowhood! is she then gone,
 And is he left all-utterly alone,
 To bear his blasting curse, and none
 To succour or deplore him?
 He staggers from the dreadful spot; the throng
 Give way in fear before him;
 Like one who carries pestilence about,
 Shuddering they shun him, where he moves along.
 And now he wanders on
 Beyond the noisy rout;
 He cannot fly and leave his curse behind,
 Yet doth he seem to find
 A comfort in the change of circumstance.
 Adown the shore he strays,
 Unknowing where his wretched feet may rest,
 But farthest from the fatal place is best.

 By this in the orient sky appears the gleam
 Of day. Lo! what is yonder in the stream,
 Down the slow river floating slow,
 In distance indistinct and dimly seen?
 The childless one with idle eye
 Followed its motion thoughtlessly;
 Idly he gaz'd, unknowing why,
 And half unconscious that he watch'd its way.
 Belike it is a tree
 Which some rude tempest, in its sudden sway,
 Tore from the rock, or from the hollow shore
 The undermining stream hath swept away.

 But when anon outswelling by its side,
 A woman's robe he spied,
 Oh then Ladurlad started,
 As one, who in his grave
 Had heard an angel's call.
 Yea, Marriataly, then hast deign'd to save!
 Yea, Goddess! it is she,
 To thy dear image clinging senselessly,
 And thus in happy hour
 Upborne amid the wave
 By that preserving power.

 Headlong in hope and in joy
 Ladurlad dash'd in the water.
 The water knew Kehama's spell,
 The water shrunk before him.
 Blind to the miracle,
 He rushes to his daughter,
 And treads the river-depths in transport wild,
 And clasps and saves his child.

 Upon the farther side a level shore
 Of sand was spread: thither Ladurlad bore
 His daughter, holding still with senseless hand
 The saving Goddess; there upon the sand
 He laid the livid maid,
 Rais'd up against his knees her drooping head;
 Bent to her lips, . . . her lips as pale as death, . . .
 If he might feel her breath,
 His own the while in hope and dread suspended;
 Chaf'd her cold breast, and ever and anon
 Let his hand rest upon her heart extended.

 Soon did his touch perceive, or fancy there,
 The first faint motion of returning life.
 He chafes her feet, and lays them bare
 In the sun; and now again upon her breast
 Lays his hot hand; and now her lips he prest,
 For now the stronger throb of life he knew:
 And her lips tremble too!
 The breath comes palpably,
 Her quivering lids unclose
 Feebly and feebly fell,
 Relapsing as it seem'd to dead repose.

 So in her father's arms thus languidly,
 While over her with earnest gaze he hung,
 Silent and motionless she lay,
 And painfully and slowly writh'd at fits,
 At fits to short convulsive starts was stung.
 Till when the struggle and strong agony
 Had left her, quietly she lay repos'd:
 Her eyes now resting on Ladurlad's face,
 Relapsing now, and now again unclos'd.
 The look she fix'd upon his face, implies
 Nor thought nor feeling; senselessly she lies,
 Compos'd like one who sleeps with open eyes.

 Long he leant over her,
 In silence and in fear.
 Kailyal! . . . at length he cried in such a tone,
 As a poor mother ventures who draws near,
 With silent footstep, to her child's sick bed.
 My Father! cried the maid, and rais'd her head,
 Awakening then to life and thought, . . . thou here?
 For when his voice she heard,
 The dreadful past recurr'd,
 Which dimly, like a dream of pain,
 Till now with troubled sense confus'd her brain.

 And hath he spar'd us then? she cried,
 Half rising as she spake,
 For hope and joy the sudden strength supplied;
 In mercy hath he curb'd his cruel will,
 That still thou livest? But as thus she said,
 Impatient of that look of hope, her sire
 Shook hastily his head;
 Oh! he hath laid a Curse upon my life,
 A clinging curse, quoth he;
 Hath sent a fire into my heart and brain,
 A burning fire, for ever there to be!
 The winds of Heaven must never breathe on me;
 The rains and dews must never fall on me;
 Water must mock my thirst and shrink from me;
 The common earth must yield no fruit to me;
 Sleep, blessed Sleep! must never light on me;
 And Death, who comes to all, must fly from me;
 And never, never set Ladurlad free.

 This is a dream! exclaim'd the incredulous maid,
 Yet in her voice the while a fear exprest,
 Which in her larger eye was manifest.
 This is a dream! she rose and laid her hand
 Upon her father's brow, to try the charm;
 He could not bear the pressure there; . . . he shrunk, . . .
 He warded off her arm,
 As though it were an enemy's blow, he smote
 His daughter's arm aside.
 Her eye glanced down, his mantle she espied
 And caught it up; . . . Oh misery! Kailyal cried,
 He bore me from the river-depths, and yet
 His garment is not wet!



 Reclin'd beneath a Cocoa's feathery shade
 Ladurlad lies,
 And Kailyal on his lap her head hath laid,
 To hide her streaming eyes.
 The boatman, sailing on his easy way,
 With envious eye beheld them where they lay;
 For every herb and flower
 Was fresh and fragrant with the early dew;
 Sweet sung the birds in that delicious hour,
 And the cool gale of morning as it blew,
 Not yet subdued by day's increasing power,
 Ruffling the surface of the silvery stream,
 Swept o'er the moisten'd sand, and rais'd no shower.
 Telling their tale of love,
 The boatman thought they lay
 At that lone hour, and who so blest as they!

 But now the sun in heaven is high,
 The little songsters of the sky
 Sit silent in the sultry hour,
 They pant and palpitate with heat;
 Their bills are open languidly
 To catch the passing air;
 They hear it not, they feel it not,
 It murmurs not, it moves not.
 The boatman, as he looks to land,
 Admires what men so mad to linger there,
 For yonder Cocoa's shade behind them falls,
 A single spot upon the burning sand.

 There all the morning was Ladurlad laid,
 Silent and motionless, like one at ease;
 There motionless upon her father's knees,
 Reclin'd the silent maid.
 The man was still, pondering with steady mind,
 As if it were another's Curse,
 His own portentous lot;
 Scanning it o'er and o'er in busy thought,
 As though it were a last night's tale of woe,
 Before the cottage door,
 By some old beldame sung,
 While young and old assembled round,
 Listened, as if by witchery bound,
 In fearful pleasure to her wonderous tongue.

 Musing so long he lay, that all things seem
 Unreal to his sense, even like a dream,
 A monstrous dream of things which could not be.
 That beating, burning brow, . . . why it was now
 The height of noon, and he was lying there
 In the broad sun, all bare!
 What if he felt no wind? the air was still,
 That was the general will
 Of nature, not his own peculiar doom;
 Yon rows of rice erect and silent stand,
 The shadow of the Cocoa's lightest plume
 Is steady on the sand.


 Is it indeed a dream? he rose to try,
 Impatient to the water-side he went,
 And down he bent,
 And in the stream he plung'd his hasty arm
 To break the visionary charm.
 With fearful eye and fearful heart,
 His daughter watch'd the event;
 She saw the start and shudder,
 She heard the in-drawn groan,
 For the Water knew Kehama's charm,
 The water shrunk before his arm.
 His dry hand mov'd about unmoisten'd there;
 As easily might that dry hand avail
 To stop the passing gale,
 Or grasp the impassive air.
 He is Almighty then!
 Exclaim'd the wretched man in his despair;
 Air knows him, Water knows him; Sleep
 His dreadful word will keep;
 Even in the grave there is no rest for me,
 Cut off from that last hope, . . . the wretches' joy;
 And Veeshnoo hath no power to save,
 Nor Seeva to destroy.


 Oh! wrong not them! quoth Kailyal,
 Wrong not the Heavenly Powers!
 Our hope is all in them: They are not blind!
 And lighter wrongs than ours,
 And lighter crimes than his,
 Have drawn the Incarnate down among mankind;
 Already have the Immortals heard our cries,
 And in the mercy of their righteousness
 Beheld us in the hour of our distress!
 She spake with streaming eyes,
 Where pious love and ardent feeling beam;
 And turning to the Image, threw
 Her grateful arms around it, . . . It was thou
 Who saved'st me from the stream!
 My Marriataly, it was thou!
 I had not else been here
 To share my Father's Curse,
 To suffer now, . . . and yet to thank thee thus!

 Here then, the maiden cried, dear Father, here
 Raise our own Goddess, our divine Preserver!
 The mighty of the earth despise her rites,
 She loves the poor who serve her.
 Set up her image here,
 With heart and voice the guardian Goddess bless,
 For jealously would she resent
 Neglect and thanklessness. . . .
 Set up her image here,
 And bless her for her aid with tongue and soul sincere.

 So saying, on her knees the maid
 Began the pious toil.
 Soon their joint labour scoops the easy soil;
 They raise the image up with reverent hand,
 And round its rooted base they heap the sand.
 O Thou whom we adore,
 O Marriataly, thee do I implore,
 The virgin cried; my Goddess, pardon thou
 The unwilling wrong, that I no more,
 With dance and song,
 Can do thy daily service, as of yore!
 The flowers which last I wreath'd around thy brow,
 Are withering there; and never now
 Shall I at eve adore thee,
 And swimming round with arms outspread,
 Poise the full pitcher on my head,
 In dextrous dance before thee;
 White underneath the reedy shed, at rest,
 My father sate the evening rites to view,
 And blest thy name, and blest
 His daughter too.

 Then heaving from her heart a heavy sigh,
 O Goddess! from that happy home, cried she,
 The Almighty Man hath forced us!
 And homeward with the thought unconsciously
 She turn'd her dizzy eye. . . . But there on high,
 With many a dome, and pinnacle, and spire,
 The summits of, the Golden Palaces
 Blaz'd in the dark blue sky, aloft, like fire.
 Father, away! she cried, away!
 Why linger we so nigh?
 For not to him hath Nature given
 The thousand eyes of Deity,
 Always and every where with open sight,
 To persecute our flight!
 Away . . . away! she said,
 And took her father's hand, and like a child
 He followed where she led.



 Evening comes on: arising from the stream,
 Homeward the tall flamingo wings his flight;
 And where he sails athwart the setting beam,
 His scarlet plumage glows with deeper light.
 The watchman, at the wish'd approach of night,
 Gladly forsakes the field, where he all day,
 To scare the winged plunderers from their prey,
 With shout and sling, on yonder clay-built height,
 Hath borne the sultry ray.
 Hark! at the Golden Palaces,
 The Bramin strikes the hour.
 For leagues and leagues around, the brazen sound
 Rolls through the stillness of departing day,
 Like thunder far away.

 Behold them wandering on their hopeless way,
 Unknowing where they stray,
 Yet sure where'er they stop to find no rest.
 The evening gale is blowing,
 It plays among the trees;
 Like plumes upon a warrior's crest,
 They see yon cocoas tossing to the breeze.
 Ladurlad views them with impatient mind,
 Impatiently he hears
 The gale of evening blowing,
 The sound of waters flowing,
 As if all sights and sounds combin'd
 To mock his irremediable woe:
 For not for him the blessed waters flow,
 For not for him the gales of evening blow,
 A fire is in his heart and brain,
 And Nature hath no healing for his pain.

 The Moon is up, still pale
 Amid the lingering light.
 A cloud ascending in the eastern sky,
 Sails slowly o'er the vale,
 And darkens round and closes-in the night.
 No hospitable house is nigh,
 No traveller's home the wanderers to invite.
 Forlorn, and with long watching overworn,
 The wretched father and the wretched child
 Lie down amid the wild.

 Before them full in sight,
 A white flag flapping to the winds of night,
 Marks where the tyger seiz'd his human prey.
 Far, far away with natural dread,
 Shunning the perilous spot,
 At other times abhorrent had they fled;
 But now they heed it not.
 Nothing they care; the boding death-flag now
 In vain for them may gleam and flutter there.
 Despair and agony in him,
 Prevent all other thought;
 And Kailyal hath no heart or sense for aught,
 Save her dear father's strange and miserable lot.


 There in the woodland shade,
 Upon the lap of that unhappy maid,
 His head Ladurlad laid,
 And never word he spake;
 Nor heav'd he one complaining sigh,
 Nor groan'd he with his misery,
 But silently for her dear sake
 Endur'd the raging pain.
 And now the moon was hid on high,
 No stars were glimmering in the sky;
 She could not see her father's eye,
 How red with burning agony.
 Perhaps he may be cooler now;
 She hoped, and long'd to touch his brow
 With gentle hand, yet did not dare
 To lay the painful pressure there.
 Now forward from the tree she bent,
 And anxiously her head she leant,
 And listened to his breath.
 Ladurlad's breath was short and quick,
 Yet regular it came,
 And like the slumber of the sick,
 In pantings still the same.
 Oh if he sleeps! . . . her lips unclose,
 Intently listening to the sound,
 That equal sound so like repose.
 Still quietly the sufferer lies,
 Bearing his torment now with resolute will;
 He neither moves, nor groans, nor sighs.
 Doth satiate cruelty bestow
 This little respite to his woe,
 She thought, or are there Gods who look below!

 Perchance, thought Kailyal, willingly deceiv'd,
 Our Marriataly hath his pain reliev'd,
 And she hath bade the blessed sleep assuage
 His agony, despite the Rajah's rage.
 That was a hope which fill'd her gushing eyes,
 And made her heart in silent yearnings rise,
 To bless the Power divine in thankfulness.
 And yielding to that joyful thought her mind,
 Backward the maid her aching head reclin'd
 Against the tree, and to her father's breath
 In fear she hearken'd still with earnest ear.
 But soon forgetful fits the effort broke:
 In starts of recollection then she woke;
 Till now benignant Nature overcame
 The Virgin's weary and exhausted frame,
 Nor able more her painful watch to keep,
 She clos'd her heavy lids, and sunk to sleep.

 Vain was her hope! he did not rest from pain,
 The Curse was burning in his brain.
 Alas! the innocent maiden thought he slept,
 But Sleep the Rajah's dread commandment kept,
 Sleep knew Kehama's Curse.
 The dews of night fell round them now,
 They never bath'd Ladurlad's brow,
 They knew Kehama's Curse.
 The night-wind is abroad,
 Aloft it moves among the stirring trees.
 He only heard the breeze, . . .
 No healing aid to him it brought,
 It play'd around his head and touch'd him not,
 It knew Kehama's Curse.

 Listening, Ladurlad lay in his despair,
 If Kailyal slept, for wherefore should she share
 Her father's wretchedness which none could cure?
 Better alone to suffer; he must bear
 The burthen of his Curse, but why endure
 The unavailing presence of her grief?
 She too, apart from him, might find relief;
 For dead the Rajah deem'd her, and as thus
 Already she his dread revenge had fled,
 So might she still escape and live secure.

 Gently he lifts his head,
 And Kailyal does not feel;
 Gently he rises up, . . . she slumbers still;
 Gently he steals away with silent tread.
 Anon she started, for she felt him gone;
 She call'd, and through the stillness of the night,
 His step was heard in flight.
 Mistrustful for a moment of the sound,
 She listens! till the step is heard no more;
 But then she knows that he indeed is gone,
 And with a thrilling shriek she rushes on.
 The darkness and the wood impede her speed;
 She lifts her voice again,
 Ladurlad! . . . and again, alike in vain,
 And with a louder cry
 Straining its tone to hoarseness; . . . far away,
 Selfish in misery,
 He heard the call and faster did he fly.

 She leans against that tree whose jutting bough
 Smote her so rudely. Her poor heart
 How audibly it panted,
 With sudden stop and start:
 Her breath how short and painfully it came!
 Hark! all is still around her, . . .
 And the night so utterly dark,
 She opened her eyes and she closed them,
 And the blackness and blank were the same.

 'Twas like a dream of horror, and she stood
 Half doubting whether all indeed were true.
 A Tyger's howl loud echoing through the wood,
 Rous'd her; the dreadful sound she knew,
 And turn'd instinctively to what she feared.
 Far off the Tyger's hungry howl was heard;
 A nearer horror met the maiden's view,
 For right before her a dim form appear'd,
 A human form in that black night,
 Distinctly shaped by its own lurid light,
 Such light as the sickly moon is seen to shed,
 Through spell-rais'd fogs, a bloody baleful red.

 That Spectre fix'd his eyes upon her full;
 The light which shone in their accursed orbs
 Was like a light from Hell,
 And it grew deeper, kindling with the view.
 She could not turn her sight
 From that infernal gaze, which like a spell
 Bound her, and held her rooted to the ground.
 It palsied every power;
 Her limbs avail'd her not in that dread hour.
 There was no moving thence,
 Thought, memory, sense were gone:
 She heard not now the Tyger's nearer cry,
 She thought not on her father now,
 Her cold heart's-blood ran back,
 Her hand lay senseless on the bough it clasp'd,
 Her feet were motionless;
 Her fascinated eyes
 Like the stone eye-balls of a statue fix'd,
 Yet conscious of the sight that blasted them.

 The wind is abroad,
 It opens the clouds;
 Scattered before the gale,
 They skurry through the sky,
 And the darkness retiring rolls over the vale.
 The stars in their beauty come forth on high,
 And through the dark-blue night
 The moon rides on triumphant, broad and bright.
 Distinct and darkening in her light
 Appears that Spectre foul.
 The moon beam gives his face and form to sight,
 The shape of man,
 The living form and face of Arvalan!
 His hands are spread to clasp her.

 But at that sight of dread the maid awoke;
 As if a lightning-stroke
 Had burst the spell of fear,
 Away she broke all franticly and fled.
 There stood a temple near beside the way,
 An open fane of Pollear, gentle God,
 To whom the travellers for protection pray.
 With elephantine head and eye severe,
 Here stood his image, such as when he seiz'd
 And tore the rebel giant from the ground,
 With mighty trunk wreath'd round
 His impotent bulk, and on his tusks, on high
 Impal'd upheld him between earth and sky.

 Thither the affrighted maiden sped her flight,
 And she hath reach'd the place of sanctuary;
 And now within the temple in despite,
 Yea, even before the altar, in his sight,
 Hath Arvalan with fleshly arm of might
 Seiz'd her. That instant the insulted God
 Caught him aloft, and from his sinuous grasp,
 As if from some tort catapult let loose,
 Over the forest hurl'd him all abroad.

 Overcome with dread,
 She tarried not to see what heavenly power
 Had saved her in that hour.
 Breathless and faint she fled.
 And now her foot struck on the knotted root
 Of a broad manchineil, and there the maid
 Fell senselessly beneath the deadly shade.



 Shall this then be thy fate, O lovely Maid,
 Thus, Kailyal, must thy sorrows then be ended!
 Her face upon the ground,
 Her arms at length extended,
 There like a corpse behold her laid,
 Beneath the deadly shade.
 What if the hungry Tyger, prowling by,
 Should snuff his banquet nigh?
 Alas, Death needs not now his ministry;
 The baleful boughs hang o'er her,
 The poison-dews descend.
 What power will now restore her,
 What God will be her friend?

 Bright and so beautiful was that fair night,
 It might have calm'd the gay amid their mirth,
 And given the wretched a delight in tears.
 One of the Glendoveers,
 The loveliest race of all of heavenly birth,
 Hovering with gentle motion o'er the earth,
 Amid the moonlight air,
 In sportive flight was floating round and round,
 Unknowing where his joyous way was tending.
 He saw the maid where motionless she lay,
 And stoopt his flight descending,
 And rais'd her from the ground.
 Her heavy eye-lids are half clos'd,
 Her cheeks are pale and livid like the dead,
 Down hang her loose arms lifelessly,
 Down hangs her languid head.

 With timely pity touch'd for one so fair,
 The gentle Glendoveer
 Prest her thus pale and senseless to his breast,
 And springs aloft in air with sinewy wings,
 And bears the Maiden there,
 Where Himakoot, the holy Mount, on high
 From mid-earth rising in mid-Heaven,
 Shines in its glory like the throne of Even.
 Soaring with strenuous flight above,
 He bears her to the blessed Grove,
 Where in his ancient and august abodes,
 There dwells old Casyapa, the Sire of Gods.

 The Father of the Immortals sate,
 Where underneath the Tree of Life
 The fountains of the Sacred River sprung:
 The Father of the Immortals smil'd
 Benignant on his son.
 Knowest thou, he said, my child,
 Ereenia, knowest thou whom thou bringest here,
 A mortal to the holy atmosphere?

 I found her in the Groves of Earth,
 Beneath a poison-tree,
 Thus lifeless as thou seest her.
 In pity have I brought her to these bowers,
 Not erring, Father! by that smile . . .
 By that benignant eye!

 What if the maid be sinful? If her ways
 Were ways of darkness, and her death predoom'd
 To that black hour of midnight, when the Moon
 Hath turn'd her face away,
 Unwilling to behold
 The unhappy end of guilt?

 Then what a lie, my Sire, were written here,
 In these fair characters! And she had died,
 Sure proof of purer life and happier doom,
 Now in the moonlight, in the eye of Heaven,
 If I had left so fair a flower to fade.
 But thou, . . . all knowing as thou art,
 Why askest thou of me?
 O Father, oldest, holiest, wisest, best,
 To whom all things are plain,
 Why askest thou of me?

 Knowest thou Kehama?

 The Almighty Man!
 Who knows not him and his tremendous power?
 The Tyrant of the Earth,
 The Enemy of Heaven!

 Fearest thou the Rajah?

 He is terrible!

 Yea, he is terrible! such power hath he,
 That hope hath entered Hell.
 The Asuras and the spirits of the damn'd
 Acclaim their Hero; Yamen, with the might
 Of Godhead, scarce can quell
 The rebel race accurst;
 Half from their beds of torture they uprise,
 And half uproot their chains.
 Is there not fear in Heaven?
 The souls that are in bliss suspend their joy;
 The danger hath disturb'd
 The calm of Deity,
 And Brama fears, and Veeshnoo turns his face
 In doubt toward Seeva's throne.

 I have seen Indra tremble at his prayers,
 And at his dreadful penances turn pale.
 They claim and wrest from Seeva power so vast,
 That even Seeva's self,
 The Highest, cannot grant and be secure.

 And darest thou, Ereenia, brave
 The Almighty Tyrant's power?

 I brave him, Father! I?


 Darest thou brave his vengeance? . . . for if not,
 Take her again to earth,
 Cast her before the tyger in his path,
 Or where the death-dew-dropping tree
 May work Kehama's will.


 Then meet his wrath! for he, even he,
 Hath set upon this worm his wanton foot.

 I knew her not, how wretched and how fair,
 When here I wafted her: . . . poor Child of Earth,
 Shall I forsake thee, seeing thee so fair,
 So wretched? O my Father, let the maid
 Dwell in the Sacred Grove.

 That must not be,
 For Force and Evil then would enter here;
 Ganges, the holy stream which cleanseth sin,
 Would flow from hence polluted in its springs,
 And they who gasp upon its banks in death,
 Feel no salvation. Piety and peace
 And Wisdom, these are mine; but not the power
 Which could protect her from the Almighty Man;
 Nor when the spirit of dead Arvalan
 Should persecute her here to glut his rage,
 To heap upon her yet more agony,
 And ripen more damnation for himself.

 Dead Arvalan?

 All power to him, whereof
 The disembodied spirit in its state
 Of weakness could be made participant,
 Kehama hath assign'd, until his days
 Of wandering shall be numbered.

 Look! she drinks
 The gale of healing from the blessed Groves.
 She stirs, and lo! her hand
 Hath touch'd the Holy River in its source,
 Who would have shrunk if aught impure were nigh.

 The Maiden, of a truth, is pure from sin.

 The waters of the holy Spring
 About the hand of Kailyal play;
 They rise, they sparkle, and they sing,
 Leaping where languidly she lay,
 As if with that rejoicing stir
 The holy Spring would welcome her.
 The Tree of Life which o'er her spread,
 Benignant bow'd its sacred head,
 And dropt its dews of healing;
 And her heart-blood at every breath,
 Recovering from the strife of death,
 Drew in new strength and feeling.
 Behold her beautiful in her repose,
 A life-bloom reddening now her dark-brown cheek;
 And lo! her eyes unclose,
 Dark as the depth of Ganges' spring profound
 When night hangs over it,
 Bright as the moon's refulgent beam,
 That quivers on its clear up-sparkling stream.

 Soon she let fall her lids,
 As one who, from a blissful dream
 Waking to thoughts of pain,
 Fain would return to sleep, and dream again.
 Distrustful of the sight,
 She moves not, fearing to disturb
 The deep and full delight.
 In wonder fix'd, opening again her eye
 She gazes silently,
 Thinking her mortal pilgrimage was past,
 That she had reach'd her heavenly home of rest,
 And these were Gods before her,
 Or spirits of the blest.

 Lo! at Ereenia's voice,
 A Ship of Heaven comes sailing down the skies.
 Where wouldst thou bear her? cries
 The ancient Sire of Gods.
 Straight to the Swerga, to my Bower of Bliss,
 The Glendoveer replies,
 To Indra's own abodes.
 Foe of her foe, were it alone for this
 Indra should guard her from his vengeance there;
 But if the God forbear,
 Unwilling yet the perilous strife to try,
 Or shrinking from the dreadful Rajah's might, . . .
 Weak as I am, O Father, even I
 Stand forth in Seeva's sight.

 Trust thou in Him whatever betide,
 And stand forth fearlessly!
 The Sire of Gods replied:
 All that He wills is right, and doubt not thou,
 Howe'er our feeble scope of sight
 May fail us now,
 His righteous will in all things must be done.
 My blessing be upon thee, O my son!



 Then in the Ship of Heaven, Ereenia laid
 The waking, wondering Maid;
 The Ship of Heaven, instinct with thought, display'd
 Its living sail, and glides along the sky.
 On either side in wavy tide,
 The clouds of morn along its path divide;
 The Winds who swept in wild career on high,
 Before its presence check their charmed force;
 The Winds that loitering lagg'd along their course,
 Around the living Bark enamour'd play,
 Swell underneath the sail, and sing before its way.


 That Bark, in shape, was like the furrowed shell
 Wherein the Sea-Nymphs to their parent-king,
 On festal day, their duteous offerings bring.
 Its hue? . . . Go watch the last green light
 Ere Evening yields the western sky to Night;
 Or fix upon the Sun thy strenuous sight
 Till thou hast reach'd its orb of chrysolite.
 The sail from end to end display'd
 Bent, like a rainbow, o'er the maid.
 An Angel's head, with visual eye,
 Through trackless space, directs its chosen way;
 Nor aid of wing, nor foot, nor fin,
 Requires to voyage o'er the obedient sky.
 Smooth as the swan when not a breeze at even
 Disturbs the surface of the silver stream,
 Through air and sunshine sails the Ship of Heaven.

 Recumbent there the Maiden glides along
 On her aerial way,
 How swift she feels not, though the swiftest wind
 Had flagg'd in flight behind.
 Motionless as a sleeping babe she lay,
 And all serene in mind,
 Feeling no fear; for that etherial air
 With such new life and joyance fill'd her heart,
 Fear could not enter there;
 For sure she deem'd her mortal part was o'er,
 And she was sailing to the heavenly shore;
 And that Angelic form, who mov'd beside,
 Was some good Spirit sent to be her guide.

 Daughter of Earth! therein thou deem'st aright.
 And never yet did form more beautiful,
 In dreams of night descending from on high,
 Bless the religious Virgin's gifted sight;
 Nor, like a vision of delight,
 Rise on the raptur'd Poet's inward eye.
 Of human form divine was he,
 The immortal Youth of Heaven who floated by;
 Even such as that divinest form shall be
 In those blest stages of our onward race,
 When no infirmity,
 Low thought, nor base desire, nor wasting care,
 Deface the semblance of our heavenly sire.
 The wings of Eagle or of Cherubim
 Had seem'd unworthy him:
 Angelic power and dignity and grace
 Were in his glorious pennons; from the neck
 Down to the ankle reach'd their swelling web,
 Richer than robes of Tyrian die, that deck
 Imperial majesty:
 Their colour like the winter's moonless sky
 When all the stars of midnight's canopy
 Shine forth; or like the azure deep at noon,
 Reflecting back to heaven a brighter blue.
 Such was their tint when clos'd, but when outspread,
 The permeating light
 Shed through their substance thin a varying hue;
 Now bright as when the Rose,
 Beauteous as fragrant, gives to scent and sight
 A like delight; now like the juice that flows
 From Douro's generous vine,
 Or ruby when with deepest red it glows;
 Or as the morning clouds refulgent shine
 When, at forthcoming of the Lord of Day,
 The Orient, like a shrine,
 Kindles as it receives the rising ray,
 And heralding his way,
 Proclaims the presence of the power divine.


 Thus glorious were the wings
 Of that celestial Spirit, as he went
 Disporting through his native element.
 Nor these alone
 The gorgeous beauties that they gave to view:
 Through the broad membrane branch'd a pliant bone;
 Spreading like fibres from their parent stem,
 Its veins like interwoven silver shone,
 Or as the chaster hue
 Of pearls that grace some Sultan's diadem.
 Now with slow stroke and strong, behold him smite
 The buoyant air, and now in gentler flight,
 On motionless wing expanded, shoot along.

 Through air and sunshine sails the Ship of Heaven.
 Far far beneath them lies
 The gross and heavy atmosphere of earth;
 And with the Swerga gales,
 The Maid of mortal birth
 At every breath a new delight inhales.
 And now toward its port the Ship of Heaven,
 Swift as a falling meteor, shapes its flight,
 Yet gently as the dews of night that gem,
 And do not bend the hare-bell's slenderest stem.
 Daughter of Earth, Ereenia cried, alight,
 This is thy place of rest, the Swerga this,
 Lo, here my Bower of Bliss!

 He furl'd his azure wings, which round him fold
 Graceful as robes of Grecian chief of old.
 The happy Kailyal knew not where to gaze:
 Her eyes around in joyful wonder roam,
 Now turn'd upon the lovely Glendoveer,
 Now on his heavenly home.

 Here, Maiden, rest in peace,
 And I will guard thee, feeble as I am.
 The Almighty Rajah shall not harm thee here,
 While Indra keeps his throne.

 Alas, thou fearest him!
 Immortal as thou art, thou fearest him!
 I thought that death had sav'd me from his power;
 Not even the dead are safe.

 Long years of life and happiness,
 O Child of Earth, be thine!
 From death I sav'd thee, and from all thy foes
 Will save thee, while the Swerga is secure.

 Not me alone, O gentle Deveta!
 I have a father suffering upon earth,
 A persecuted, wretched, poor, good man,
 For whose strange misery
 There is no human help,
 And none but I dare comfort him
 Beneath Kehama's curse.
 O gentle Deveta, protect him too!

 Come, plead thyself to Indra! words like thine
 May win their purpose, rouse his slumbering heart,
 And make him yet put forth his arm to wield
 The thunder, while the thunder is his own.


 Then to the garden of the Deity
 Ereenia led the maid.
 In the mid garden tower'd a giant Tree;
 Rock-rooted on a mountain-top, it grew,
 Rear'd its unrivall'd head on high,
 And stretch'd a thousand branches o'er the sky,
 Drinking with all its leaves celestial dew.
 Lo! where from thence as from a living well
 A thousand torrents flow!
 For still in one perpetual shower,
 Like diamond drops, etherial waters fell
 From every leaf of all its ample bower.
 Rolling adown the steep
 From that aerial height,
 Through the deep shade of aromatic trees,
 Half-seen, the cataracts shoot their gleams of light,
 And pour upon the breeze
 Their thousand voices; far away the roar,
 In modulations of delightful sound,
 Half-heard and ever varying, floats around.
 Below, an ample Lake expanded lies,
 Blue as the o'er-arching skies;
 Forth issuing from that lovely Lake,
 A thousand rivers water Paradise.
 Full to the brink, yet never overflowing,
 They cool the amorous gales, which, ever blowing,
 O'er their melodious surface love to stray;
 Then winging back their way,
 Their vapours to the parent Tree repay;
 And ending thus where they began,
 And feeding thus the source from whence they came,
 The eternal rivers of the Swerga ran,
 For ever renovate, yet still the same.

 On that etherial Lake whose waters lie
 Blue and transpicuous, like another sky,
 The Elements had rear'd their King's abode.
 A strong controuling power their strife suspended,
 And there their hostile essences they blended,
 To form a Palace worthy of the God.
 Built on the Lake the waters were its floor;
 And here its walls were water arch'd with fire,
 And here were fire with water vaulted o'er;
 And spires and pinnacles of fire
 Round watery cupolas aspire,
 And domes of rainbow rest on fiery towers;
 And roofs of flame are turreted around
 With cloud, and shafts of cloud with flame are bound.
 Here, too, the Elements for ever veer,
 Ranging around with endless interchanging;
 Pursued in love, and so in love pursuing,
 In endless revolutions here they roll;
 For ever their mysterious work renewing,
 The parts all shifting, still unchanged the whole.
 Even we on earth, at intervals, descry
 Gleams of the glory, streaks of flowing light,
 Openings of heaven, and streams that flash at night
 In fitful splendour, through the northern sky.

 Impatient of delay, Ereenia caught
 The Maid aloft, and spread his wings abroad,
 And bore her to the presence of the God.
 There Indra sate upon his throne reclin'd,
 Where Devetas adore him;
 The lute of Nared, warbling on the wind,
 All tones of magic harmony combin'd
 To sooth his troubled mind,
 While the dark-eyed Apsaras danced before him.
 In vain the God-musician played,
 In vain the dark-eyed Nymphs of Heaven essay'd
 To charm him with their beauties in the dance;
 And when he saw the mortal Maid appear,
 Led by the heroic Glendoveer,
 A deeper trouble fill'd his countenance.
 What hast thou done, Ereenia, said the God,
 Bringing a mortal here?
 And while he spake his eye was on the Maid.
 The look he gave was solemn, not severe;
 No hope to Kailyal it convey'd,
 And yet it struck no fear;
 There was a sad displeasure in his air,
 But pity, too, was there.

 Hear me, O Indra! On the lower earth
 I found this child of man, by what mishap
 I know not, lying in the lap of death.
 Aloft I bore her to our Father's grove;
 Not having other thought, than when the gales
 Of bliss had heal'd her, upon earth again
 To leave its lovely daughter. Other thoughts
 Arose, when Casyapa declar'd her fate;
 For she is one who groans beneath the power
 Of the dread Rajah, terrible alike
 To men and Gods. His son, dead Arvalan,
 Arm'd with a portion, Indra, of thy power
 Already wrested from thee, persecutes
 The Maid, the helpless one, the innocent.
 What then behov'd me but to waft her here
 To my own Bower of Bliss? what other choice?
 The spirit of foul Arvalan, not yet
 Hath power to enter here; here thou art yet
 Supreme, and yet the Swerga is thine own.

 No child of man, Ereenia, in the Bowers
 Of Bliss may sojourn, till he hath put off
 His mortal part; for on mortality
 Time and Infirmity and Death attend,
 Close followers they, and in their mournful train
 Sorrow and Pain and Mutability:
 Did they find entrance here, we should behold
 Our joys, like earthly summers, pass away.
 Those joys perchance may pass; a stronger hand
 May wrest my sceptre, and unparadise
 The Swerga; . . . but, Ereenia, if we fall,
 Let it be Fate's own arm that casts us down,
 We will not rashly hasten and provoke
 The blow, nor bring ourselves the ruin on.

 Fear courts the blow. Fear brings the ruin on.
 Needs must the chariot-wheels of Destiny
 Crush him who throws himself before their track,
 Patient and prostrate.

 All may yet be well.
 Who knows but Veeshnoo will descend, and save,
 Once more incarnate?

 Look not there for help,
 Nor build on unsubstantial hope thy trust!
 Our Father Casyapa hath said he turns
 His doubtful eyes to Seeva, even as thou
 Dost look to him for aid. But thine own strength
 Should for thine own salvation be put forth;
 Then might the higher powers approving see
 And bless the brave resolve . . . Oh, that my arm
 Could wield yon lightnings which play idly there,
 In inoffensive radiance, round thy head!
 The Swerga should not need a champion now,
 Nor Earth implore deliverance still in vain!

 Thinkest thou I want the will? rash Son of Heaven,
 What if my arm be feeble as thine own
 Against the dread Kehama? He went on
 Conquering in irresistible career,
 Till his triumphant car had measur'd o'er
 The insufficient earth, and all the kings
 Of men received his yoke; then had he won
 His will, to ride upon their necks elate,
 And crown his conquests with the sacrifice
 That should, to men and gods, proclaim him Lord
 And Sovereign Master of the vassal World,
 Sole Rajah, the Omnipotent below.
 The steam of that portentous sacrifice
 Arose to Heaven. Then was the hour to strike.
 Then in the consummation of his pride,
 His height of glory, then the thunder-bolt
 Should have gone forth, and hurl'd him from his throne
 Down to the fiery floor of Padalon,
 To everlasting burnings, agony
 Eternal, and remorse which knows no end.
 That hour went by: grown impious in success,
 By prayer and penances he wrested now
 Such power from Fate, that soon, if Seeva turn not
 His eyes on earth, and no Avatar save,
 Soon will he seize the Swerga for his own,
 Roll on through Padalon his chariot wheels,
 Tear up the adamantine bolts which lock
 The accurst Asuras to its burning floor,
 And force the drink of Immortality
 From Yamen's charge . . . Vain were it now to strive;
 My thunder cannot pierce the sphere of power
 Wherewith, as with a girdle, he is bound.

 Take me to earth, O gentle Deveta!
 Take me again to earth! This is no place
 Of hope for me! . . . my Father still must bear
 His curse . . . he shall not bear it all alone;
 Take me to earth, that I may follow him! . . .
 I do not fear the Almighty Man! the Gods
 Are feeble here; but there are higher powers
 Who will not turn their eyes from wrongs like ours;
 Take me to earth, O gentle Deveta! . . .


 Saying thus she knelt, and to his knees she clung,
 And bow'd her head, in tears and silence praying.
 Rising anon, around his neck she flung
 Her arms, and there with folded hands she hung,
 And fixing on the guardian Glendoveer
 Her eyes, more eloquent than Angel's tongue,
 Again she cried, There is no comfort here!
 I must be with my Father in his pain . . .
 Take me to earth, O Deveta, again!

 Indra with admiration heard the maid.
 O Child of Earth, he cried,
 Already in thy spirit thus divine,
 Whatever weal or woe betide,
 Be that high sense of duty still thy guide,
 And all good Powers will aid a soul like thine.
 Then turning to Ereenia, thus he said,
 Take her where Ganges hath its second birth,
 Below our sphere, and yet above the earth:
 There may Ladurlad rest beyond the power
 Of the dread Rajah, till the fated hour.



 Dost thou tremble, O Indra, O God of the Sky,
 Why slumber those thunders of thine?
 Dost thou tremble on high, . . .
 Wilt thou tamely the Swerga resign, . . .
 Art thou smitten, O Indra, with dread?
 Or seest thou not, seest thou not, Monarch divine,
 How many a day to Seeva's shrine
 Kehama his victim hath led?
 Nine and ninety days are fled,
 Nine and ninety steeds have bled;
 One more, the rite will be complete,
 One victim more; and this the dreadful day!
 Then will the impious Rajah seize thy seat,
 And wrest the thunder-sceptre from thy sway.
 Along the mead the hallowed steed
 Yet bends at liberty his way;
 At noon his consummating blood will flow.
 O day of woe! above, below,
 That blood confirms the Almighty Tyrant's reign!
 Thou tremblest, O Indra, O God of the Sky,
 Thy thunder is vain!
 Thou tremblest on high for thy power!
 But where is Veeshnoo at this hour?
 But where is Seeva's eye?
 Is the Destroyer blind?
 Is the Preserver careless for mankind?

 Along the mead the hallowed Steed
 Still wanders wheresoever he will,
 O'er hill, or dale, or plain;
 No human hand hath trick'd that mane
 From which he shakes the morning dew;
 His mouth has never felt the rein,
 His lips have never froth'd the chain;
 For pure of blemish and of stain,
 His neck unbroke to mortal yoke,
 Like Nature free the Steed must be,
 Fit offering for the Immortals he.
 A year and day the Steed must stray
 Wherever chance may guide his way,
 Before he fall at Seeva's shrine;
 The year and day have past away,
 Nor touch of man hath marr'd the rite divine.
 And now at noon the Steed must bleed;
 The perfect rite to-day must force the meed
 Which Fate reluctant shudders to bestow;
 Then must the Swerga-God
 Yield to the Tyrant of the World below;
 Then must the Devetas obey
 The Rajah's rod, and groan beneath his hateful sway.

 The Sun rides high; the hour is nigh;
 The multitude who long,
 Lest aught should mar the rite,
 In circle wide on every side,
 Have kept the Steed in sight,
 Contract their circle now, and drive him on.
 Drawn in long files before the Temple-court,
 The Rajah's archers flank an ample space;
 Here, moving onward still, they drive him near,
 Then, opening, give him way to enter here.

 Behold him, how he starts and flings his head!
 On either side in glittering order spread,
 The archers ranged in narrowing lines appear;
 The multitude behind close up the rear
 With moon-like bend, and silently await
 The awful end,
 The rite that shall from Indra wrest his power.
 In front, with far-stretch'd walls, and many a tower
 Turret and dome and pinnacle elate,
 The huge Pagoda seems to load the land:
 And there before the gate
 The Bramin band expectant stand,
 The axe is ready for Kehama's hand.

 Hark! at the Golden Palaces
 The Bramin strikes the time!
 One, two, three, four, a thrice-told chime,
 And then again, one, two.
 The bowl that in its vessel floats, anew
 Must fill and sink again,
 Then will the final stroke be due.
 The Sun rides high, the noon is nigh,
 And silently, as if spell-bound,
 The multitude expect the sound.

 Lo! how the Steed, with sudden start,
 Turns his quick head to every part;
 Long files of men on every side appear.
 The sight might well his heart affright,
 And yet the silence that is here
 Inspires a stranger fear;
 For not a murmur, not a sound
 Of breath or motion rises round,
 No stir is heard in all that mighty crowd;
 He neighs, and from the temple-wall
 The voice re-echoes loud,
 Loud and distinct, as from a hill
 Across a lonely vale, when all is still.

 Within the temple, on his golden throne
 Reclin'd, Kehama lies,
 Watching with steady eyes
 The perfum'd light that, burning bright,
 Metes out the passing hours.
 On either hand his eunuchs stand,
 Freshening with fans of peacock-plumes the air,
 Which, redolent of all rich gums and flowers,
 Seems, overcharged with sweets, to stagnate there.
 Lo! the time-taper's flame ascending slow
 Creeps up its coil toward the fated line;
 Kehama rises and goes forth,
 And from the altar, ready where it lies,
 He takes the axe of sacrifice.

 That, instant from the crowd, with sudden shout,
 A man sprang out
 To lay upon the Steed his hand profane.
 A thousand archers, with unerring eye,
 At once let fly,
 And with their hurtling arrows fill the sky.
 In vain they fall upon him fast as rain;
 He bears a charmed life, which may defy
 All weapons, . . . and the darts that whizz around,
 As from an adamantine panoply
 Repell'd, fall idly to the ground.
 Kehama clasp'd his hands in agony,
 And saw him grasp the hallowed courser's mane,
 Spring up with sudden bound,
 And with a frantic cry,
 And madman's gesture, gallop round and round.

 They seize, they drag him to the Rajah's feet.
 What doom will now be his, . . what vengeance meet
 Will he, who knows no mercy, now require?
 The obsequious guards around, with blood-hound eye,
 Look for the word, in slow-consuming fire,
 By piece-meal death, to make the wretch expire,
 Or hoist his living carcase, hook'd on high,
 To feed the fowls and insects of the sky;
 Or if aught worse inventive cruelty
 To that remorseless heart of royalty
 Might prompt, accursed instruments they stand
 To work the wicked will with wicked hand.
 Far other thoughts were in the multitude;
 Pity, and human feelings, held them still;
 And stifled sighs and groans supprest were there,
 And many a secret curse and inward prayer
 Call'd on the insulted Gods to save mankind.
 Expecting some new crime in fear they stood,
 Some horror which would make the natural blood
 Start, with cold shudderings thrill the sinking heart,
 Whiten the lip, and make the abhorrent eye
 Roll back and close, prest in for agony.

 How then fared he for whom the mighty crowd
 Suffered in spirit thus, . . . how then fared he?
 A ghastly smile was on his lip, his eye
 Glared with a ghastly hope, as he drew nigh,
 And cried aloud, Yes, Rajah! it is I!
 And wilt thou kill me now?
 The countenance of the Almighty Man
 Fell when he knew Ladurlad, and his brow
 Was clouded with despite, as one ashamed.
 That wretch again! indignant he exclaim'd,
 And smote his forehead, and stood silently
 Awhile in wrath: then, with ferocious smile,
 And eyes which seem'd to darken his dark cheek,
 Let him go free! he cried; he hath his Curse,
 And Vengeance upon him can wreak no worse . . .
 But ye who did not seize him . . . tremble ye!

 He bade the archers pile their weapons there:
 No manly courage fill'd the slavish band,
 No sweetening vengeance rous'd a brave despair.
 He call'd his horsemen then, and gave command
 To hem the offenders in, and hew them down.
 Ten thousand scymitars at once uprear'd,
 Flash up, like waters sparkling to the sun;
 A second time the fatal brands appear'd
 Lifted aloft, . . . they glitter'd then no more,
 Their light was gone, their splendour quenched in gore.
 At noon the massacre begun,
 And night clos'd in before the work of death was done.



 The steam of slaughter from that place of blood
 Spread o'er the tainted sky.
 Vultures, for whom the Rajah's tyranny
 So oft had furnish'd food, from far and nigh
 Sped to the lure: aloft with joyful cry,
 Wheeling around, they hover'd over head;
 Or, on the temple perch'd, with greedy eye,
 Impatient watch'd the dead.
 Far off the tygers, in the inmost wood,
 Heard the death-shriek, and snuff'd the scent of blood.
 They rose, and through the covert went their way,
 Couch'd at the forest edge, and waited for their prey.


 He who had sought for death went wandering on,
 The hope which had inspir'd his heart was gone,
 Yet a wild joyance still inflam'd his face,
 A smile of vengeance, a triumphant glow.
 Where goes he? . . . Whither should Ladurlad go!
 Unwittingly the wretch's footsteps trace
 Their wonted path toward his dwelling-place;
 And wandering on, unknowing where,
 He starts at finding he is there.

 Behold his lowly home,
 By yonder broad-bough'd plane o'ershaded:
 There Marriataly's image stands,
 And there the garland twin'd by Kailyal's hands
 Around its brow hath faded.
 The Peacocks, at their master's sight,
 Quick from the leafy thatch alight,
 And hurry round, and search the ground,
 And veer their glancing necks from side to side,
 Expecting from his hand
 Their daily dole, which erst the maid supplied,
 Now all too long denied.


 But as he gaz'd around,
 How strange did all accustom'd sights appear!
 How differently did each familiar sound
 Assail his altered ear!
 Here stood the marriage bower,
 Rear'd in that happy hour
 When he, with festal joy and youthful pride,
 Had brought Yedillian home, his beauteous bride.
 Leaves not its own, and many a borrowed flower,
 Had then bedeck'd it, withering ere the night;
 But he who look'd, from that auspicious day,
 For years of long delight,
 And would not see the marriage-bower decay,
 There planted and nurst up, with daily care,
 The sweetest herbs that scent the ambient air,
 And train'd them round to live and flourish there.
 Nor when dread Yamen's will
 Had call'd Yedillian from his arms away,
 Ceas'd he to tend the marriage-bower, but still,
 Sorrowing, had drest it like a pious rite
 Due to the monument of past delight.

 He took his wonted seat before the door, . . .
 Even as of yore,
 When he was wont to view, with placid eyes,
 His daughter at her evening sacrifice.
 Here were the flowers which she so carefully
 Did love to rear for Marriataly's brow;
 Neglected now,
 Their heavy heads were drooping, over-blown:
 All else appeared the same as heretofore,
 All . . . save himself alone;
 How happy then, . . . and now a wretch for evermore!

 The market-flag which hoisted high,
 From far and nigh,
 Above yon cocoa grove is seen,
 Hangs motionless amid the sultry sky.
 Loud sounds the village-drum: a happy crowd
 Is there; Ladurlad hears their distant voices,
 But with their joy no more his heart rejoices;
 And how their old companion now may fare,
 Little they know, and less they care.
 The torment he is doom'd to hear
 Was but to them the wonder of a day,
 A burthen of sad thoughts soon put away.


 They knew not that the wretched man was near,
 And yet it seem'd, to his distempered ear,
 As if they wrong'd him with their merriment.
 Resentfully he turn'd away his eyes,
 Yet turn'd them but to find
 Sights that enraged his mind
 With envious grief more wild and overpowering.
 The tank which fed his fields was there, and there
 The large-leav'd lotus on the waters flowering.
 There, from the intolerable heat,
 The buffaloes retreat;
 Only their nostrils rais'd to meet the air,
 Amid the sheltering element they rest.
 Impatient of the sight, he clos'd his eyes,
 And bow'd his burning head, and in despair
 Calling on Indra, . . . Thunder-God! he said,
 Thou owest to me alone this day thy throne,
 Be grateful, and in mercy strike me dead!

 Despair had rous'd him to that hopeless prayer,
 Yet thinking on the heavenly Powers, his mind
 Drew comfort; and he rose and gather'd flowers,
 And twin'd a crown for Marriataly's brow;
 And taking then her withered garland down,
 Replaced it with the blooming coronal.
 Not for myself, the unhappy Father cried,
 Not for myself, O mighty one! I pray,
 Accursed as I am beyond thy aid!
 But, oh! be gracious still to that dear Maid
 Who crown'd thee with these garlands day by day,
 And danced before thee aye at even-tide
 In beauty and in pride.
 O Marriataly, wheresoe'er she stray
 Forlorn and wretched, still be thou her guide!

 A loud and fiendish laugh replied,
 Scoffing his prayer. Aloft, as from the air,
 The sound of insult came: he look'd, and there
 The visage of dead Arvalan came forth,
 Only his face amid the clear blue sky,
 With long-drawn lips of insolent mockery,
 And eyes whose lurid glare
 Was like a sulphur fire,
 Mingling with darkness ere its flames expire.


 Ladurlad knew him well: enraged to see
 The cause of all his misery,
 He stoop'd and lifted from the ground
 A stake, whose fatal point was black with blood;
 The same wherewith his hand had dealt the wound,
 When Arvalan, in hour with evil fraught,
 For violation seiz'd the shrieking Maid.
 Thus arm'd, in act again to strike he stood,
 And twice with inefficient wrath essay'd
 To smite the impassive shade.
 The lips of scorn their mockery-laugh renew'd,
 And Arvalan put forth a hand and caught
 The sun-beam, and condensing there its light,
 Upon Ladurlad turn'd the burning stream.
 Vain cruelty! the stake
 Fell in white ashes from his hold, but he
 Endur'd no added pain; his agony
 Was full, and at the height;
 The burning stream of radiance nothing harm'd him:
 A fire was in his heart and brain,
 And from all other flame
 Kehama's Curse had charm'd him.


 Anon the Spirit wav'd a second hand;
 Down rush'd the obedient whirlwind from the sky;
 Scoop'd up the sand like smoke, and from on high
 Shed the hot shower upon Ladurlad's head.
 Where'er he turns, the accursed Hand is there;
 East, West, and North and South, on every side
 The Hand accursed waves in air to guide
 The dizzying storm; ears, nostrils, eyes and mouth,
 It fills and choaks, and, clogging every pore,
 Taught him new torments might be yet in store.
 Where shall he turn to fly? behold his house
 In flames; uprooted lies the marriage-bower,
 The Goddess buried by the sandy shower.
 Blindly, with staggering step, he reels about,
 And still the accursed Hand pursued,
 And still the lips of scorn their mockery laugh renew'd.

 What, Arvalan! hast thou so soon forgot
 The grasp of Pollear? Wilt thou still defy
 The righteous Powers of Heaven? or know'st thou not
 That there are yet superior Powers on high,
 Son of the Wicked? . . . Lo, in rapid flight,
 Ereenia hastens from the etherial height;
 Bright is the sword celestial in his hand,
 Like lightning in its path athwart the sky.
 He comes and drives, with angel-arm, the blow.
 Oft have the Asuras, in the wars of Heaven,
 Felt that keen sword by arm angelic driven,
 And fled before it from the fields of light.
 Thrice through the vulnerable shade
 The Glendoveer impels the griding blade.
 The wicked Shade flies howling from his foe.
 So let that spirit foul
 Fly, and for impotence of anger, howl,
 Writhing with pain, and o'er his wounds deplore;
 Worse punishment hath Arvalan deserv'd,
 And righteous Fate hath heavier doom in store.

 Not now the Glendoveer pursued his flight.
 He bade the Ship of Heaven alight,
 And gently there he laid
 The astonished Father by the happy Maid,
 The Maid now shedding tears of deep delight.
 Beholding all things with incredulous eyes,
 Still dizzy with the sand-storm, there he lay,
 While sailing up the skies, the living Bark,
 Through air and sunshine, held its heavenly way.



 Swift through the sky the vessel of the Suras
 Sails up the fields of ether like an Angel.
 Rich is the freight, O Vessel, that thou bearest!
 Beauty and Virtue,
 Fatherly cares and filial veneration,
 Hearts which are prov'd and strengthen'd by affliction,
 Manly resentment, fortitude and action,
 Womanly goodness;
 All with which Nature halloweth her daughters,
 Tenderness, truth and purity and meekness,
 Piety, patience, faith and resignation,
 Love and devotement.
 Ship of the Gods! how richly art thou laden!
 Proud of the charge, thou voyagest rejoicing.
 Clouds float around to honour thee, and Evening
 Lingers in heaven.

 A Stream descends on Meru mountain;
 None hath seen its secret fountain;
 It had its birth, so sages say,
 Upon the memorable day
 When Parvati presumed to lay,
 In wanton play,
 Her hands, too venturous Goddess in her mirth,
 On Seeva's eyes, the light and life of Earth.
 Thereat the heart of the Universe stood still;
 The Elements ceas'd their influences; the Hours
 Stopt on the eternal round; Motion and Breath,
 Time, Change, and Life and Death,
 In sudden trance opprest, forgot their powers.
 A moment, and the dread eclipse was ended;
 But, at the thought of Nature thus suspended,
 The sweat on Seeva's forehead stood,
 And Ganges thence upon the World descended,
 The Holy River, the Redeeming Flood.

 None hath seen its secret fountain;
 But on the top of Meru mountain,
 Which rises o'er the hills of earth,
 In light and clouds it hath its mortal birth.
 Earth seems that pinnacle to rear
 Sublime above this worldly sphere,
 Its cradle, and its altar, and its throne;
 And there the new-born River lies
 Outspread beneath its native skies,
 As if it there would love to dwell
 Alone and unapproachable.
 Soon flowing forward, and resign'd
 To the will of the Creating Mind,
 It springs at once, with sudden leap,
 Down from the immeasurable steep.
 From rock to rock, with shivering force rebounding,
 The mighty cataract rushes; Heaven around,
 Like-thunder, with the incessant roar resounding,
 And Meru's summit shaking with the sound.
 Wide spreads the snowy foam, the sparkling spray
 Dances aloft; and ever there, at morning,
 The earliest, sun-beams haste to wing their way,
 With rain-bow wreaths the holy flood adorning;
 And duly the adoring Moon at night
 Sheds her white glory there,
 And in the watery air
 Suspends her halo-crowns of silver light.

 A mountain-valley in its blessed breast
 Receives the stream, which there delights to lie,
 Untroubled and at rest,
 Beneath the untainted sky.
 There in a lovely lake it seems to sleep,
 And thence, through many a channel dark and deep,
 Their secret way the holy Waters wind,
 Till, rising underneath the root
 Of the Tree of Life on Himakoot,
 Majestic forth they flow to purify mankind.

 Toward this Lake, above the nether sphere,
 The living Bark, with angel eye,
 Directs its course along the obedient sky.
 Kehama hath not yet dominion here;
 And till the dreaded hour,
 When Indra by the Rajah shall be driven
 Dethron'd from Heaven,
 Here may Ladurlad rest beyond his power.
 The living Bark alights; the Glendoveer
 Then lays Ladurlad by the blessed Lake; . . .
 O happy Sire, and yet more happy Daughter!
 The etherial gales his agony aslake,
 His daughter's tears are on his cheek,
 His hand is in the water;
 The innocent man, the man opprest,
 Oh joy! . . . hath found a place of rest
 Beyond Kehama's sway,
 His curse extends not here; his pains have past away.

 O happy Sire, and happy Daughter!
 Ye on the banks of that celestial water
 Your resting place and sanctuary have found.
 What! hath not then their mortal taint defil'd
 The sacred solitary ground?
 Vain thought! . . the Holy Valley smil'd
 Receiving such a sire and child;
 Ganges, who seem'd asleep to lie,
 Beheld them with benignant eye,
 And ripped round melodiously,
 And roll'd her little waves, to meet
 And welcome their beloved feet.
 The gales of Swerga thither fled,
 And heavenly odours there were shed
 About, below, and overhead;
 And Earth, rejoicing in their tread,
 Hath built them up a blooming Bower,
 Where every amaranthine flower
 Its deathless blossom interweaves
 With bright and undecaying leaves.

 Three happy beings are there here,
 The Sire, the Maid, the Glendoveer.
 A fourth approaches, . . . who is this
 That enters in the Bower of Bliss?
 No form so fair might painter find
 Among the daughters of mankind;
 For death her beauties hath refin'd,
 And unto her a form hath given,
 Fram'd of the elements of Heaven;
 Pure dwelling-place for perfect mind.
 She stood and gaz'd on sire and child;
 Her tongue not yet had power to speak,
 The tears were streaming down her cheek;
 And when those tears her sight beguil'd,
 And still her faultering accents fail'd,
 The Spirit, mute and motionless,
 Spread out her arms for the caress,
 Made still and silent with excess
 Of love and painful happiness.

 The Maid that lovely form survey'd;
 Wistful she gaz'd, and knew her not;
 But Nature to her heart convey'd
 A sudden thrill, a startling thought,
 A feeling many a year forgot,
 Now like a dream anew recurring,
 As if again in every vein
 Her mother's milk was stirring.
 With straining neck and earnest eye
 She stretch'd her hands imploringly,
 As if she fain would have her nigh,
 Yet fear'd to meet the wish'd embrace,
 At once with love and awe opprest,
 Not so, Ladurlad; he could trace,
 Though brighten'd with angelic grace,
 His own Yedillian's earthly face;
 He ran and held her to his breast!
 Oh joy above all joys of Heaven,
 By Death alone to others given,
 This moment hath to him restor'd
 The early-lost, the long-deplor'd.

 They sin who tell us love can die.
 With life all other passions fly,
 All others are but vanity.
 In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,
 Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell;
 Earthly these passions of the Earth,
 They perish where they have their birth;
 But Love is indestructible.
 Its holy flame for ever burneth,
 From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;
 Too oft on Earth a troubled guest,
 At times deceiv'd, at times opprest,
 It here is tried and purified,
 Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest:
 It soweth here with toil and care,
 But the harvest-time of Love is there.
 Oh! when a Mother meets on high
 The Babe she lost in infancy,
 Hath she not then, for pains and fears,
 The day of woe, the watchful night,
 For all her sorrow, all her tears,
 An over-payment of delight!

 A blessed family is this
 Assembled in the Bower of Bliss!
 Strange woe, Ladurlad, hath been thine,
 And pangs beyond all human measure,
 And thy reward is now divine,
 A foretaste of eternal pleasure.
 He knew indeed there was a day
 When all these joys would pass away,
 And he must quit this blest abode;
 And, taking up again the spell,
 Groan underneath the baleful load,
 And wander o'er the world again
 Most wretched of the sons of men:
 Yet was this brief repose, as when
 A traveller in the Arabian sands,
 Half-fainting on his sultry road,
 Hath reach'd the water-place at last;
 And resting there beside the Well,
 Thinks of the perils he has past,
 And gazes o'er the unbounded plain,
 The plain which must be travers'd still,
 And drinks, . . . yet cannot drink his fill;
 Then girds his patient loins again.
 So to Ladurlad now was given
 New strength, and confidence in Heaven,
 And hope, and faith invincible.
 For often would Ereenia tell
 Of what in elder days befell,
 When other Tyrants, in their might,
 Usurp'd dominion o'er the earth;
 And Veeshnoo took a human birth,
 Deliverer of the Sons of men;
 And slew the huge Ermaccasen,
 And piece-meal rent, with lion force,
 Errenen's accursed corse,
 And humbled Baly in his pride;
 And when the Giant Ravanen
 Had borne triumphant, from his side,
 Sita, the earth-born God's beloved bride,
 Then, from his island-kingdom, laugh'd to scorn
 The insulted husband, and his power defied;
 How to revenge the wrong in wrath he hied,
 Bridging the sea before his dreadful way,
 And met the hundred-headed foe,
 And dealt him the unerring blow;
 By Brama's hand the righteous lance was given,
 And by that arm immortal driven,
 It laid the mighty Tyrant low;
 And Earth and Ocean, and high Heaven,
 Rejoiced to see his overthrow.
 Oh! doubt not thou, Yedillian cried,
 Such fate Kehama will betide;
 For there are Gods who look below. . . .
 Seeva, the Avenger, is not blind,
 Nor Veeshnoo careless for mankind.

 Thus was Ladurlad's soul imbued
 With hope and holy fortitude;
 And Child and Sire, with pious mind
 Alike resolv'd, alike resign'd,
 Look'd onward to the evil day:
 Faith was their comfort, Faith their stay;
 They trusted woe would pass away,
 And Tyranny would sink subdued,
 And Evil yield to Good.

 Lovely wert thou, O Flower of Earth!
 Above all flowers of mortal birth;
 But foster'd in this blissful bower
 From day to day, and hour to hour,
 Lovelier grew the lovely flower.
 O blessed, blessed company!
 When men and heavenly spirits greet,
 And they whom Death had severed meet,
 And hold again communion sweet; . . .
 O blessed, blessed company!
 The Sun, careering round the sky,
 Beheld them with rejoicing eye,
 And bade his willing Charioteer
 Relax their speed as they drew near;
 Arounin check'd the rainbow reins,
 The seven green coursers shook their manes,
 And brighter rays around them threw;
 The Car of glory in their view
 More radiant, more resplendent grew;
 And Surya, through his veil of light,
 Beheld the Bower, and blest the sight.
 The Lord of Night, as he sail'd by,
 Stay'd his pearly boat on high;
 And, while around the blissful Bower
 He bade the softest moonlight flow,
 Lingered to see that earthly flower,
 Forgetful of his dragon foe,
 Who, mindful of their ancient feud,
 With open jaws of rage pursued.
 There all good Spirits of the air,
 Suras and Devetas repair,
 Aloft they love to hover there
 And view the flower of mortal birth,
 Here, for her innocence and worth,
 Transplanted from the fields of earth; . . .
 And him who, on the dreadful day
 When Heaven was fill'd with consternation,
 And Indra trembled with dismay,
 And, for the sounds of joy and mirth,
 Woe was heard and lamentation,
 Defied the Rajah in his pride,
 Though all in Heaven and Earth beside
 Stood mute in dolorous expectation;
 And, rushing forward in that hour,
 Saved the Swerga from his power.
 Grateful for this they hover nigh,
 And bless the blessed company.

 One God alone, with wanton eye,
 Beheld them in their bower;
 O ye, he cried, who have defied
 The Rajah, will ye mock my power?
 'Twas Camdeo riding on his lory,
 'Twas the immortal youth of Love;
 If men below and Gods above,
 Subject alike, quoth he, have felt these darts,
 Shall ye alone, of all in story,
 Boast impenetrable hearts?
 Hover here, my gentle lory,
 Gently hover, while I see
 To whom hath Fate decreed the glory,
 To the Glendoveer or me.

 Then, in the dewy evening sky,
 The bird of gorgeous plumery
 Pois'd his wings and hover'd nigh.
 It chanced at that delightful hour
 Kailyal sate before the Bower,
 On the green bank with amaranth sweet,
 Where Ganges warbled at her feet.
 Ereenia there, before the Maid,
 His sails of ocean-blue displayed;
 And sportive in her sight,
 Mov'd slowly o'er the lake with gliding flight;
 Anon, with sudden stroke and strong,
 In rapid course careering, swept along;
 Now shooting downward from his heavenly height,
 Plunged in the deep below,
 Then rising, soar'd again,
 And shook the sparkling waters off like rain,
 And hovering o'er the silver surface hung.
 At him young Camdeo bent the bow;
 With living bees the bow was strung,
 The fatal bow of sugar-cane,
 And flowers which would inflame the heart
 With their petals barb'd the dart.

 The shaft, unerringly addrest,
 Unerring flew, and smote Ereenia's breast.
 Ah, Wanton! cried the Glendoveer,
 Go aim at idler hearts,
 Thy skill is baffled here!
 A deeper love I bear that Maid divine,
 Sprung from a higher will,
 A holier power than thine!
 A second shaft, while thus Ereenia cried,
 Had Camdeo aim'd at Kailyal's side,
 But, lo! the Bees which strung his bow
 Broke off, and took their flight.
 To that sweet Flower of earth they wing their way,
 Around her raven tresses play,
 And buzz about her with delight,
 As if, with that melodious sound,
 They strove to pay their willing duty
 To mortal purity and beauty.
 Ah, Wanton! cried the Glendoveer,
 No power hast thou for mischief here!
 Chuse thou some idler breast,
 For these are proof, by nobler thoughts possest.
 Go, to thy plains of Matra go,
 And string again thy broken bow!

 Rightly Ereenia spake; and ill had thoughts
 Of earthly love beseem'd the sanctuary
 Where Kailyal had been wafted, that the Soul
 Of her dead mother there might strengthen her,
 Feeding her with the milk of heavenly lore;
 And influxes of Heaven imbue her heart
 With hope and faith, and holy fortitude,
 Against the evil day. Here rest a while
 In peace, O Father! mark'd for misery
 Above all sons of men; O Daughter! doom'd
 For sufferings and for trials above all
 Of women; . . . yet both favour'd, both belov'd
 By all good Powers, here rest a while in peace.



 When from the sword, by arm angelic driven,
 Foul Arvalan fled howling, wild in pain,
 His thin essential spirit, rent and riven
 With wounds, united soon and heal'd again;
 Backward the accursed turn'd his eye in flight,
 Remindful of revengeful thoughts even then,
 And saw where, gliding through the evening light,
 The Ship of Heaven sail'd upward through the sky,
 Then, like a meteor, vanish'd from his sight.
 Where should he follow? vainly might he try
 To trace through trackless air its rapid course;
 Nor dar'd he that; angelic arm defy,
 Still sore and writhing from its dreaded force.

 Should he the lust of vengeance lay aside?
 Too long had Arvalan in ill been train'd;
 Nurst up in power and tyranny and pride,
 His soul the ignominious thought disdain'd.
 Or to his mighty father should he go,
 Complaining of defeature twice sustain'd,
 And ask new powers to meet the immortal foe? . . .
 Repulse he fear'd not, but he fear'd rebuke,
 And sham'd to tell him of his overthrow.
 There dwelt a dread Enchantress in a nook
 Obscure; old help-mate she to him had been,
 Lending her aid in many a secret sin;
 And there, for counsel, now his way he took.

 She was a woman whose unlovely youth,
 Even like a cankered rose, which none will cull,
 Had withered on the stalk; her heart was full
 Of passions which had found no natural scope,
 Feelings which there had grown but ripened not;
 Desires unsatisfied, abortive hope,
 Repinings which provoked vindictive thought,
 These restless elements for ever wrought,
 Fermenting in her with perpetual stir,
 And thus her spirit to all evil mov'd;
 She hated men because they lov'd not her,
 And hated women because they were lov'd.
 And thus, in wrath and hatred and despair,
 She tempted Hell to tempt her; and resign'd
 Her body to the Demons of the Air,
 Wicked and wanton fiends who, where they will,
 Wander abroad, still seeking to do ill,
 And take whatever vacant form they find,
 Carcase of man or beast, that life hath left;
 Foul instrument for them of fouler mind.
 To these the Witch her wretched body gave,
 So they would wreak her vengeance on mankind,
 She thus at once their mistress and their slave;
 And they, to do such service nothing loth,
 Obeyed her bidding, slaves and masters both.

 So from this cursed intercourse she caught
 Contagious power of mischief, and was taught
 Such secrets as are damnable to guess.
 Is there a child whose little lovely ways
 Might win all hearts, . . . on whom his parents gaze
 Till they shed tears of joy and tenderness?
 Oh! hide him from that Witch's withering sight!
 Oh! hide him from the eye of Lorrinite!
 Her look hath crippling in it, and her curse
 All plagues which on mortality can light;
 Death is his doom if she behold, . . . or worse, . . .
 Diseases loathsome and incurable,
 And inward sufferings that no tongue can tell.
 Woe was to him, on whom that eye of hate
 Was bent; for, certain as the stroke of Fate,
 It did its mortal work; nor human arts
 Could save the unhappy wretch, her chosen prey;
 For gazing, she consum'd his vital parts,
 Eating his very core of life away.
 The wine which from yon wounded palm on high
 Fills yonder gourd, as slowly it distills,
 Grows sour at once if Lorrinite pass by.
 The deadliest worm, from which all creatures fly,
 Fled from the deadlier venom of her eye;
 The babe unborn, within its mother's womb,
 Started and trembled when the Witch came nigh,
 And in the silent chambers of the tomb
 Death shuddered her unholy tread to hear,
 And, from the dry and mouldering bones, did fear
 Force a cold sweat, when Lorrinite was near.

 Power made her haughty: by ambition fir'd,
 Ere long to mightier mischiefs she aspir'd.
 The Calis, who o'er Cities rule unseen,
 Each in her own domain a Demon Queen,
 And there ador'd with blood and human life,
 They knew her, and in their accurst employ
 She stirr'd up neighbouring states to mortal strife.
 Sani, the dreadful God, who rides abroad
 Upon the King of the Ravens, to destroy
 The offending sons of men, when his four hands
 Were weary with their toil, would let her do
 His work of vengeance upon guilty lands;
 And Lorrinite, at his commandment, knew
 When the ripe earthquake should be loos'd, and where
 To point its course. And in the baneful air
 The pregnant seeds of death he bade her strew,
 All deadly plagues and pestilence to brew.
 The Locusts were her army, and their bands,
 Where'er she turn'd her skinny finger, flew;
 The floods in ruin roll'd at her commands;
 And when, in time of drought, the husbandman
 Beheld the gathered rain about to fall,
 Her breath would drive it to the desert sands.
 While in the marshes parch'd and gaping soil,
 The rice-roots by the searching Sun were dried;
 And in lean groupes, assembled at the side
 Of the empty tank, the cattle dropt and died;
 And Famine, at her bidding, wasted wide
 The wretched land; till, in the public way,
 Promiscuous where the dead and dying lay,
 Dogs fed on human bones in the open light of day.

 Her secret cell the accursed Arvalan,
 In quest of vengeance, sought, and thus began.
 Mighty mother! mother wise!
 Revenge me on my enemies.

 Com'st thou, son, for aid to me?
 Tell me who have injur'd thee,
 Where they are, and who they be;
 Of the Earth, or of the Sea,
 Or of the aerial company?
 Earth, nor Sea, nor Air is free
 From the powers who wait on me,
 And my tremendous witchery.

 She for whom so ill I sped,
 Whom my Father deemeth dead,
 Lives, for Marriataly's aid
 From the water sav'd the maid.
 In hatred I desire her still,
 And in revenge would have my will.
 A Deveta with, wings of blue,
 And sword whose edge even now I rue,
 In a Ship of Heaven on high,
 Pilots her along the sky.
 Where they voyage thou canst tell,
 Mistress of the mighty spell.

 At this the Witch, through shrivell'd lips and thin,
 Sent forth a sound half-whistle and half-hiss.
 Two winged Hands came in,
 Armless and bodyless,
 Bearing a globe of liquid crystal, set
 In frame as diamond bright, yet black as jet.
 A thousand eyes were quench'd in endless night,
 To form that magic globe; for Lorrinite
 Had, from their sockets, drawn the liquid sight,
 And kneaded it, with re-creating skill,
 Into this organ of her mighty will.
 Look in yonder orb, she cried,
 Tell me what is there descried.

 A mountain top, in clouds of light
 Envelop'd, rises on my sight;
 Thence a cataract rushes down,
 Hung with many a rainbow crown;
 Light and clouds conceal its head,
 Below, a silver Lake is spread;
 Upon its shores a Bower I see,
 Fit home for blessed company.
 See they come forward, . . . one, two, three, . . .
 The last a Maiden, . . . it is she!
 The foremost shakes his wings of blue,
 'Tis he whose sword even yet I rue;
 And in that other one I know
 The visage of my deadliest foe.
 Mother, let thy magic might
 Arm me for the mortal fight;
 Helm and shield and mail afford,
 Proof against his dreaded sword.
 Then will I invade their seat,
 Then shall vengeance be compleat.

 Spirits, who obey my will,
 Hear him, and his wish fulfill.

 So spake the mighty one, nor farther spell
 Needed. Anon a sound, like smother'd thunder,
 Was heard, slow rolling under;
 The solid pavement of the cell
 Quak'd, heav'd, and cleft asunder,
 And, at the feet of Arvalan display'd,
 Helmet and mail and shield and scymitar were laid.

 The Asuras, often put to flight,
 And scattered in the fields of light,
 By their foes' celestial might,
 Forged this enchanted armour for the fight.
 'Mid fires intense did they anneal,
 In mountain furnaces, the quivering steel,
 Till trembling through each deepening hue,
 It settled in a midnight blue;
 Last they cast it, to aslake,
 In the penal icy lake.
 Then, they consign'd it to the Giant brood;
 And, while they forged the impenetrable arms,
 The Evil Powers, to oversee them, stood,
 And there imbued
 The work of Giant strength with magic charms.
 Foul Arvalan, with joy, survey'd
 The crescent sabre's cloudy blade,
 With deeper joy the impervious mail,
 The shield and helmet of avail.
 Soon did he himself array,
 And bade her speed him on his way.

 Then she led him to the den,
 Where her chariot, night and day,
 Stood harness'd, ready for the way.
 Two Dragons, yok'd in adamant, convey
 The magic car; from either collar sprung
 An adamantine rib, which met in air,
 O'er-arch'd, and crost, and bent diverging there,
 And firmly in its arc upbore,
 Upon their brazen necks, thereat of power.
 Arvalan mounts the car, and in his hand
 Receives the magic reins from Lorrinite;
 The dragons, long obedient to command,
 Their ample sails expand;
 Like steeds well-broken to fair lady's hand,
 They feel the reins of might,
 And up the northern sky begin their flight.

 Son of the Wicked, doth thy soul delight
 To think its hour of vengeance now is nigh?
 Lo! where the far-off light
 Of Indra's palace flashes on his sight,
 And Meru's heavenly summit shines on high,
 With clouds of glory bright,
 Amid the dark-blue sky.
 Already, in his hope, doth he espy
 Himself secure in mail of tenfold charms,
 Ereenia writhing from the magic blade,
 The Father sent to bear his Curse, . . . the Maid
 Resisting vainly in his impious arms.

 Ah, Sinner! whose anticipating soul
 Incurs the guilt even when the crime is spar'd!
 Joyous toward Meru's summit on he far'd,
 While the twin Dragons, rising as he guides,
 With steady flight, steer northward for the pole.
 Anon, with irresistible controul,
 Force mightier far than his arrests their course;
 It wrought as though a Power unseen had caught
 Their adamantine yokes to drag them on.
 Straight on they bend their way, and now, in vain,
 Upward doth Arvalan direct the rein!
 The rein of magic might avails no more;
 Bootless its strength against that unseen Power
 Which, in their mid career,
 Hath seiz'd the Chariot and the Charioteer.
 With hands resisting, and down-pressing feet
 Upon their hold insisting,
 He struggles to maintain his difficult seat.
 Seeking in vain with that strange Power to vie,
 Their doubled speed the affrighted Dragons try.
 Forced in a stream from whence was no retreat,
 Strong as they are, behold, them whirled along,
 Headlong, with useless pennons, through the sky.

 What power was that, which, with resistless might
 Foil'd the dread magic thus of Lorrinite?
 'Twas all-commanding Nature . . They were here
 Within the sphere of the adamantine rocks
 Which gird Mount Meru round, as far below
 That heavenly height where Ganges hath its birth
 Involv'd in clouds and light,
 So far above its roots of ice and snow.
 On . . on they roll, . . rapt headlong they roll on; . .
 The lost canoe, less rapidly than this,
 Down the precipitous stream is whirl'd along
 To the brink of Niagara's dread abyss.
 On . . on . . they roll, and now, with shivering shock,
 Are dash'd against the rock that girds the Pole.
 Down from his shatter'd mail the unhappy Soul
 Is dropt, . . ten thousand thousand fathoms down, . . .
 Till in an ice-rift, 'mid the eternal snow,
 Foul Arvalan is stopt. There let him howl,
 Groan there, . . and there, with unavailing moan,
 For aid on his Almighty Father call.
 All human sounds are lost
 Amid those deserts of perpetual frost,
 Old Winter's drear domain,
 Beyond the limits of the living World,
 Beyond Kehama's reign.
 Of utterance and of motion soon bereft,
 Frozen to the ice-rock, there behold him lie,
 Only the painful sense of Being left,
 A Spirit who must feel, and cannot die,
 Bleaching and bare beneath the polar sky.



 O ye who, by the Lake
 On Meru Mount, partake
 The joys which Heaven hath destin'd for the blest,
 Swift, swift, the moments fly,
 The silent hours go by,
 And ye must leave your dear abode of rest.
 O wretched Man, prepare
 Again thy Curse to bear!
 Prepare, O wretched Maid, for farther woe!
 The fatal hour draws near,
 When Indra's heavenly sphere
 Must own the Tyrant of the World below.
 To-day the hundredth Steed,
 At Seeva's shrine, must bleed,
 The dreadful sacrifice is full to-day;
 Nor man nor God hath power,
 At this momentous hour,
 Again to save the Swerga from his sway.
 Fresh woes, O Maid divine,
 Fresh trials must be thine;
 And what must thou, Ladurlad, yet endure!
 But let your hearts be strong,
 And bear ye bravely on,
 For Providence is good, and virtue is secure.

 They, little deeming that the fatal day
 Was come, beheld where, through the morning sky,
 A Ship of Heaven drew nigh.
 Onward they watch it steer its steady flight;
 Till, wondering, they espy
 Old Casyapa, the Sire of Gods, alight.
 But, when Ereenia saw the Sire appear,
 At that unwonted and unwelcome sight
 His heart receiv'd a sudden shock of fear:
 Thy presence doth its doleful tidings tell,
 O Father! cried the startled Glendoveer,
 The dreadful hour is near! I know it well!
 Not for less import would the Sire of Gods
 Forsake his ancient and august abodes.

 Even so: serene the immortal Sire replies;
 Soon like an earthquake will ye feel the blow
 Which consummates the mighty sacrifice:
 And this World, and its Heaven, and all therein
 Are then Kehama's. To the second ring
 Of these seven Spheres, the Swerga-King,
 Even now, prepares for flight, . .
 Beyond the circle of the conquer'd world,
 Beyond the Rajah's might.
 Ocean, that clips this inmost of the Spheres,
 And girds it round with everlasting roar,
 Set like a gem appears
 Within that beading shore.
 Thither fly all the Sons of heavenly race:
 I, too, forsake mine ancient dwelling-place.
 And now, O Child and Father, ye must go,
 Take up the burthen of your woe,
 And wander once again below.
 With patient heart hold onward to the end, . . .
 Be true unto yourselves, and bear in mind
 That every God is still the good Man's friend;
 And they, who suffer bravely, save mankind.

 Oh tell me, cried Ereenia, for from thee
 Nought can be hidden, when the end will be!

 Seek not to know, old Casyapa replied,
 What pleaseth Heaven to hide.
 Dark is the abyss of time,
 But light enough to guide your steps is given;
 Whatever weal or woe betide,
 Turn never front the way of truth aside,
 And leave the event, in holy hope, to Heaven.
 The moment is at hand, no more delay,
 Ascend the etherial bark, and go your way;
 And Ye, of heavenly nature, follow me.

 The will of Heaven be done, Ladurlad cried,
 Nor more the man replied;
 But placed his daughter in the etherial Bark,
 Then took his seat beside.
 There was no word at parting, no adieu.
 Down from that empyreal height they flew:
 One groan Ladurlad breath'd, yet uttered not,
 When, to his heart and brain
 The fiery Curse again like lightning shot.
 And now on earth, the Sire and Child alight,
 Up soar'd the Ship of Heaven, and sail'd away from sight.

 O ye immortal Bowers,
 Where hitherto the Hours
 Have led their dance of happiness for aye,
 With what a sense of woe
 Do ye expect the blow,
 And see your heavenly dwellers driven away!
 Lo! where the aunnay-birds of graceful mien,
 Whose milk-white forms were seen,
 Lovely as Nymphs, your ancient trees between,
 And by your silent springs,
 With melancholy cry,
 Now spread unwilling wings;
 Their stately necks reluctant they protend,
 And through the sullen sky,
 To other worlds, their mournful progress bend.
 The affrighted gales to-day
 O'er their beloved streams no longer play,
 The streams of Paradise have ceas'd to flow;
 The Fountain-Tree withholds its diamond shower,
 In this portentous hour, . .
 This dolorous hour, . . this universal woe.
 Where is the Palace, whose far-flashing beams,
 With streaks and streams of ever-varying light,
 Brighten'd the polar night
 Around the frozen North's extremest shore?
 Gone like a morning rainbow, . . like a dream. . .
 A star that shoots and falls, and then is seen no more.

 Now! now! . . . Before the Golden Palaces,
 The Bramin strikes the inevitable hour.
 The fatal blow is given,
 That over Earth and Heaven
 Confirms the Almighty Rajah in his power.
 All evil Spirits then,
 That roam the World about,
 Or wander through the sky,
 Set up a joyful shout.
 The Asuras and the Giants join the cry,
 The damn'd in Padalon acclaim
 Their hop'd Deliverer's name;
 Heaven trembles with the thunder-drowning sound;
 Back starts affrighted Ocean from the shore,
 And the adamantine vaults, and brazen floor
 Of Hell, are shaken with the roar.
 Up rose the Rajah through the conquer'd sky,
 To seize the Swerga for his proud abode;
 Myriads of evil Genii round him fly,
 As royally, on wings of winds, he rode,
 And scal'd high Heaven, triumphant like a God.



  _Calmly she took her seat_.--I. p. 8.

SHE, says Bernier, whom I saw burn herself, when I parted from
_Surat_ to travel into _Persia_, in the presence of Monsieur _Chardin_
of _Paris_, and of many _English_ and _Dutch_, was of a middle age,
and not unhandsome. To represent unto you the undaunted cheerfulness
that appeared in her countenance, the resolution with which she
marched, washed herself, spoke to the people; the confidence with
which she looked upon us, viewed her little cabin, made up of very dry
millet-straw and small wood, went into this cabin, and sat down upon
the pile, and took her husband's head into her lap, and a torch into
her own hand, and kindled the cabin, whilst I know not how many
_Brahmans_ were busy in kindling the fire round about: To represent to
you, I say, all this as it ought, is {134} not possible for me; I can
at present scarce believe it myself, though it be but a few days since
I saw it.

  _They strip her ornaments away._--I. p. 8.

She went out again to the river, and taking up some water in her
hands, muttered some prayers, and offered it to the sun. All her
ornaments were then taken from her; and her armlets were broken, and
chaplets of white flowers were put upon her neck and hands. Her hair
was tucked up with five combs; and her forehead was marked with clay
in the same manner as that of her husband--STAVORINUS.

  _Around her neck they leave_
  _The marriage-knot alone._--I. p. 8.

When the time for consummating the marriage is come, they light the
fire Homam with the wood of Ravasiton. The Bramin blesses the former,
which being done, the bridegroom takes three handfuls of rice, and
throws it on the bride's head, who does the same to him. Afterwards
the bride's father clothes her in a dress according to his condition,
and washes the bridegroom's feet; the bride's mother observing to pour
out the water. This being done, the father puts his daughter's hand in
his own, puts water into it, some pieces of money, {135} and, giving
it to the bridegroom, says, at the same time, I have no longer any
thing to do with you, and I give you up to the power of another. The
_Tali_, which is a ribbon with a golden head hanging at it, is held
ready; and, being shewn to the company, some prayers and blessings are
pronounced; after which the bridegroom takes it, and hangs it about
the bride's neck. This knot is what particularly secures his
possession of her; for, before he had had the _Tali_ on, all the rest
of the ceremonies might have been made to no purpose; for it has
sometimes happened, that, when the bridegroom was going to fix it on,
the bride's father has discovered his not being satisfied with the
bridegroom's gift, when another, offering more, has carried off the
bride with her father's consent. But when once the _Tali_ is put on,
the marriage is indissoluble; and, whenever the husband dies, the
_Tali_ is burnt along with him, to shew that the marriage bands are
broke. Besides these particular ceremonies, the people have notice of
the wedding by a _Pandal_, which is raised before the bride's door
some days before. The whole concludes with an entertainment which the
bride's father gives to the common friends; and during this festivity,
which continues five days, alms are given to the poor, and the fire
Homam is kept in. The seventh day, the new-married couple set out for
the {136} bridegroom's house, whither they frequently go by
torch-light. The bride and bridegroom are carried in a sedan, pass
through the chief streets of the city, and are accompanied by their
friends, who are either on horseback or mounted on elephants.--A.

  _They force her on, they bind her to the dead_.--I. p. 9.

'Tis true, says Bernier, that I have seen some of them, which, at the
sight of the pile and the fire, appeared to have some apprehension,
and that, perhaps, would have gone back. Those demons, the Bramins,
that are there with their great sticks, astonish them, and hearten
them up, or even thrust them in; as I have seen it done to a young
woman that retreated five or six paces from the pile, and to another,
that was much disturbed when, she saw the fire take hold of her
clothes, these executioners thrusting her in with their long poles.

At Lahor, I saw a very handsome and a very young woman burnt; I
believe she was not above twelve years of age. This poor unhappy
creature appeased rather dead than alive when she came near the pile;
she shook and wept bitterly. Meanwhile, three or four of these
executioners, the Bramins, together with an old hag that held her
under the arm, thrust her on, and made her sit down upon the wood;
and, lest she should run away, {137} they tied her legs and hands; and
so they burnt her alive. I had enough to do to contain myself for

Pietro Della Valle conversed with a widow, who was about to burn
herself by her own choice. She told him, that, generally speaking,
women were not forced to burn themselves; but sometimes, among people
of rank, when a young woman, who was handsome, was left a widow, and
in danger of marrying again, (which is never practised among them,
because of the confusion and disgrace which are inseparable from such
a thing,) or of falling into other irregularities, then, indeed, the
relations of the husband, if they are at all tenacious of the honour
of the family, compel her to burn herself, whether she likes it or no,
merely to prevent the inconveniences which might take place.

Dellon also, whom I consider as one of the best travellers in the
East, expressly asserts, that widows are burnt there "_de gré, ou de
force. L'on n'en voit que trop qui aprés avoir desiré et demandé la
mort avec un courage intrepide, et aprés avoir obtenu et acheté la
permission de se brûler, ont tremblé à là veuë du bucher, se sont
repenties, mais trop tard, de leur imprudence, et ont fait d'inutiles
efforts pour se retracter. Mais lorsque cela arrive, bien loin que les
Bramenes soient touchés_ {138} _d'aucune pieté, ils lient cruellement
ces malheureuses, et les brûlent par force, sans avoir aucun egard à
leurs plaintes, ni à leurs cris._"--Tom. i. p. 138.

It would be easy to multiply authorities upon this point. Let it
suffice to mention one important historical fact: When the great
Alboquerque had established himself it Goa, he forbade these accursed
sacrifices, the women extolled him for it as their benefactor and
deliverer, (_Commentarios de Alb._ ii. 20,) and no European in India
was ever so popular, or so revered by the natives. Yet, if we are to
believe the anti-missionares, none but fools, fanatics, and pretenders
to humanity, would wish to deprive the Hindoo women of the right of
burning themselves! "It may be useful (says Colonel Mark Wilks,) to
examine the reasonableness of interfering with the most exceptionable
of all their institutions. It has been thought an abomination not to
be tolerated, that a widow should immolate herself on the funeral pile
of her deceased husband. But what judgement should we form of the
Hindoo, who (if any of our institutions admitted the parallel) should
_forcibly_ pretend to stand between a Christian and the hope of
eternal salvation? And shall we not hold him to be a driveller in
politics and morals, a fanatic in religion, and a pretender in
humanity, who would forcibly wrest this hope from the Hindoo {139}
widow?"--_Historical Sketches of the South of India_, vol. i. p. 499.

Such opinions, and such language, may safely be left to the
indignation and pity which they cannot fail to excite. I shall only
express my astonishment, that any thing so monstrous, and so miserably
futile, should have proceeded from a man of learning, great good
sense, and general good feelings, as Colonel Wilks evidently appears
to be.

  _One drops, another plunges in._--I. p. 10.

When Bernier was passing from Amad-Avad to Agra, there came news to
him in a borough, where the caravan rested under the shade, (staying
for the cool of the evening to march on their journey,) that a woman
was then upon the point of burning herself with the body of her
husband. I presently rose, says he, and ran to the place where it was
to be done, which was a great pit, with a pile of wood raised in it,
whereon I saw laid a dead corpse, and a woman, which, at a distance,
seemed to me pretty fair, sitting near it on the same pile, besides
four or five Bramins, putting the fire to it from all sides; five
women of a middle age, and well enough dressed, holding one another by
the hand, and dancing about the pit, and a great crowd of people, men
and women, looking {140} on. The pile of wood was presently all on
fire, because store of oil and butter had been thrown upon it: and I
saw, at the same time, through the flames, that the fire took hold of
the clothes of the woman, that were imbued with well-scented oils,
mingled with powder of sandal and saffron. All this I saw, but
observed not that the woman was at all disturbed; yea, it was said,
that she had been heard to pronounce, with great force, these two
words, _five_, _two_, to signify, according to the opinion of those
that hold the soul's transmigration, that this was the _fifth_ time
she had burnt herself with the same husband, and that there remained
but two more for perfection; as if she had at that time this
remembrance, or some prophetical spirit. But here ended not this
infernal tragedy: I thought it was only by way of ceremony that these
five women sung and danced about the pit; but I was altogether
surprised when I saw, that the flame having taken hold of the clothes
of one of them, she cast herself, with her head foremost, into the
pit; and that after her, another, being overcome by the flame and the
smoke, did the like; and my astonishment redoubled afterwards, when I
saw that the remaining three took one another again by the hand,
continued their dance without any apparent fear; and that at length
they precipitated themselves, one after another, into the fire, as
their {141} companions had done. I learnt that these had been five
slaves, who, having seen their mistress extremely afflicted at the
sickness of her husband, and heard her promise him, that she would not
survive him, but burn herself with him, were so touched with
compassion and tenderness towards this their mistress, that they
engaged themselves in a promise to follow her in her resolution, and
to burn themselves with her.--BERNIER.

This excellent traveller relates an extraordinary circumstance which
occurred at one of these sacrifices. A woman was engaged in some
love-intrigues with a young Mahommedan, her neighbour, who was a
tailor, and could play finely upon the tabor. This woman, in the hopes
she had of marrying this young man, poisoned her husband, and
presently came away to tell the tailor, that it was time to be gone
together, as they had projected, or else she should be obliged to burn
herself. The young man, fearing lest he might be entangled in a
mischievous business, flatly refused her. The woman, not at all
surprised at it, went to her relations, and advertised them of the
sudden death of her husband, and openly protested that she would not
survive him, but burn herself with him. Her kindred, well satisfied
with so generous a resolution, and the great honour she did to the
whole family, presently had a pit made and filled with wood, exposing
{142} the corpse upon it, and kindling the fire. All being prepared,
the woman goes to embrace and bid farewell to all her kindred that
were there about the pit, among whom was also the tailor, who had been
invited to play upon the tabor that day, with many others of that sort
of men, according to the custom of the country. This fury of a woman
being also come to this young man, made sign as if she would bid him
farewell with the rest; but, instead of gently embracing him, she
taketh him with all her force about his collar, pulls him to the pit,
and tumbleth him, together with herself, into the ditch, where they
both were soon dispatched.--BERNIER.

The Hindoos sometimes erect a chapel on the spot where one of these
sacrifices has been performed, both on account of the soul of the
deceased, and as a trophy of her virtue. I remember to have seen one
of these places, where the spot on which the funeral pile had been
erected was inclosed and covered with bamboos, formed into a kind of
bower planted with flowering creepers. The inside was set round with
flowers, and at one end, there was an image.--CRAWFURD.

Some of the Yogees, who smear themselves with ashes, use none but what
they collect from funeral piles,--human ashes! PIETRO DELLA VALLE.

From a late investigation, it appears, that the number {143} of women
who sacrifice themselves within thirty miles round Calcutta every
year, is, on an average, upwards of two hundred. The Pundits have
already been called on to produce the sanction of their Shasters for
this custom. The passages exhibited are vague and general in their
meaning, and differently interpreted by the same casts. Some sacred
verses commend the practice, but none command it; and the Pundits
refer once more to _custom_. They have, however, intimated, that if
government will pass a regulation, amercing by fine every Brahmin who
attends a burning, or every Zemindar who permits him to attend it, the
practice cannot possibly long continue; for that the ceremony,
unsanctified by the presence of the priests, will lose its dignity and
consequence in the eyes of the people.

The civilized world may expect soon to hear of the abolition of this
opprobrium of a Christian administration, the female sacrifice; which
has subsisted, to our certain knowledge, since the time of Alexander

This practice, however, was manifestly unknown when the Institutes of
Menu were written. Instructions are there given for the conduct of a
widow: "Let her," it is said, "emaciate her body, by living
voluntarily on pure flowers, roots, and fruit; but let her not, when
her {144} lord is deceased, even pronounce the name of another man.
Let her continue till death forgiving all injuries, performing harsh
duties, avoiding every sensual pleasure, and cheerfully practising the
incomparable rules of virtue, which have been followed by such women
as were devoted to one only husband. Many thousands of Brahmins,
having avoided sensuality from their early youth, and having left no
issue in their families, have ascended nevertheless to heaven; and,
like those abstemious men, a virtuous wife ascends to heaven, though
she have no child, if, after the decease of her lord, she devote
herself to pious austerity: but a widow, who, from a wish to bear
children, slights her deceased husband by marrying again, brings
disgrace on herself here below, and shall be excluded from the seat of
her lord."--_Inst. of Menu_, ch. 5, 157-161.

Second marriages were permitted to men.--_Ibid_. 167, 8-9.

  _Lo! Arvalan appears._--II. p. 11.

Many believe that some souls are sent back to the spot where their
bodies were burnt, or where their ashes are preserved, to wait there
until the new bodies they are destined to occupy be ready for their
reception. This appears to correspond with an opinion of Plato, which,
{145} with many other tenets of that philosopher, was adopted by the
early Christians; and an ordinance of the Romish church is still
extant, prohibiting having lights or making merriment in church-yards
at night, lest they should disturb the souls that might come

According to the Danish missionaries, the souls of those who are
untimely slain wander about as diabolical spectres, doing evil to
mankind, and possessing those whom they persecute.--NIECAMP. i. 10.
§ 14.

The inhabitants of the hills near Rajamahall believe, that when God
sends a messenger to summon a person to his presence, if the messenger
should mistake his object, and carry off another, he is desired by the
Deity to take him away; but as the earthly mansion of his soul must be
decayed, it is destined to remain mid-way between heaven and earth,
and never can return to the presence of God. Whoever commits homicide
without a divine order, and whoever is killed by a snake, as a
punishment for some concealed crime, will be doomed to the same state
of wandering; and whoever hangs himself will wander eternally with a
rope about his neck.--_Asiat. Researches_.

Pope Benedict XII. drew up a list of 117 heretical opinions held by
the Armenian Christians, which he sent to the king of
Armenia,--instead of any other assistance, {146} when that prince
applied to him for aid against the Mahomedans. This paper was first
published by Bernino, and exhibits a curious mixture of mythologies.
One of their opinions was, that the souls of the adult wander about in
the air till the day of judgment; neither hell, nor the heavenly, nor
the terrestrial paradise, being open to them till that day shall have

Davenant, in one of his plays, speculates upon such a state of
wandering as the lot of the soul after death:--

  I must to darkness go, hover in clouds,
  Or in remote untroubled air, silent
  As thoughts, or what is uncreated yet;
  Or I must rest in some cold shade, and shall
  Perhaps ne'er see that everlasting spring
  Of which philosophy so long has dreamt,
  And seems rather to wish than understand.
                    _Love and Honour._

I know no other author who has so often expressed to those who could
understand him, his doubts respecting a future state, and how
burthensome he felt them.

  _But I, all naked feeling and raw life_.--II. p. 13.

By the vital souls of those men who have committed {147} sins in the
body, another body, composed of _nerves_, with five sensations, in
order to be susceptible of torment, shall certainly be assumed after
death; and being intimately united with those minute nervous
particles, according to their distribution, they shall feel in that
new body the pangs inflicted in each case by the sentence of
Yama.--_Inst. of Menu_.

Henry More, the Platonist, has two applicable stanzas in his Song of
the Soul:--

   Like to a light fast lock'd in lanthorn dark,
   Whereby by night our wary steps we guide
   In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark,
   Some weaker rays through the black top do glide,
   And flusher streams, perhaps, from horny side;
   But when we've past the peril of the way,
   Arrived at home, and laid that case aside,--
   The naked light how clearly doth it ray,
  And spread its joyful beams as bright as summer's day.

   Even so the soul, in this contracted state,
   Confined to these strait instruments of sense,
   More dull and narrowly doth operate;
   At this hole hears,--the sight must ray from thence,--
   Here tastes, there smells;--but when she's gone from hence,
   Like naked lamp she is one shining sphere,
   And round about has perfect cognoscence,
   Whatever in her horizon doth appear.
  She is one orb of sense, all eye, all airy ear.

Amid the uncouth allegory, and more uncouth language, of this strange
series of poems, a few passages are to be found of exceeding beauty.
Milton, who was the author's friend, had evidently read them.

  _Undying as I am!_--II. p. 12.

The Soul is not a thing of which a man may say, it hath been, it is
about to be, or is to be hereafter; for it is a thing without birth;
it is ancient, constant, and eternal, and is not to be destroyed in
this its mortal frame. How can the man who believeth that this thing
is incorruptible, eternal, inexhaustible, and without birth, think
that he can either kill or cause it to be killed! As a man throweth
away old garments and putteth on new, even so the Soul, having quitted
its old mortal frames, entereth into others which are new. The weapon
divideth it not, the fire burneth it not, the water corrupteth it not,
the wind drieth it not away;--for it is indivisible, inconsumable,
incorruptible, and is not to be dried away;--it is eternal, universal,
permanent, immoveable; it is {149} invisible, inconceivable, and
unalterable.--BHAGVAT GEETA.

  _Mariataly_.--II. p. 15.

Mariatale, as Sonnerat spells the name, was wife of the penitent
Chamadaguini, and mother of Parassourama, who was, in part, an
incarnation of Veeshno. This goddess, says Sonnerat, commanded the
elements, but could not preserve that empire longer than her heart was
pure. One day, while she was collecting water out of a tank, and,
according to her custom, was making a bowl of earth to carry it to the
house, she saw on the surface of the water, some figures of Grindovers
(Glendoveers) which were flying over her head. Struck with their
beauty, her heart admitted an impure thought, and the earth of the
bowl dissolved. From that time she was obliged to make use of an
ordinary vessel. This discovered to Chamadaguini that his wife had
deviated from purity; and, in the excess of his rage, he ordered his
son to drag her to the place where criminals were executed, and to
behead her. The order was executed; but Parassourama was so much
afflicted for the loss of his mother, that Chamadaguini told him to
take up the body, and fasten the head upon it, and repeat a prayer
(which he taught him for that purpose) in her ear, and then his mother
{150} would come to life again. The son ran eagerly to perform what he
was ordered, but, by a very singular blunder, he joined the head of
his mother to the body of a Parichi, who had been executed for her
crimes; a monstrous union, which gave to this woman the virtues of a
goddess, and the vices of a criminal. The goddess, becoming impure by
such a mixture, was driven from her house, and committed all kinds of
cruelties. The Deverkels, perceiving the destruction she made,
appeased her by giving her power to cure the small-pox, and promising
that she should be implored for that disorder. Mariatale is the great
goddess of the Parias;--to honour her, they have a custom of dancing
with several pots of water on their heads, placed one above the other:
These pots are adorned with the leaves of the Margosies, a tree
consecrated to her.

  _It was my hour of folly._--II. p. 13.

Among the qualities required for the proper execution of public
business, mention is made, "That a man must be able to keep in
subjection his lust, his anger, his avarice, his _folly_, and his
pride." The folly there specified is not to be understood in the usual
sense of the word in an European idiom, as a negative quality, or the
mere want of sense, but as a kind of obstinately stupid {151}
lethargy, or perverse absence of mind, in which the will is not
altogether passive: It seems to be a weakness peculiar to Asia, for we
cannot find a term by which to express the precise idea in the
European languages. It operates somewhat like the violent impulse of
fear, under which men will utter falsehoods totally incompatible with
each other, and utterly contrary to their own opinion, knowledge, and
conviction; and, it may be added also, their inclination and

A very remarkable instance of this temporary frenzy happened lately in
the supreme Court of Judicature at Calcutta, where a man (not an
idiot) swore, upon a trial, that he was no kind of relation to his
brother, who was then in Court, and who had constantly supported him
from his infancy; and that he lived in a house by himself, for which
he paid the rent from his own pocket, when it was proved that he was
not worth a rupee, and when the person in whose house he had always
resided stood at the bar close to him.

Another conjecture, and that exceedingly acute and ingenious, has been
started upon this _folly_, that it may mean the deception which a man
permits to be imposed on his judgment by his passions, as acts of
rapacity and avarice are often committed by men who ascribe them to
prudence and a just assertion of their own right; malice {152} and
rancour pass for justice, and brutality for spirit. This opinion, when
thoroughly examined, will very nearly tally with the former; for all
the passions, as well as fear, have an equal efficacy to disturb and
distort the mind: But to account for the _folly_ here spoken of as
being the offspring of the passions, instead of drawing a parallel
between it and the impulses of those passions, we must suppose the
impulses to act with infinitely more violence upon an Asiatic mind
than we can ever have seen exemplified in Europe. It is, however,
something like the madness so inimitably delineated in the Hero of
Cervantes, sensible enough upon some occasions, and at the same time
completely wild, and unconscious of itself upon others; and that, too,
originally produced by an effort of the will, though, in the end,
overpowering and superseding its functions.--HALHED.

  _The little songsters of the sky_
  _Sit silent in the sultry hour._--IV. p. 29.

The tufted lark, fixed to this fruitful land, says Sonnini, speaking
of Egypt, never forsakes it; it seems, however, that the excessive
heat annoys him. You may see these birds, as well as sparrows, in the
middle of the day, with their bills half open, and the muscles of
their breasts agitated, breathing with difficulty, and as if they
panted {153} for respiration. The instinct which induces them to
prefer those means of subsistence which are easily obtained, and in
abundance, although attended with some suffering, resembles the mind
of man, whom a thirst for riches engages to brave calamities and
dangers without number.

  _The Watchman._--V. 35.

The watchmen are provided with no offensive weapons excepting a sling;
on the contrary, they continue the whole day standing in one single
position, upon a pillar of clay raised about ten feet, where they
remain bellowing continually, that they may terrify, without hurting,
the birds who feed upon the crop. Every considerable field contains
several such centinels, stationed at different corners, who repeat the
call from one to another so incessantly, that the invaders have hardly
any opportunity of making good a livelihood in the field.

These watchmen are forced, during the rains, to erect, instead of a
clay pillar, a scaffolding of wood as high as the crop, over which
they suspend a roof of straw, to shelter their naked bodies from the

  _The Golden Palaces_.--V. 35.

Every thing belonging to the sovereign of Ava has the {154} addition
of [Transcriber: the last letter of the word "sho-" is unreadable],
or golden, annexed to it; even his majesty's person is never mentioned
but in conjunction with this precious metal. When a subject means to
affirm that the king has heard any thing, he says, "it has reached the
golden ears;" he who obtained admission to the royal presence has been
at the "golden feet." The perfume of otto of roses, a nobleman observed
one day, "was an odour grateful to the golden nose."--SYMES.

  _A cloud ascending in the eastern sky_
  _Sails slowly o'er the vale,_
  _And darkens round, and closes in the night._--V. p. 37.

At this season of the year, it is not uncommon, towards the evening,
to see a small black cloud rising in the eastern part of the horizon,
and afterwards spreading itself to the north-west. This phenomenon is
always attended with a violent storm of wind, and flashes of the
strongest and most vivid lightning and heavy thunder, which is
followed by rain. These storms sometimes last for half an hour or
more; and, when they disperse, they leave the air greatly freshened,
and the sky of a deep, clear, and transparent blue. When they occur
near the full moon, the whole atmosphere is illuminated by a soft but
brilliant silver light, attended with gentle airs.--HODGES.


  _A white flag, flapping to the winds of night,_
  _Marks where the tyger seized his human prey._--V. p. 37.

It is usual to place a small white triangular flag, fixed to a bamboo
staff, of ten or twelve feet long, at the place where a tyger has
destroyed a man. It is common for the passengers, also, each to throw
a stone, or brick, near the spot, so that, in the course of a little
time, a pile equal to a good waggon-load is collected. This custom, as
well as the fixing a rag on any particular thorn-bush, near the fatal
spot, is in use likewise on various accounts. Many brambles may be
seen in a day's journey, completely covered with this motley
assemblage of remnants. The sight of the flags and piles of stones
imparts a certain melancholy, not perhaps altogether devoid of
apprehension: They may be said to be of service in pointing out the
places most frequented by tygers.--_Oriental Sports_, vol. ii. p. 22.

  _Pollear._--V. p. 45.

The first and greatest of the sons of Sevee is Pollear: he presides
over marriages: The Indians build no house without having first
carried a Pollear on the ground, which they sprinkle with oil, and
throw flowers on it {156} every day. If they do not invoke it before
they undertake any enterprise, they believe that God will make them
forget what they wanted to undertake, and that their labour will be in
vain. He is represented with an elephant's head, and mounted on a rat;
but in the pagodas they place him on a pedestal, with his legs almost
crossed. A rat is always put before the door of his chapel. This rat
was a giant, called Gudja-mouga-chourin, on whom the gods had bestowed
immortality, as well as great powers, which he abused, and did much
harm to mankind. Pollear, entreated by the sages and penitents to
deliver them, pulled out one of his tusks, and threw it against
Gudja-mouga-chourin; the tooth entered the giant's stomach, and
overthrew him, who immediately changed himself into a rat as large as
a mountain, and came to attack Pollear, who sprung on his back,
telling him, that hereafter he should ever be his carrier.

The Indians, in their adoration of this god, cross their arms, shut
the fist, and in this manner give themselves several blows on the
temples; then, but always with the arms crossed, they take hold of
their ears, and make three inclinations, bending the knee; after
which, with their hands joined, they address their prayers to him, and
strike their forehead. They have a great veneration for this deity,
whose image they place in all temples, streets, {157} highways, and,
in the country, at the foot of some tree, that all the world may have
an opportunity of invoking him before they undertake any concern, and
that travellers may make their adorations and offerings to him before
they pursue their journey.--SONNERAT.

  _The Glendoveers_.--VI. p. 48.

This word is altered from the _Grindouvers_ of Sonnerat, who describes
these celestial children of Casyapa as famous for their beauty; they
have wings, he adds, and fly in the air with their wives. I do not
know whether they are the _Gandharvas_ of the English orientalists.
The wings with which they are attired in the poem are borrowed from
the neglected story of Peter Wilkins, a work of great genius. Whoever
the author was, his winged people are the most beautiful creatures of
imagination that ever were devised. I copy his minute description of
the _graundee_, as he calls it:--Stothard has made some delightful
drawings of it in the Novelist's Magazine.

"She first threw up two long branches, or ribs, of the whale-bone, as
I called it before, (and indeed for several of its properties, as
toughness, elasticity, and pliableness, nothing I have ever seen can
so justly be compared to it,) which were jointed behind to the
upper-bone of the spine, and which, when not extended, lie bent over
the shoulders {158} on each side of the neck forwards, from whence, by
nearer and nearer approaches, they just meet at the lower rim of the
belly in a sort of point; but, when extended, they stand their whole
length above the shoulders, not perpendicularly, but spreading
outwards, with a web of the softest and most pliable and spungy
membrane that can be imagined in the interstices between them,
reaching from their root or joint on the back up above the hinder part
of the head, and near half way their own length; but, when closed, the
membrane falls down in the middle upon the neck, like an handkerchief.
There are also two other ribs, rising, as it were, from the same root,
which, when open, run horizontally, but not so long as the others.
These are filled up in the interstice between them and the upper ones
with the same membrane; and on the lower side of this is also a deep
flap of the membrane, so that the arms can be either above or below it
in flight, and are always above it when closed. This last rib, when
shut, flaps under the upper one, and also falls down with it before to
the waist; but it is not joined to the ribs below. Along the whole
spine-bone runs a strong, flat, broad, grisly cartilage, to which are
joined several other of these ribs, all which open horizontally, and
are filled in the interstices with the above membrane, and are jointed
to the ribs of the person just where {159} the plane of the back
begins to turn towards the breast and belly; and, when shut, wrap the
body round to the joints on the contrary side, folding neatly one side
over the other.

"At the lower spine are two more ribs extended horizontally when open,
jointed again to the hips, and long enough to meet the joint on the
contrary side cross the belly: and from the hip-joint, which is on the
outermost edge of the hip-bone, runs a pliable cartilage quite down
the outside of the thigh and leg to the ancle; from which there branch
out divers other ribs, horizontally also when open, but, when closed,
they encompass the whole thigh and leg, rolling inwards cross the back
of the leg and thigh, till they reach and just cover the cartilage.
The interstices of these are filled up with the same membrane. From
the two ribs which join to the lower spine-bone, there hangs down a
sort of short apron, very full of plaits, from hip-joint to hip-joint,
and reaches below the buttocks, half way or more to the hams. This has
also several small limber ribs in it. Just upon the lower spine-joint,
and above the apron, as I call it, there are two other long branches,
which, when close, extend upon the back from the point they join at
below to the shoulders, where each rib has a clasper, which, reaching
over the shoulders, just under the fold of the uppermost branch {160}
or ribs, hold up the two ribs flat to the back, like a V, the
interstices of which are filled up with the aforesaid membrane. This
last piece, in flight, falls down almost to the ancles, where the two
claspers, lapping under each leg within-side, hold it very fast; and
then, also, the short apron is drawn up, by the strength of the ribs
in it, between the thighs forward, and covers as far as the rim of the
belly. The whole arms are covered also from the shoulders to the wrist
with the same delicate membrane, fastened to ribs of proportionable
dimensions, and jointed to a cartilage on the outside in the same
manner as on the legs. It is very surprising to feel the difference of
these ribs when open and when closed; for closed, they are as pliable
as the finest whale-bone, or more so; but, when extended, are as
strong and stiff as a bone. They are tapering from the roots, and are
broader or narrower, as best suits the places they occupy, and the
stress they are put to, up to their points, which are almost as small
as a hair. The membrane between them is the most elastic thing I ever
met with, occupying no more space, when the ribs are closed, than just
from rib to rib, as flat and smooth as possible; but, when extended in
some postures, will dilate itself surprisingly,

"It is the most amazing thing in the world to observe the large
expansion of this graundee when open, and, {161} when closed, (as it
all is in a moment, upon the party's descent,) to see it fit so close
and compact to the body as no tailor can come up to it; and then the
several ribs lie so justly disposed in the several parts, that instead
of being, as one would imagine, a disadvantage to the shape, they make
the body and limbs look extremely elegant; and by the different
adjustment of their lines on the body and limbs, the whole, to my
fancy, somewhat resembles the dress of the old Roman warriors in their
buskins; and, to appearance, seems much more noble than any fictitious
garb I ever saw, or can frame a notion of to myself."

  _Mount Himakoot._--VI. p. 49.

_Dushmanta_. Say, Matali, what mountain is that which, like an evening
cloud, pours exhilarating streams, and forms a golden zone between the
western and eastern seas?

_Matali_. That, O king! is the mountain of Gandharvas, named
Hémacúta: The universe contains not a more excellent place for the
successful devotion of the pious. There Casyapa, father of the
immortals, ruler of men, son of Marichi, who sprang from the
self-existent, resides with his consort Aditi, blessed in holy
retirement.--We now enter the sanctuary of him who rules {162} the
world, and the groves which are watered by streams from celestial

_Dushmanta_. I see with equal amazement both the pious and their awful
retreat. It becomes, indeed, pure spirits to feed on balmy air in a
forest blooming with trees of life; to bathe in rills dyed yellow with
the golden dust of the lotus, and to fortify their virtue in the
mysterious bath; to meditate in caves, the pebbles of which are
unblemished gems; and to restrain their passions, even though nymphs
of exquisite beauty frolick around them. In this grove alone is
attained the summit of true piety, to which other hermits in vain

  _Her death predoom'd_
  _To that black hour of midnight, when the Moon_
  _Hath turn'd her face away,_
  _Unwilling to behold_
  _The unhappy end of guilt!_--VI. p. 50.

I will now speak to thee of that time in which, should a devout man
die, he will never return; and of that time in which, dying, he shall
return again to earth.

Those holy men who are acquainted with Brahm, departing this life in
the fiery light of day, in the bright season of the moon, within the
six months of the sun's northern {163} course, go unto him: but those
who depart in the gloomy night of the Moon's dark season, and whilst
the Sun is yet within the southern part of his journey, ascend for a
while into the regions of the Moon, and again return to mortal birth.
These two, Light and Darkness, are esteemed the World's eternal ways:
he who walketh in the former path returneth not; whilst he who walketh
in the latter, cometh back again upon the earth.--KREESHNA, _in the
Bhagvat Geeta_.

  _Indra_.--VI. p. 52.

The Indian God of the visible Heavens is called _Indra_, or the King;
and _Divespetir_, Lord of the Sky. He has the character of the Roman
_Genius_, or chief of the Good Spirits. His consort is named _Sachi_;
his celestial city _Amaravati_; his palace _Vaijayanta_; his garden
_Nandana_; his chief elephant _Airevat_; his charioteer _Matali_; and
his weapon _Vajra_, or the thunder-bolt. He is the regent of winds and
showers, and, though the East is peculiarly under his care, yet his
Olympus is Meru, or the North Pole, allegorically represented as a
mountain of gold and gems. He is the Prince of the beneficent
Genii.--Sir W. JONES.

A distinct idea of Indra, the King of Immortals, may be collected from
a passage in the ninth section of the Geta.


"These having, through virtue, reached the mansion of the king of
_Suras_, feast on the exquisite heavenly food of the Gods; they, who
have enjoyed this lofty region of SWERGA, _but_ whose virtue is
exhausted, revisit the habitation of mortals."

He is the God of thunder and the five elements, with inferior Genii
under his command; and is conceived to govern the eastern quarter of
the world, but to preside, like the _Genius_ or _Agathodæmon_ of the
ancients, over the celestial bands, which are stationed on the summit
of MERU, or the North Pole, where he solaces the Gods with nectar
and heavenly music.

The _Cinnaras_ are the male dancers in SWERGA, or the Heaven of
Indra, and the Apsaras are his dancing girls, answering to the fairies
of the Persians, and to the damsels called in the Koran _hhúru
lûyùn_, or, _with antelope's eyes_.--Sir W. JONES.

  _I have seen Indra tremble at his prayer,_
  _And at his dreadful penances turn pale._--VI. p. 52.

Of such penances Mr. Halhed has produced a curious specimen:

"In the wood, Midhoo, which is on the confines of the kingdoms of
Brege, Tarakee selected a pleasant and beautiful spot, adorned with
verdure and blossoms, and {165} there exerted himself in penance and
mortification, externally, with the sincerest piety, but, in reality,
the most malignant intention, and with the determined purpose of
oppressing the Devetas; penances such as credulity itself was
astonished to hear; and they are here recounted:--

1. For a hundred years, he held up his arms and one foot towards
heaven, and fixed his eyes upon the sun the whole time.

2. For a hundred years, he remained standing on tip-toe.

3. For a hundred years more, he nourished himself with nothing but

4. For a hundred years more, he lived upon nothing but air.

5. For a hundred years more, he stood and made his adorations in the

6. For a hundred years more, he made those adorations buried up to his
neck in the earth.

7. For a hundred years more, enveloped with fire.

8. For a hundred years more, he stood upon his head with his feet
towards heaven.

9. For a hundred years more, he stood upon the palm of one hand
resting on the ground.


10. For a hundred years more, he hung by his hand from the branch of a

11. For a hundred years more, he hung from a tree with his head

When he at length came to a respite from these severe mortifications,
a radiant glory encircled the devotee, and a flame of fire, arising
from his head, began to consume the whole world."--_From the Seeva
Pooraun_, MAURICE's _History of Hindostan_.

You see a pious Yogi, motionless as a pollard, holding his thick bushy
hair, and fixing his eyes on the solar orb. Mark--his body is half
covered with a white ant's edifice made of raised clay; the skin of a
snake supplies the place of his sacerdotal thread, and part of it
girds his loins; a number of knotty plants encircle and wound his
neck, and surrounding birds' nests almost conceal his shoulders.

_Dushmanta_. I bow to a man of his austere devotion.--SACONTALA.

  _That even Seeva's self,_
  _The Highest, cannot grant, and be secure._--VI. p. 52.

It will be seen from the following fable, that Seeva had once been
reduced to a very humiliating employment by one of Kehama's


_Ravana_, by his power and infernal arts, had subjugated all the gods
and demigods, and forced them to perform menial offices about his
person and household. _Indra_ made garlands of flowers to adorn him
withal; _Agni_ was his cook; _Surya_ supplied light by day, and
_Chandra_ by night; _Varuna_ purveyed water for the palace; _Kuvera_
furnished cash. The whole _nava-graha_ (the _nine planetary_ spheres)
sometimes arranged themselves into a ladder, by which, they serving as
steps, the tyrant ascended his throne: _Brahma_ (for the great gods
were there also; and I give this anecdote as I find it in my
memoranda, without any improved arrangement)--_Brahma_ was a herald,
proclaiming the giant's titles, the day of the week, month, &c. daily
in the palace,--a sort of speaking almanack: _Mahadeva_, (i. e.
Seeva,) in his Avatara of _Kandeh-roo_, performed the office of
barber, and trimmed the giants' beards: _Vishnu_ had the honourable
occupation of instructing and drilling the dancing and singing girls,
and selecting the fairest for the royal bed: _Ganesa_ had the care of
the cows, goats, and herds; _Vayu_ swept the house; _Yama_ washed the
linen;--and in this manner were all the gods employed in the menial
offices of _Ravana_, who rebuked and flogged them in default of
industry and attention. Nor were the female divinities exempted; for
_Bhavani_, in her name and form of _Satni_, {168} was head Aya, or
nurse, to Ravana's children; _Lakshmi_ and _Saraswati_ were also among
them, but it does not appear in what capacity.--MOOR's _Hindu
Pantheon_, p. 333.

Seeva was once in danger even of annihilation: "In passing from the
town of Silgut to Deonhully, says Colonel Wilks, I became accidentally
informed of a sect, peculiar, as I since understand, to the
north-eastern parts of Mysoor, the women of which universally undergo
the amputation of the first joints of the third and fourth fingers of
their right hands. On my arrival at Deonhully, after ascertaining that
the request would not give offence, I desired to see some of these
women; and, the same afternoon, seven of them attended at my tent. The
sect is a sub-division of the _Murresoo Wokul_,[1] and belongs to
the fourth great class of the Hindoos, viz. the Souder. Every woman of
the sect, previously to piercing the ears of her eldest daughter,
preparatory to her being betrothed in marriage, must necessarily
undergo this mutilation, which is performed by the blacksmith of the
village, for a regulated fee, by a surgical process sufficiently rude.
The finger to be amputated is placed on a block; the blacksmith places
a chisel over the articulation of the {169} joint, and chops it off at
a single blow. If the girl to be betrothed is motherless, and the
mother of the boy have not before been subject to the operation, it is
incumbent on her to perform the sacrifice. After satisfying myself
with regard to the facts of the case, I enquired into the origin of so
strange a practice, and one of the women related, with great fluency,
the following traditionary tale, which has since been repeated to me,
with no material deviation, by several others of the sect:

A Rachas (or giant) named _Vrica_, and in after times _Busm-aasoor_,
or the giant of the ashes, had, by a course of austere devotion to
_Mahadeo_ (Seeva) obtained from him the promise of whatever boon he
should ask. The Rachas accordingly demanded, that every person on
whose head he should place his right hand, might instantly be reduced
to ashes; and Mahadeo conferred the boon, without suspicion of the
purpose for which it was designed.

The Rachas no sooner found himself possessed of this formidable power,
than he attempted to use it for the destruction of his benefactor.
Mahadeo fled, the Rachas pursued, and followed the fugitive so closely
as to chace him into a duck grove; where Mahadeo, changing his form
and bulk, concealed himself in the centre of a fruit, then called
_tunda pundoo_, but since named _linga_ {170} _tunda_, from the
resemblance which its kernel thenceforward assumed to the _ling_, the
appropriate emblem of Mahadeo.

The Rachas having lost sight of Mahadeo, enquired of a husbandman, who
was working in the adjoining field, whether he had seen the fugitive,
and what direction he had taken. The husbandman, who had attentively
observed the whole transaction, fearful of the future resentment of
Mahadeo, and equally alarmed for the present vengeance of the giant,
answered aloud, that he had seen no fugitive, but pointed, at the same
time, with the little finger of his right hand, to the place of
Mahadeo's concealment.

In this extremity,[2] Vishnou descended, in the form of a
beautiful damsel, to the rescue of Mahadeo. The Rachas became
instantly enamoured;--the damsel was a _pure_ Brahmin, and might not
be approached by the _unclean_ Rachas. By degrees she appeared to
relent; and, as a previous condition to farther advances, enjoined the
performance of his ablutions in a neighbouring pool. After these were
finished, she prescribed, as a farther purification, the performance
of the _Sundia_,--a ceremony in which the right hand is successively
applied to the breast, to the crown of the head, and to other parts of
the body. {171} The Rachas, thinking only of love, and forgetful of
the powers of his right hand, performed the _Sundia_, and was himself
reduced to ashes.

Mahadeo now issued from the _linga tunda_, and, after the proper
acknowledgments for his deliverance, proceeded to discuss the guilt of
the treacherous husbandman, and determined on the loss of the finger
with which he had offended, as the proper punishment of his crime.

The wife of the husbandman, who had just arrived at the field with
food for her husband, hearing this dreadful sentence, threw herself at
the feet of Mahadeo. She represented the certain ruin of her family,
if her husband should be disabled for some months from performing the
labours of the farm, and besought the Deity to accept two of her
fingers, instead of one from her husband. Mahadeo, pleased with so
sincere a proof of conjugal affection, accepted the exchange, and
ordained, that her female posterity, in all future generations, should
sacrifice two fingers at his temple, as a memorial of the transaction,
and of their exclusive devotion to the God of the Ling.

The practice is, accordingly, confined to the supposed, posterity of
this single woman, and is not common to the whole sect of
Murresoo-Wokul. I ascertained the actual number of families who
observed this practice in three {172} successive districts through
which I afterwards passed, and I conjecture that, within the limits of
Misoor, they may amount to about two thousand houses.

The Hill of _Sectee_, in the talook of Colar, where the giant was
destroyed, is (according to this tradition) formed of the ashes of
Busmaa-soor: It is held in particular veneration by this sect, as the
chief seat of their appropriate sacrifice; and the fact of its
containing little or no moisture, is held to be a miraculous proof
that the ashes of the giant continue to absorb the most violent and
continued rain. This is a remarkable example of easy credulity. I have
examined the mountain, which is of a sloping form, and composed of
coarse granite.--_Hist. Sketches of the South of India_, vol. i. p.
442, note.

  _The Ship of Heaven._--VI. p. 56.

I have converted the _Vimana_, or self-moving Car of the Gods, into a
Ship. Capt. Wilford has given the history of its invention,--and, what
is more curious, has attempted to settle the geography of the story:

"A most pious and venerable sage, named RISHI'CE'SA, being very far
advanced in years, had resolved to visit, before he died, all the
famed places of pilgrimage; and, having performed his resolution, he
bathed at last in the sacred water of the _Ca'li_, where he observed
some {173} fishes engaged in amorous play, and restating on their
numerous progeny, which would sport like then in the stream, he
lamented the improbability of leaving any children: but, since he
might possibly be a father, even at his great age, he went immediately
to the king of that country, HIRANYAVERNA, who had fifty daughters,
and demanded one of them in marriage. So strange a demand gave the
prince great uneasiness: yet he was unwilling to incur the displeasure
of a saint, whose imprecations he dreaded; he, therefore, invoked
_Heri_, or _Vishnu_; to inspire him with a wise answer, and told the
hoar philosopher, that he should marry any one of his daughters, who,
of her own accord, should fix on him as her bridegroom. The sage,
rather disconcerted, left the palace; but, calling to mind the two
sons of ASWINI, he hastened to their terrestrial abode, and
requested that they would bestow on him both youth and beauty: they
immediately conducted him to _Abhimatada_, which we suppose to be
_Abydus_, in Upper _Egypt_; and, when he had bathed in the pool of
_Rupayauvana_, he was restored to the flower of his age with the
graces and charms of CA'MA'DE'VA. On his return to the palace, he
entered the secret apartments, called _antahpura_, where the fifty
princesses were assembled: and they were all so transported with the
vision of more than human beauty, {174} that they fell into an
ecstacy, whence the place was afterwards named _Mohast-han_, or
_Mohana_, and is, possibly, the same with _Mohannan_. They no sooner
had recovered from their trance, than each of them exclaimed, that she
would be his bride; and their altercation having brought
HIRANYAVERNA into their apartment, he terminated the contest by
giving them all in marriage to RISHICE'SA, who became the father of
a hundred sons; and, when he succeeded to the throne, built the city
of _Suc-haverddhana_, framed _vimânas_, or celestial, self-moving
cars, in which he visited the gods, and made gardens, abounding in
delights, which rivalled the bowers of INDRA; but, having granted
the desire, which he formed at _Matoyasangama_, or the place where the
fish were assembled, he resigned the kingdom to his eldest son
HIRANYAVRIDDHA, and returned, in his former shape, to the banks of
the Ca'li, where he closed his days in devotion.--WILFORD. _Asiatic

_Dushmanta_. In what path of the winds are we now journeying?

_Matali_. This is the way which leads along the triple river, heaven's
brightest ornament, and causes yon luminaries to roll in a circle with
diffused beams: it is the course of a gentle breeze which supports the
floating {175} forms of the gods; and this path was the second step of
Vishnu when he confounded the proud Bali.

* * *

_Dushmanta_. The car itself instructs me that we are moving over
clouds pregnant with showers; for the circumference of its wheels
disperses pellucid water.

* * *

_Dushmanta_. These chariot wheels yield no sound; no dust arises from
them, and the descent of the car gave me no shock.

_Matali_. Such is the difference, O King! between thy car and that of

_And ending thus where they began_, &c.--VII. p. 66.

It has been supposed that the perpetual lamps, which were at one time
believed to have been found in certain sepulchres, were kept burning
by a similar process. For the lamp, it was argued, being hermetically
closed, so that no smoke could escape, the smoke was condensed into
its original liquid form; and thus the liquor which fed the flame
passing into smoke, and the smoke again into the liquor, the flame was
continually kept up. There still remained a difficulty about the wick;
some supposed that this was made of threads of gold inconceivably
fine: others, with less expense of fancy, said a wick of {176}
asbestos would answer the purpose.--FEYJOO. _Theatro Critico_, _T_.
4. _Disc_. 3. § v. 13.

  _The Raining Tree._--VII. p. 65.

The island of _Fierro_ is one of the most considerable of the
Canaries, and I conceive that name to be given it upon this account,
that its soil not affording so much as a drop of fresh water, seems to
be of _iron_; and, indeed, there is in this island neither river, nor
rivulet, nor well, nor spring, save that only, towards the sea-side,
there are some wells; but they lie at such a distance from the city,
that the inhabitants can make no use thereof. But the great Preserver
and Sustainer of all, remedies this inconvenience by a way so
extraordinary, that a man will be forced to sit down and acknowledge
that he gives in this an undeniable demonstration of his goodness and
infinite providence,

For, in the midst of the island, there is a tree, which is the only
one of its kind, inasmuch as it hath no resemblance to those mentioned
by us in this relation, nor to any other known to us in Europe. The
leaves of it are long and narrow, and continue in a constant verdure,
winter and summer; and its branches are covered with a cloud, which is
never dispelled, but resolved into a moisture, which causes to fall
from its leaves a very clear water, {177} and that in such abundance,
that the cisterns, which are placed at the foot of the tree to receive
it, are never empty, but contain enough to supply both men and

Feyjoo denies the existence of any such tree, upon the authority of P.
Tallandier, a French Jesuit, (quoted in Men. de Trevoux. 2715, art.
97.) who visited the island. "_Assi no dudo_," he adds, "_que este
Fenix de las plantas es ten fingedo como el de las aves._"--Theat.
Crit. _Tom. ii. Disc_. 2. § 65. What authority is due to the
testimony of this French Jesuit I do not know, never having seen his
book; but it appears, from the undoubted evidence of Glas, that its
existence is believed in the Canaries, and positively affirmed by the
inhabitants of Fierro itself.

"There are," says this excellent author, "only three fountains of
water in the whole island, one of them is called Acof,[3] which,
in the language of the ancient inhabitants, signifies river; a name,
however, which does not seem to have been given it on account of its
yielding much water, for in that respect it hardly deserves the same
of a fountain. More to the northward is another called Hapio; and in
the middle of the island is a spring, {178} yielding a stream about
the thickness of a man's finger. This last was discovered in the year
1565, and is called the Fountain of Anton Hernandez. On account of the
scarcity of water, the sheep, goats, and swine here do not drink in
the summer, but are taught to dig up the roots of fern, and chew them,
to quench their thirst. The great cattle are watered at those
fountains, and at a place where water distils from the leaves of a
tree. Many writers have made mention of this famous tree; some in such
a manner as to make it appear miraculous; others again deny the
existence of any such tree, among whom is Father Feyjoo, a modern
Spanish author, in his _Theatro Critico_. But he, and those who agree
with him in this matter, are as much mistaken as they who would make
it appear miraculous. This is the only island of all the Canaries
which I have not been in; but I have sailed with natives of Hierro,
who, when questioned about the existence of this tree, answered in the

The author of the History of the Discovery and Conquest has given us a
particular account of it, which I shall relate here at large. "The
district in which this tree stands is called Tigulahe; near to which,
and in the cliff, or steep rocky ascent that surrounds the whole
island, is a narrow gutter or gulley, which commences at the sea, and
continues to the summit of the cliff, where it joins or {179}
coincides with a valley, which is terminated by the steep front of a
rock. On the top of this rock grows a tree, called, in the language of
the ancient inhabitants, Garse, _i.e._ Sacred or Holy Tree, which,
for many years, has been preserved sound, entire, and fresh. Its
leaves constantly distil such a quantity of water as is sufficient to
furnish drink to every living creature in Hierro; nature having
provided this remedy for the drought of the island. It is situated
about a league and a half from the sea. Nobody knows of what species
it is, only that it is called Til. It is distinct from other, trees,
and stands by itself; the circumference of the trunk is about twelve
spans, the diameter four, and in height, from the ground to the top of
the highest branch, forty spans: The circumference of all the branches
together, is one hundred and twenty feet. The branches are thick and
extended; the lowest commence about the height of an ell from the
ground. Its fruit resembles the acorn, and tastes something like the
kernel of a pine-nut, but is softer and more aromatic. The leaves of
this tree resemble those of the laurel, but are larger, wider, and
more curved; they come forth in a perpetual succession, so that the
tree always remains green. Near to it grows a thorn, which fastens on
many of its branches, and interweaves with them; and, at a small
distance from the Garse, are some beech-trees, {180} bresos, and
thorns. On the north side of the trunk are two large tanks, or
cisterns, of rough stone, or rather one patera divided, each half
being twenty feet square, and sixteen spans in depth. One of these
contains water for the drinking of the inhabitants, and the other that
which they use for their cattle, washing, and such like purposes.
Every morning, near this part of the island, a cloud or mist arises
from the sea, which the south and easterly winds force against the
fore-mentioned steep cliff; so that the cloud, having no vent but by
the gutter, gradually ascends it, and from thence advances slowly to
the extremity of the valley, where it is stopped and checked by the
front of the rock which terminates the valley, and then rests upon the
thick leaves and wide-spreading branches of the tree; from whence it
distils in drops during the remainder of the day, until it is at
length exhausted, in the same manner that we see water drip from the
leaves of trees after a heavy shower of rain. This distillation is not
peculiar to the Garse, or Til, for the bresos which grow near it
likewise drop water; but their leaves being but few and narrow, the
quantity is so trifling, that, though the natives save some of it, yet
they make little or no account of any but what distils from the Til;
which, together with the water of some fountains, and what is saved in
the winter season, is sufficient to {181} serve them and their flocks.
This tree yields most water in those years when the Levant, or
easterly winds, have prevailed for a continuance; for by these winds
only, the clouds or mists are drawn hither from the sea. A person
lives on the spot near which this tree grows, who is appointed by the
Council to take care of it and its water, and is allowed a house to
live in, with a certain salary. He every day distributes to each
family of the district, seven pots or vessels full of water, besides
what he gives to the principal people of the island."

"Whether the tree which yields water at this present time be the same
as that mentioned in the above description, I cannot pretend to
determine, but it is probable there has been a succession of them; for
Pliny, describing the Fortunate Islands, says, "In the mountains of
Ombrion, are trees resembling the plant Ferula, from which water may
be procured by pressure: What comes from the black kind is bitter,
but that which the white yields is sweet and palatable."--GLAS's
_History of the Canary Islands_.

Cordeyro (_Historia Insulana_, lib. ii. c. 5.) says, that this tree
resembles what in other places is called the _Til_, (_Tilia_,) the
Linden Tree; and he proceeds, from these three letters, to make it an
emblem of the Trinity. The water, he says, was called the _Agua
Santa_, and the tree {182} itself the _Santa Arvore_,--appellations
not ill bestowed. According to his account the water was delivered out
in stated portions.

There is an account of a similar tree in Cockburne's Travels; but this
I believe to be a work of fiction. Bernal Diaz, however, mentions one
as growing at Naco, in Honduras, "_Que en mitad de la siesta, por
recio sol que hiziesse, parecia que la sombra del arbol refrescava el
corazon, caia del uno como rozio muy delgado que confortava las

There may be some exaggeration in the accounts of the Fierro Tree, but
that the story has some foundation I have no doubt. The islanders of
St. Thomas say, that they have a sort of trees whose leaves
continually are distilling water. (_Barbot. in Churckle_, 405.) It is
certain that a dew falls in hot weather from the lime,--a fact of
which any person may easily convince himself. The same property has
been observed in other English trees, as appears by the following
extract from the Monthly Magazine:

"In the beginning of August, after a sun-shine day, the air became
suddenly misty about six o'clock; I walked, however, by the road side
from seven to eight, and observed, in many places, that a shower of
big drops of water was falling under the large trees, although no rain
{183} fell elsewhere. The road and path continued dusty, and the
field-gates showed no signs of being wetted by the mist. I have often
noticed the like fact, but have not met with a satisfactory
explanation of this power in trees to condense mist."

I am not the only poet who has availed himself of the Fierro Tree. It
is thus introduced in the Columbus of Carrara,--a singular work,
containing, amid many extravagancies, some passages of rare merit:

  Ecce autem inspector miri dum devius ignis
  Fertur, in occursum miræ magis incidit undæ.
  Æquoris in medio diffusi largiter arbor
  Stabat, opaca, ingens, ævoque intacta priori,
  Grata qiues Nymphis, et grata colentibus umbram
  Alitibus sedes, quarum vox blanda, nec ullâ
  Musicus arte canor sylvam resonare docebat.
  Auditor primum rari modulaminis, utque
  Cominus admovit gressum, spectator et hæsit;
  Namque videbat, uti de cortice, deque supernis
  Crinibus, argentum guttatim mitteret humens
  Truncus, et ignaro plueret Jove; moxque serenus
  In concham caderet subjecti marmoris imber,
  Donec ibi in fontem collectis undique rivis
  Cresceret, atque ipso jam non ingratus ab ortu
  Redderet humorem matri, quæ commodat umbram.

  Dum stupet et quærit, cur internodia possit
  Unda; per et fibras, virides et serpere rugas,
  Et ferri sursum, genio ducente deorsum;
  Adstitit en Nympha; dubitat decernere, Nais,
  Anne Dryas, custos num fontis, an arboris esset;
  Verius ut credam, Genius sub imagine Nymphæ
  Ille loci fuerat. Quam præstantissimus Heros
  Protinus ut vidit, Parce, o pulcherrima, dixit,
  Si miser, et vestras ejectus nuper ad oras
  Naufragus, idem audax videor fortasse rogando.
  Dic age, quas labi video de stipite, lymphæ
  Montibus anne cadant, per operta foramina ductæ,
  Mox trabis irriguæ saliant in frondea sursum
  Brachia, ramalesque tubos; genitalis an alvus
  Umbrosæ genitricis alat; ceu sæpe videmus
  Balsama de truncis, stillare electra racemis.
  Pandere ne grave sit cupienti noscere causam
  Vilia quæ vobis usus miracula fecit.

  Hæc ubi dicta, silet. Tum Virgo ita reddidit, Hospes
  Quisquis es, (eximium certe præsentia prodit)
  Deciperis, si forte putas, quas aspicis undas
  Esse satas terrâ; procul omni a sede remota
  Mira arbos, uni debet sua munera Cœlo.
  Quâ ratione tamen capiat, quia noscere gestis
  Edicam; sed dicendis ne tædia repant,
  Hic locus, hæc eadem, de quâ cantabitur, arbor
  Dat tempestivam blandis afflatibus umbram:
  Hic una sedeamus; et ambo fontis ad undam
  Consedere; dehinc intermittente parumper
  Concentu volucrum, placido sic incipit ore.

  Nomine Canariæ, de quâ tenet Insula nomen,
  Virgo fuit, non ore minus, quam prædita raræ
  Laude pudicitiæ, mirum quæ pectore votum
  Clausit, ut esse eadem genitrix et virgo cupiret.
  At quia in Urbe satam fuerat sortita parentem
  Ortum rure Patrem, diversis moribus hausit
  Hinc sylvæ austeros, teneros hinc Urbis amores.
  Sæpe ubi visendi studio convenerat Urbes,
  Et dare blanditias natis et sumere matres
  Viderat ante fores, ut mater amavit amari.
  Sæpe ubi rure fuit de nymphis una Dianæ,
  Viderat atque Deam thalami consorte carentem,
  Esse Deæ similis, nec amari ut mater amavit.
  Sed quid aget? cernit fieri non posse quod optat;
  Non optare tamen, crudelius urit amantem.
  Noctis erat medium: quo nos sumus, hoc erat illa
  Forte loco, Cœloque videns splendescere Lunam,
  O Dea, cui triplicis concessa potentia regni,
  Parce precor, dixit, si quæ nunc profero, non sum
  Ausa prius; quod non posses audire Diana,
  Cum sis Luna potes; tenebræ minuere pudorem.
  Est mihi Virginitas, fateor, re charior omni,
  Attamen, hâc salvâ, fœcundæ si quoque Matris
  Nomina miscerem, duplici de nomine quantum
  Ambitiosa forem; certe non parva voluptas
  Me caperet, coram si quis me luderet infans
  Si mecum gestu, mecum loqueretur ocellis,
  Cumque potest, quacumque potest, me voce vocaret,
  Cujus et in vultu multum de matre viderem.
  Ni sinit hoc humana tamen nature licere,
  Fiat quâ ratione potest; mutare figuram
  Nil refert, voti compos si denique fiam.
  Annuit oranti facilis Dea; Virgine digna
  Et quia vota tulit, Virgo probat. Eligit ergo
  De grege Plantarum ligni quæ cœlibis esset.
  Visa fuit Platanus: placet hæc; si vertat in istam
  Canariæ corpus, sibi tempus in omne futuram
  Tam caram esse videt, quam sit sua laurea Phœbo.
  Nec mora, poscenti munus, ne signa deessent
  Certa dati, movit falcatæ cornua frontis.
  Virginis extemplo cœpere rigere crura
  Tenvia vestiri duro præcordia libro,
  Ipsaque miratur, cervix quod eburnea, quantum
  It Cœlo, tantum tendant in Tartara plantæ;
  Et jam formosâ de Virgine stabat et Arbos
  Non formosa minus; qui toto in corpore pridem
  Par ebori fuerat, candor quoque cortice mansit.
  Sed deerat conjux uxoris moribus æque
  Integer et cœlebs, et Virginitatis amator,
  Quo fœcunda foret; verum tellure petendus
  Hon hic, ab axe fuit. Quare incorruptus et idem
  Purior e cunctis stellatæ noctis alumnis
  Poscitur Hersophorus, sic Graii nomine dicunt,
  Rorem Itali. Quocumque die (quis credere posset?)
  Tamquam ex condicto cum Sol altissimus extat,
  Sydereus conjux nebulæ velatus amictu
  Labitur huc, niveisque maritam amplectitur alis:
  Quodque fidem superat, parvo post tempora fœtum
  Concipit, et parvo post tempore parturit arbor,
  Molle puerperium vis noscere? consule fontem,
  Qui nos propter adest, in quo mixtura duorum
  Agnosci possit, splendet materque paterque.
  Læta fovet genitrix, compos jam facta cupiti;
  Illius optarat vultu se noscere, noscit;
  Cernere ludentem se circum, ludere cernit;
  Illum audire rudi matrem quoque voce vocantem,
  Et matrem sese dici dum murmurat, audit.
  Nec modo Virgintas fæcunda est arboris, ipsæ
  Sunt quoque fœcundæ frondes, quas excutit arbor.
  Nam simul ac supra latices cecidere tepentes,
  Insuper accessit Phœbei flamma caloris,
  Concipiunt, pariuntque: oriturque tenerrimius ales
  Nomine Canarius, qui pene exclusus in auras,
  Tenvis adhuc, cœlique rudis, crudusque labori
  Jam super extantes affectat scandere ramos,
  Et frondes, quarum una fuit. Nidum inde sub illis
  Collocat adversum Soli, cui pandere pennas
  Et siccare queat; latet hic, nullâque magistrâ
  Arte canit, matrisque replet concentibus aures.
  Adde quod affectus reddit genitricis eosdem,
  Utque puellari genitrix in pectore clausit,
  Hinc sylvæ austeros, teneros hinc Urbis amores,
  Sic amat hic sylvas, ut non fastidiat Urbes.
  Tecta colit, patiturque hominem, nec divitis aulæ
  Grande supercilium metuit sylvestris alumnus.
  Imo loco admonitus, vix aulicus incipit esse,
  Jam fit adulator, positum proferre paratus
  In statione melos, domini quod vellicet aurem.
                             CARRARA. _Columbus_.


The Walking-Leaf would have been better than the Canary Bird.

  _Nared_.--VII. p. 67.

A very distinguished son of Brahma, named Nared, bears a strong
resemblance to Hermes or Mercury; he was a wise legislator, great in
arts and in arms, an eloquent messenger of the Gods either to one
another, or to favoured mortals, and a musician of exquisite skill.
His invention of the _Vina_, or Indian lute, is thus described in the
poem entitled _Magha_: "Nared sat watching from time to time his large
_Vina_, which, by the impulse of the breeze, yielded notes that
pierced successively the regions of his ear, and proceeded by musical
intervals."--_Asiatic Researches_, Sir W. JONES.

The _Vina_ is an Æolian harp. The people of Amboyna have a different
kind of Æolian instrument, which is thus described in the first
account of D'Entrecasteaux's Voyage: "Being on the sea-shore, I heard
some wind-instruments, the harmony of which, though sometimes very
correct, was intermixed with discordant notes that were by no means
unpleasing. These sounds, which were very musical, and formed fine
cadences, seemed to come from such a distance, that I for some time
imagined the natives were having a concert beyond the road-stead, near
a myriameter {190} from the spot where I stood. My ear was greatly
deceived respecting the distance, for I was not an hundred meters from
the instrument. It was a bamboo at least twenty meters in height,
which had been fixed in a vertical situation by the sea-side. I
remarked between each knot a slit about three centimeters long by a
centimeter and a half wide; these slits formed so many holes, which,
when the wind introduced itself into them, gave agreeable and
diversified sounds. As the knots of this long bamboo were very
numerous, care had been takes to make holes in different directions,
in order that, on whatever side the wind blew, it might always meet
with some of them. I cannot convey a better idea of the sound of this
instrument, than by comparing them to those of the
Harmonica."--LABILLARDIERE. _Voyage in Search of La Perouse_.

Nareda, the mythological offspring of _Saraswati_, patroness of music,
is famed for his talents in that science. So great were they, that he
became presumptuous; and, emulating the divine strains of _Krishna_,
he was punished by having his _Vina_ placed in the paws of a bear,
whence it emitted sounds far sweeter than the minstrelsy of the
mortified musician. I have a picture of this joke, in which _Krishna_
is forcing his reluctant friend to attend to his rough-visaged rival,
who is ridiculously touching the {191} chords of poor _Nareda's Vina_,
accompanied by a brother bruin on the cymbals. Krishna passed several
practical jokes on his humble and affectionate friend: He
metamorphosed him once into a woman, at another time into a
bear.--MOOR's _Hindu Pantheon_, p. 204.

  ----_The Sacrifice_
  _That should, to men and gods, proclaim him Lord_
  _And Sovereign Master of the vassal World._--VII. p. 71.

The Raisoo Yug, or Feast of Rajahs, could only be performed by a
monarch who had conquered all the other sovereigns of the
world.--HALHED. _Note to the Life of Creeshna_.

  _Sole Rajah, the Omnipotent below._--VII. p. 71.

No person has given so complete a sample of the absurdity of oriental
titles as the Dutch traveller Struys, in his enumeration of "the proud
and blasphemous titles of the King of Siam,--they will hardly bear
sense," says the translator, in what he elsewhere calls, by a happy
blunder, "the idiotism of our tongue."

The Alliance, written with letters of fine gold, being full of godlike
glory. The most Excellent, containing all wise sciences. The most
Happy, which is not in the world among men. The Best and most Certain
that is {192} in Heaven, Earth, and Hell. The greatest Sweet, and
friendly Royal Word; whose powerful-sounding properties and glorious
fame range through the world, as if the dead were raised by a godlike
power, and wonderfully purged from ghostly and corporal corruption. At
this both spiritual and secular men admire with a special joy, whereas
no dignity may be herewith compared. Proceeding from a friendly,
illustrious, inconquerable, most mighty, and most high Lord; and a
royal Crown of Gold, adorned with nine sorts of precious stones. The
greatest, clearest, and most godlike Lord of unblameable Souls. The
most Holy, seeing every where, and protecting Sovereign of the city
JUDIA, whose many streets and open gates are thronged by troops of
men, which is the chief metropolis of the whole world, the royal
throne of the earth, that is adorned with nine sorts of stones, and
most pleasant valleys. He who guides the reins of the world, and has a
house more than the Gods of fine gold and of precious stones; they the
godlike Lords of thrones and of fine gold; the White, Red, and
Round-tayl'd Elephants,--which excellent creatures are the chiefest of
the nine sorts of Gods. To none hath the divine Lord given, in whose
hand is the victorious sword; who is like the fiery-armed God of
Battails, to the most illustrious.

The second is as blasphemous as the first, though hardly swells so far
out of sense.


who makes the water rise and flow. A King that is like a God, and
shines like the Sun at noon-day. A King that gives a glance like the
moon when it is at full. Elected of God to be worthy as the North
Star, being of the race and offspring of the great Alexander; with a
great understanding, as a round orb, that tumbles hither and thither,
able to guess at the depth of the great sea. A King that hath amended
all the funerals of the departed Saints, and is as righteous as God,
and of such power that all the world may come and shelter under his
wings. A King that doth right in all things, as the Kings of old have
done. A King more liberal than all Kings. A King that hath many mines
of gold that God hath lent him; who hath built temples half gold and
half brass; sitting upon a throne of pure gold, and of all sorts of
precious stones. A King of the white Elephant, which Elephant is the
King of all Elephants, before whom many thousands of other Elephants
must bow and fall upon their knees. He whose eyes shine like the
morning-star. A King that hath Elephants with four teeth, red, purple,
and pied. Elephants, _ay_, and a BYYTENAQUES Elephant; for which
God has given him many and divers sorts of apparel {194} wrought with
most fine gold, ennobled with many precious stones: and, besides
these, so many Elephants used in battle, having harnesses of iron,
their teeth tipt with steel, and their harnesses laid over with
shining brass. A King that has many hundred horses, whose trappings
are wrought with fine gold, and adorned with precious stones of every
sort that are found in the universal world where the Sun shines, and
these shod with fine gold: besides so many hundred horses that are
used in war of every kind. A King who has all Emperours, Kings,
Princes, and Sovereigns in the whole world, from the rising to the
going down of the sun, under subjection;--and such as can obtain his
favour are by him promoted to great honour; but, on the contrary, such
as revolt, he burns with fire. A King who can show the power of God,
and whatever God has made.

And so, by this time, I hope you have heard enough of a King of
Elephants and Horses, though not a word of his Asses.--STRUYS.

  _The Sacrifice._--VIII. p. 74.

The _Aswamedha_, or sacrifice of a horse. Considerable difficulties
usually attended that ceremony; for the consecrated horse was to be
set at liberty for a certain time, and followed at a distance by the
owner, or his champion, {195} who was usually one of his near kinsmen;
and, if any person should attempt to stop it in its rambles, a battle
must inevitably ensue; besides, as the performer of a hundred
_Aswamedhas_ became equal to the God of the firmament, _Indra_ was
perpetually on the watch, and generally carried off the sacred animal
by force or by fraud.--WILFORD. _Asiat. Res_.

Mr. Halhed gives a very curious account of this remarkable sacrifice:

"The Ashum-meed-Jugg does not merely consist in the performance of
that ceremony which is open to the inspection of the world, namely, in
bringing a horse and sacrificing him; but Ashum-meed is to be taken in
a mystic signification, as implying that the sacrificer must look upon
himself to be typified in that horse, such as he shall be described,
because the religious duty of the Ashum-meed-Jugg comprehends all
those other religious duties, to the performance of which all the wise
and holy direct all their actions, and by which all the sincere
professors of every different faith aim at perfection: The mystic
signification thereof is as follows:

"The head of that unblemished horse is the symbol of the morning; his
eyes are the sun; his breath the wind; his wide-opening mouth is the
Bishwaner, or that innate warmth which invigorates all the world: His
body typifies {196} one entire year; his back paradise; his belly the
plains; his hoof this earth; his sides the four quarters of the
heavens; the bones thereof the intermediate spaces between the four
quarters; the rest of his limbs represent all distinct matter; the
places where those limbs meet, or his joints, imply the months and
halves of the months, which are called _peche_ (or fortnights): His
feet signify night and day; and night and day are of four kinds, 1.
the night and day of Birhma, 2. the night and day of angels, 3. the
night and day of the world of the spirits of deceased ancestors, 4.
the night and day of mortals; these four kinds are typified in his
four feet. The rest of his bones are the constellations of the fixed
stars, which are the twenty-eight stages of the moon's course, called
the Lunar year; his flesh is the clouds; his food the sand; his
tendons the rivers; his spleen and his liver the mountains; the hair
of his body the vegetables, and his long hair the trees: the fore part
of his body typifies the first half of the day, and the hinder part
the latter half; his yawning is the flash of the lightning, and his
turning himself is the thunder of the cloud: His urine represents the
rain, and his mental reflection is his only speech. The golden
vessels, which are prepared before the horse is let loose, are the
light of the day, and the place where those vessels are kept is a type
of the Ocean {197} of the East; the silver vessels, which are prepared
after the horse is let loose, are the light of the night; and the
place where those vessels are kept is a type of the Ocean of the West:
these two sorts of vessels are always before and after the horse. The
Arabian horse, which, on account of its swiftness, is called Hy, is
the performer of the journies of angels; the Tajee, which is of the
race of Persian horses, is the performer of the journies of the
Kundherps (or good spirits); the Wazba, which is of the race of the
deformed Tazee horses, is the performer of the journies of the Jins,
(or demons;) and the Ashoo, which is of the race of Turkish horses, is
the performer of the journies of mankind. This one horse, which
performs these several services, on account of his four different
sorts of riders, obtains the four different appellations. The place
where this horse remains is the great ocean, which signifies, the
great spirit of Perm-Atma, or the Universal Soul, which proceeds also
from that Perm-Atma, and is comprehended in the same Perm-Atma. The
intent of this sacrifice is, that a man should consider himself to be
in the place of that horse, and look upon all these articles as
typified in himself; and, conceiving the Atma (or divine soul) to be
an ocean, should let all thought of self be absorbed in that
Atma."--HALHED, _from Darul Shekuh_.


Compare this specimen of eastern sublimity with the description of the
horse in Job! Compare it also with the account of the Bengal horses,
in the very amusing work of Captain Williamson,--"which said horses,"
he says, "have generally Reman noses, and sharp narrow foreheads, much
white in their eyes, ill-shaped ears, square heads, thin necks, narrow
chests, shallow girths, lank bellies, cat hams, goose rumps, and
switch tails."--_Oriental Sports_, vol. ii. p. 206.

  _The Bowl that in its vessel floats._--VIII. p. 78.

The day and night are here divided into four quarters, each of six
hours, and these again into fifteen parts, of twenty-four minutes
each. For a chronometer they use a kind of dish of thin brass, at the
bottom of which there is a little hole; this is put into a vessel with
water, and it runs full in a certain time. They begin their first
quarter at six in the morning. They strike the quarters and
subdivisions of time with a wooden hammer, upon a flat piece of iron
or steel, of about ten inches in diameter, which is called a
_garnial_, and gives a pretty smart sound, which can be heard at some
distance. The quarters are first struck, and then as many times as the
brass dish has run full in that quarter. None but the chief men of a
district are allowed to have a _garnial_, and still they may {199} not
strike the first division of the first quarter, which is a privilege
reserved to the nabob alone. Those who attend at these clocks must be
of the Bramin cast.--STAVORINUS.

  _Lo, the time-taper's flame, ascending slow_
  _Creeps up its coil._--VIII. p. 79.

They make a sort of paste of the dust of a certain sort of wood, (the
learned and rich men of sandal, eagle-wood, and others that are
odoriferous), and of this paste they make sticks of several sorts,
drawing them through a hole, that they may be of an equal thickness.
They commonly make them one, two, or three yards long, about the
thickness of a goose-quill, to burn in the pagods before their idols,
or to use like a match to convey fire from one thing to another. These
sticks or ropes they coil, beginning at the centre, and so form a
spiral conical figure, like a fisherman's wheel, so that the last
circle shall be one, two, or three spans diameter, and will last one,
two, or three days, or more, according as it is in thickness. There
are of them in the temples that last ten, twenty, and thirty days.
This thing is hung up by the centre, and is lighted at the lower end,
whence the fire gently and insensibly runs round all the coil, on
which there are generally five marks, to distinguish the five parts of
the {200} night. This method of measuring time is so exact and true,
that they scarce ever find any considerable mistake in it. The
learned, travellers, and all others, who will rise at a certain hour
to follow their business, hang a little weight at the mark that shews
the hour they have a mind to rise at, which, when the fire comes
thither, drops into a brass bason set under it; and so the noise of it
falling awakes them, as our alarum-clocks do.--GEMELLI CARERI.

  _At noon the massacre begun,_
  _And night clos'd in before the work of death was done._
  --VIII. p. 82.

Of such massacres the ancient and modern history of the East supply
but too many examples. One may suffice:

After the surrender of the Ilbars Khan, Nadir prohibited his soldiers
from molesting the inhabitants; but their rapacity was more powerful
than their habits of obedience, or even their dread of his
displeasure, and they accordingly began to plunder. The instant Nadir
heard of their disobedience, he ordered the offenders to be brought
before him, and the officers were beheaded in his presence, and the
private soldiers dismissed with the loss of their ears and noses. The
executioners toiled till {201} sun-set, when he commanded the headless
trunks with their arms to be carried to the main-guard, and there to
be exposed for two days, as an example to others. I was present the
whole time, and saw the wonderful hand of God, which employs such
instruments for the execution of his divine vengeance; although not
one of the executioners was satisfied with Nadir Shah, yet nobody
dared to disobey his commands:--a father beheaded his son, and a
brother a brother, and yet presumed not to complain.--ABDUL KURREEM.

  _Behold his lovely home,_
  _By yonder broad-bough'd Plane o'ershaded._--IX. p. 84.

The plane-tree, that species termed the _Platanus Orientalis_, is
commonly cultivated in Kashmire, where it is said to arrive at a
greater perfection than in other countries. This tree, which in most
parts of Asia is called the _Chinur_, grows to the size of an oak, and
has a taper straight trunk, with a silver-coloured bark; and its leaf,
not unlike an expanded hand, is of a pale green. When in full foliage,
it has a grand and beautiful appearance; and, in the hot weather, it
affords a refreshing shade.--FORSTER.

  _The Marriage-Bower._--IX. p. 85.

The Pandal is a kind of arbour or bower raised before {202} the doors
of young married women. They set up two or three poles, seven or eight
foot in length, round which the leaves of the Pisan-tree, the symbol
of joy, are entwined. These poles support others that are laid
crossways, which are covered with leaves in order to form a shade. The
Siriperes are allowed to set up no more than three pillars, and the
infringing of this custom would be sufficient to cause an
insurrection.--A. ROGER, _in Picart_.

  _There, from the intolerable heat,_
  _The buffaloes retreat._--IX. p. 87.

About noon, in hot weather, the buffalo throws herself into the water
or mud of a tank, if there be one accessible at a convenient distance;
and, leaving nothing above water but her nose, continues there for
five or six hours, or until the heat abates.--BUCHANAN.

In the hot season, when water becomes very scarce, the buffaloes avail
themselves of any puddle they may find among the covers, wherein they
roll and rub themselves, so as in a short time to change what was at
first a shallow flat, into a deep pit, sufficient to conceal their own
bulk. The humidity of the soil, even when the water may have been
evaporated, is particularly gratifying to these animals, which cannot
bear heat, and which, if {203} not indulged in a free access to the
water, never thrive.--_Oriental Sports_, vol. i. p. 259.

The buffalo not only delights in the water, but will not thrive unless
it have a swamp to wallow in. There rolling themselves, they speedily
work deep hollows, wherein they lay immersed. No place seems to
delight the buffalo more than the deep verdure on the confines of
jiels and marshes, especially if surrounded by tall grass, so as to
afford concealment and shade, while the body is covered by the water.
In such situations they seem to enjoy a perfect ecstacy, having in
general nothing above the surface but their eyes and nostrils, the
horns being kept low down, and consequently entirely hidden from
view.--_Oriental Sports_, vol. ii. p. 49.

Captain Beaver describes these animals as to be found during the heat
of the day in the creeks and on the shores of the island of Bulama,
almost totally immerged in water, little more than their heads
appearing above it.

  _The market-flag._--IX. p. 86.

Many villages have markets on particular days, when not only fruits,
grain, and the common necessaries of life are sold, but occasionally
manufactures of various descriptions. These markets are well known to
all the neighbouring country, being on appointed days of the {204}
week, or of the lunar month; but, to remind those who may be
travelling of their vicinity to the means of supply, a _naugaurah_, or
large kettle-drum, is beat during the forenoon, and a small flag,
usually of white linen, with some symbolic figure in colours, or with
a coloured border, is hoisted on a very long bamboo, kept upright by
means of ropes fastened to pins driven into the ground. The flags of
Hindoo villages are generally square and plain; those of the
Mussulmans towns are ordinarily triangular, and bear the type of
their, religion, viz. a double-bladed scymitar.--_Oriental Sports_,
vol. i. p. 100.

  _Mount Meru._--X. p. 93.

According to the orthodox Hindus, the globe is divided into two
hemispheres, both called _Meru_; but the superior hemisphere is
distinguished by the name of _Sumeru_, which implies beauty and
excellence, in opposition to the lower hemisphere, or _Cumeru_, which
signifies the reverse: By _Meru_, without any adjunct, they generally
mean the higher or northern hemisphere, which they describe with a
profusion of poetic imagery as the seat of delights: while they
represent _Cumeru_ as the dreary habitation of demons, in some parts
intensely cold, and in others so hot that the waters are continually
boiling. In strict propriety, Meru denotes the pole and the polar
{205} regions; but it is the celestial north pole round which they
place the gardens and metropolis of _Indra_, while _Yama_ holds his
court in the opposite polar circle, or the Station of _Asuras_, who
warred with the _Suras_, or gods of the firmament.--WILFORD.
_Asiatic Researches_.

In the _Vayu Puráná_, we are told, that the water, or _Ogha_ of the
ocean, coming down from heaven like a stream of _Amrita_ upon _Meru_,
encircles it through seven channels, for the space of 84,000
_Yojanas_, and then divides into four streams, which, falling from the
immense height of Meru, rest themselves in four lakes, from which they
spring over the mountains through the air, just brushing the summits.
This wild account was not unknown in the west; for this passage is
translated almost verbally, by Pliny and Q. Curtius, in speaking of
the Ganges. _Cum magno fragore ipsius statim fontis Ganges erumpit_,
et magnorum montium juga recto alveo stringit, _et ubi primum mollis
planities contingat, in quodam lacu hospitatur_. The words in Italics
are from Pliny (vi. c. 18.) the others from Curtius (viii. c.
9.)--Capt. WILFORD. _As. Res_. vol. viii. p. 322. Calcutta edition.

The Swarganga, or Mandacini, rises from under the feet of Veeshno, at
the polar star, and, passing through the circle of the moon, it falls
upon the summit of Meru; where it divides into four streams, flowing
toward {206} the four cardinal points. These four branches pass
through four rocks, carved into the shape of four heads of different
animals. The Ganges running towards the south passes through a cow's
head: To the west is a horse's head, from which flows the Chaashu or
Oxus; towards the east is the head of an elephant, from which flows
the river Sita; and to the north is a lion's head, from which flows
the Bhadrasama.--WILFORD. _As. Res_. vol. viii. 317. Calc. edition.

The mountains through which the Ganges flows at Hurdwar, present the
spectator with the view of a grand natural amphitheatre; their
appearance is rugged and destitute of verdure; they run in ridges and
bluff points, in a direction east and west: At the back of the largest
range, rise, towering to the clouds, the lofty mountains of
Himmalayah, whose tops are covered with perpetual snow, which, on
clear days, present a most sublime prospect. Their large jagged
masses, broken into a variety of irregular shapes, added to their
stupendous height, impress the mind with an idea of antiquity and
grandeur coeval with the creation; and the eternal frost with which
they are encrusted appears to preclude the possibility of mortals ever
attaining their summit.

In viewing this grand spectacle of nature, the traveller may easily
yield his assent to, and pardon the superstitious {207} veneration of
the Hindoo votary, who, in the fervour of his imagination, assigns the
summit of these icy regions as the abode of the great Mahadeo, or
First Cause, where, seated on his throne of ice, he is supposed to
receive the homage of the surrounding universe.--FRANKLIN's _Life of
George Thomas_, p. 41.

At Gangóttara, three small streams fall down from impassable snowy
precipices, and unite into a small bason below, which is considered by
the Hindus as the source of the Ganges, over which, at that place, a
man can step. This is one of the five _Tirthas_, or stations, more
eminently sacred than the rest upon this sacred river. Narayana
Shastri, who gave this account, had visited it.--BUCHANAN.

The mountain, called Cailasa Cungri is exceedingly lofty. On its
summit there is a Bhowjputr tree, from the root of which sprouts or
gushes a small stream, which the people say is the source of the
Ganges, and that it comes from Vaicont'ha, or Heaven, as is also
related in the Puránas; although this source appears to the sight to
flow from the spot where grows this Bhowjputr tree, which is at an
ascent of some miles; and yet above this there is a still loftier
summit, where no one goes: But I have heard that, on that uppermost
pinnacle, there is a fountain or cavity, to which a Jogui somehow
penetrated, {208} who, having immersed his little finger in it, it
became petrified.--PURANA POORI. _Asiatic Researches_.

Respecting the true source of the Ganges much uncertainty still
prevails. In vain one of the most powerful sovereigns of Indostan, the
emperor Acbar, at the close of the sixteenth century, sent a number of
men, an army of discoverers, provided with every necessary, and the
most potent recommendations, to explore the course of the mighty river
which adorned and fertilised the vast extent of his dominions. They
were not able to penetrate beyond the famous _Mouth of the Cow_. This
is an immense aperture, in a ridge of the mountains of Thibet, to
which the natives of India have given this appellation, from the
fancied or real resemblance of the rocks which form the stupendous
chasm, to the mouth of an animal esteemed sacred throughout Indostan
from the remotest antiquity. From this opening the Ganges,
precipitating itself into a large and deep bason at the foot of the
mountains, forms a cataract, which is called Gangotri. The
impracticability of scaling these precipitous rocks, and advancing
beyond this formidable pass, has prevented the tracing whence this
rushing mass of water takes its primary rise.--WILCOCKE, _Note to


  _The birth of Ganges._--X. p. 94.

I am indebted to Sir William Jones's Hymn to Ganga for this fable:

  "Above the stretch of mortal ken,
  On bless'd _Cailasa's_ top, where every stem
  Glow'd with a vegetable gem,
  Mahe'sa stood, the dread and joy of men;
  While Párvati, to gain a boon,
  Fix'd on his locks a beamy moon,
  And hid his frontal eye, in jocund play,
  With reluctant sweet delay.
  All nature straight was lock'd in dim eclipse,
  Till _Brahmans_ pure, with hallow'd lips,
  And warbled prayers, restored the day;
  When Ganga from his brow, by heavenly fingers press'd,
  Sprang radiant, and, descending, graced the caverns of the west."

The descent of the Ganges is related in the Ramayuna, one of the most
celebrated of the sacred books of the Bramins. This work the excellent
and learned Baptist missionaries at Serampore are at this time
employed in printing and translating; one volume has arrived in {210}
Europe, and from it I am tempted here to insert an extract of
considerable length. The reader will be less disposed to condemn the
fictions of Kehama as extravagant, when he compares them with this
genuine specimen of Hindoo fable. He will perceive, too, that no undue
importance has been attributed to the Horse of the Sacrifice in the

"The son of Kooshika having, in mellifluous accents, related these
things to Rama, again addressed the descendant of Kakootitha.
Formerly, O hero! there was a king of Hyoodhya, named Sagura, the
Sovereign of Men, virtuous, desirous of children, but childless; O
Rama! the daughter of Vidurbhakeshinee, virtuous, attached to truth,
was his chief consort, and the daughter of Urishtunemi, Soomuti,
unequalled in beauty, his second spouse. With these two consorts, the
great king, going to Himuvat, engaged in sacred austerities on the
mountain in whose sacred stream Bhrigoo constantly bathed. A hundred
years being completed, the sage Bhrigoo, clothed with truth, rendered
propitious by his austerities, granted him this blessing: O sinless
One! thou shalt obtain a most numerous progeny; thy fame, O chief of
men! will be unparalleled in the universe. From one of thy consorts, O
sire! shall spring the founder of thy race, and, from the other, sixty
thousand sons.


"The queens, pleased, approached the chief of men who was thus
speaking, and, with hands respectfully joined, asked, O Brahman!
whose shall be the one son, and who shall produce the multitude? We, O
Brahman! desire to hear. May thy words be verified. Hearing their
request, the most virtuous Bhrigoo replied in these admirable words:
Freely say which of these favours ye desire, whether the one, founder
of the family, or the multitude of valiant, renowned, energetic sons.
O Rama! son of Rughoo, Keshinee hearing the words of the sage, in the
presence of the king accepted the one son, the founder of the family;
and Soomuti, sister of Soopurna, accepted the sixty thousand sons,
active and renowned. The king, O son of Rughoo! having respectfully
circumambulated the sage, bowing the head, returned with his spouses
to his own city.

"After some time had elapsed, his eldest spouse Keshinee bore to
Sugura a son, named Usumunja; and Soomuti, O chief of men! brought
forth a gourd, from which, on its being opened, came forth sixty
thousand sons. These, carefully brought up by their nurses, in jars
filled with clarified butter, in process of time attained the state of
youth;[4] and, after a long period, the {212} sixty thousand sons
of Sugura, possessed of youth and beauty, became men. The eldest son,
the offspring of Sugura, O son of Rughoo! chief of men, seizing
children, would throw them into the waters of the Suruyoo, and sport
himself with their drowning pangs. This evil person, the distresser of
good men, devoted to the injury of the citizens, was by his father
expelled from the city. The son of Usumunja, the heroic Ungshooman, in
conversation courteous and affectionate, was esteemed by all.

"After a long time, O chief of men! Sugura formed the steady resolve,
"I will perform a sacrifice." Versed in the Veda, the king, attended
by his instructors, having determined the things relating to the
sacrificial work, began to prepare the sacrifice.

"Hearing the words of Vishwa-mitra, the son of Rughoo, highly
gratified in the midst of the story, addressed the sage, bright as the
ardent flame, Peace be to Thee: I desire, O Brahman! to hear this
story at large, how my predecessors performed the sacrifice. Hearing
his words, Vishwa-mitra, smiling, pleasantly replied to Rama: {213}
"Attend, then, O Rama! to the story of Sugura, repeated at full
length. Where the great mountain Himuvat, the happy father-in-law of
Shunkura, and the mountain Bindhyo, overlooking the country around,
proudly vie with each other, there was the sacrifice of the great
Sugura performed. That land, sacred and renowned, is the habitation of
Rakshuses. At the command of Sugura, the hero Ungshooman, O Rama!
eminent in archery, a mighty charioteer, was the attendant (of the
horse.[5]) While the king was performing the sacrifice, a serpent,
assuming the form of Ununta, rose from the earth, and seized the
sacrificial horse. The sacrificial victim being stolen, all the
priests, O son of Rughoo! going to the king, said, Thy consecrated
horse has been stolen by some one in the form of a serpent. Kill the
thief, and bring back the sacred horse. This interruption in the
sacrifice portends evil to us all. Take those steps, O king! which may
lead to the completion of the sacrifice. Having heard the advice of
his instructors, the king, calling his sixty thousand sons into the
assembly, said, I perceive that the Rakshuses have not been to this
great sacrifice. A sacrifice of the Nagas is now performing by the
sages, and some god, in the form of a serpent, {214} has stolen the
devoted horse. Whoever he be, who, at the time of the Deeksha, has
been the cause of this afflictive circumstance, this unhappy event,
whether he be gone to Patala, or whether he remain in the waters, kill
him, O sons! and bring back my victim. May success attend you, O my
sons! At my command traverse the sea-girt earth, digging with mighty
labour, till you obtain a sight of the horse; each one piercing the
earth to the depth of a yojunga, go you in search of him who stole the
sacred horse. Being consecrated by the Deeksha, I, with my grandson
and my teachers, will remain with the sacrifice unfinished, till I
again behold my devoted horse.

"Thus instructed by their father Sugura, they, in obedience to him,
went with cheerful mind, O Rama! to the bottom of the earth. The
strong ones, having gone over the earth without obtaining a sight of
the horse, each of these mighty men pierced the earth, to the depth of
a yojuna, with their mighty arm, the stroke of which resembled the
thunder-bolt. Pierced by Kooddalas,[6] by Purighas,[7] by
Shoolas,[8] by Mooshulas,[9] {215} and Shuktis,[10] the
earth cried out as in darkness. Then arose, O Raghuva! a dreadful cry
of the serpents, the Usooras, the Rakshuses, and other creatures, as
of beings suffering death. These angry youths, O son of Rughoo! dug
the earth even to Patala, to the extent of sixty thousand yojunas.
Thus, O prince! the sons of the sovereign of men traversed
Jumboodweepa, inclosed with mountains, digging wherever they came. The
gods now, with the Gundburwas and the great serpents, struck with
astonishment, went all of them to Bruhma, and, bowing even to the foot
of the great spirit, they, full of terror, with dejected countenance,
addressed him thus: "O Deva! O divine One! the whole earth, covered
with mountains and woods, with rivers and continents, the sons of
Sugura are now digging up. By these digging, O Bruhma! the mightiest
beings are killed. This is the stealer of our consecrated victims; by
this (fellow) our horse was taken away:" Thus saying, these sons of
Sugura destroy all creatures. O most powerful! having heard this, it
becomes thee to interpose, before these horse-seekers destroy all thy
creatures endued with life."

Thus far the thirty-second Section, describing the digging of earth.



"Hearing the words of the gods, the divine Bruhma replied to these
affrighted ones, stupified with the Yuma-like power of these youths:
The wise Vasoo-deva, the great Madhuva, who claims the earth for his
spouse, that divine one, residing in the form of Kupila, supports the
earth. By the fire of his wrath he will destroy the sons of the king.
This piercing of the earth must, I suppose, be perceived by him, and
he will (effect) the destruction of the long-sighted sons of Sugura.
The thirty-three gods,[11] enemy-subduing, having heard the words
of Bruhma, returned home full of joy. The sons of Sugura, highly
renowned, thus digging the earth, a sound was produced resembling that
of conflicting elements. Having encompassed and penetrated the whole
earth, the sons of Sugura, returning to their father, said, The whole
earth has been traversed by us; and all the powerful gods, the
Danuvas, the Ruckshuses, the Pishachas, the serpents, and hydras, are
killed[12]; but we have not seen {217} thy horse, nor the thief.
What shall we do? Success be to thee: be pleased to determine what
more is proper. The virtuous king, having heard the words of his sons,
O son of Rughoo! angrily replied, Again commence digging. Having
penetrated the earth, and found the stealer of the horse, having
accomplished your intention, return again. Attentive to the words of
their father, the great Sugura, the sixty thousand descended to
Patala, and there renewed their digging. There, O chief of men! they
saw the elephant of that quarter of the globe, in size resembling a
mountain, with distorted eyes, supporting with his head this earth,
with its mountains and forests, covered with various countries, and
adorned with numerous cities. When, for the sake of rest, O
Kakootstha! the great elephant, through distress, refreshes himself by
moving his head, an earthquake is produced.

"Having respectfully circumambulated this mighty elephant, guardian of
the quarter, they, O Rama! praising him, penetrated into Patala. After
they had thus penetrated the east quarter, they opened their way to
the south. Here they saw that great elephant Muha-pudma, equal to a
huge mountain, sustaining the earth with his head. Beholding him, they
were filled with surprise; and, after the usual circumambulation, the
sixty thousand sons of the great Sugura perforated the west quarter.
{218} In this these mighty ones saw the elephant Soumunusa, of equal
size. Having respectfully saluted him, and enquired respecting his
health, these valiant ones digging, arrived at the north. In this
quarter, O chief of Rughoo! they saw the snow-white elephant Bhudra,
supporting this earth with his beautiful body. Circumambulating him,
they again penetrated the earth, and proceeded north-east to that
renowned quarter; all the sons of Sugura, through anger, pierced the
earth again. There all those magnanimous ones, terrible in swiftness,
and of mighty prowess, saw Kupila, Vasodeva the eternal,[13] and
near him the horse feeding. Filled, O son of Rughoo! with unparalleled
joy, they all knowing him to be the stealer of the horse, with eyes
starting with rage, seizing their spades and their _langulas_, and
even trees and stones, ran towards him full of wrath, calling out,
Stop, stop! thou art the stealer of our sacrificial horse: Thou stupid
one, know that we who have found thee are the sons of Rughoo. Kupila,
filled with excessive anger, uttered from his nostrils a loud sound,
and instantly, O Kakootstha! by Kupila of immeasurable power, were all
the sons of Sugura turned to a heap of ashes."


Thus far the thirty-third Section, describing the interview with


"O son of Rughoo! Sugura, perceiving that his sons had been absent a
long time, thus addressed his grandson, illustrious by his own might:
Thou art a hero, possessed of science, in prowess equal to thy
predecessors. Search out the fate of thy paternal relatives, and the
person by whom the horse was stolen, that we may avenge ourselves on
these subterraneous beings, powerful and great. Take thy scymitar and
bow, O beloved one! and finding out thy deceased paternal relatives,
destroy my adversary. The proposed end being thus accomplished,
return. Bring me happily through this sacrifice.

"Thus particularly addrest by the great Sugura, Ungshooman, swift and
powerful, taking his bow and scymitar, departed. Urged by the king,
the chief of men traversed the subterraneous road dug by his great
ancestors. There the mighty one saw the elephant of the quarter,
adored by the gods, the Danuvas and Rukshuses, the Pishachas, the
birds and the serpents. Having circumambulated him, and asked
concerning his welfare, Ungshooman {220} enquired for his paternal
relatives, and the stealer of the sacred victim. The mighty elephant
of the quarter hearing, replied, O son of Usumunja! thou wilt
accomplish thine intention, and speedily return with the horse. Having
heard this, he, with due respect, enquired, in regular succession, of
all the elephants of the quarters. Honoured by all these guardians of
the eight sides of the earth, acquainted with speech, and eminent in
eloquence, he was told, Thou wilt return with the horse. Upon this
encouraging declaration, he swiftly went to the place where lay his
paternal relatives, the sons of Sugura, reduced to a heap of ashes.
(At this sight) the son of Usumunja, overwhelmed with sorrow on
account of their death, cried out with excess of grief. In this state
of grief, the chief of men beheld, grazing near, the sacrificial
horse. The illustrious one, desirous of performing the funeral
obsequies of these sons of the king, looked around for a receptacle of
water, but in vain. Extending his eager view, he saw, O Rama! the
sovereign of birds, the uncle of his paternal relatives, Soopurna, in
size resembling a mountain. Vinuteya, of mighty prowess, addressed him
thus: Grieve not, O chief of men! this slaughter is approved by the
universe. These great ones were reduced to ashes by Kupila of
unmeasurable might. It is not proper for thee, O wise one! to pour
common water upon {221} these ashes. Gunga, O chief of men! is the
eldest daughter of Himuvut. With her sacred stream, O valiant one!
perform the funeral ceremonies for thine ancestors. If the purifier of
the world flow on them, reduced to a heap of ashes, these ashes, being
wetted by Gunga, the illuminator of the world, the sixty thousand sons
of thy grandfather will be received into heaven. May success attend
thee! Bring Gunga to the earth from the residence of the gods. If thou
art able, O chief of men! possessor of the ample share, let the
descent of Gunga be accomplished by thee. Take the horse, and go
forth. It is thine, O hero! for to complete the great paternal

"Having heard these words of Soopurna, Ungshooman, the heroic,
speedily seizing the horse, returned. Then, O son of Rughoo! being
come to the king, who was still performing the initiatory ceremonies,
he related to him the whole affair, and the advice of Soopurna.

"After hearing the terror-inspiring relation of Ungshooman, the king
finished the sacrifice, in exact conformity to the tenor and spirit of
the ordinance: Having finished his sacrifice, the sovereign of the
earth returned to his palace. The king, however, was unable to devise
any way for the descent of Gunga from heaven: after a long time,
unable to fix upon any method, he departed to heaven, having reigned
thirty thousand years.


"Sugura having, O Rama! paid the debt of nature, the people chose
Ungshooman, the pious, for their sovereign. Ungshooman, O son of
Rughoo! was a very great monarch. His son was called Dwileepa. Having
placed him on the throne, he, O Raguva! retiring to the pleasant top
of Mount Himuvut, performed the most severe austerities. This
excellent sovereign of men, illustrious as the immortals, was
exceedingly desirous of the descent of Gunga; but not obtaining his
wish, the renowned monarch, rich in sacred austerities, departed to
heaven, after having abode in the forest sacred to austerities,
thirty-two thousand years. Dwileepa, the highly energetic, being made
acquainted with the slaughter of his paternal great-uncles, was
overwhelmed with grief; but was still unable to fix upon a way of
deliverance. How shall I accomplish the descent of Gunga? How shall I
perform the funeral ablutions of these relatives? How shall I deliver
them? In such cogitations was his mind constantly engaged. While these
ideas filled the mind of the king, thoroughly acquainted with sacred
duties, there was born to him a most virtuous son, called
Bhugee-rutha. The illustrious king Dwileepa performed many sacrifices,
and governed the kingdom for thirty thousand years; but, O chief of
men! no way of obtaining the deliverance of his ancestors appearing,
he, by a disease, discharged the debt {223} of nature. Having
installed his own son Bhugee-rutha in the kingdom, the lord of men
departed to the paradise of Indra, through the merits of his own
virtuous deeds.

"The pious, the royal sage, Bhugee-rutha, O son of Rughoo! was
childless. Desirous of offspring, yet childless, the great monarch
entrusted the kingdom to the care of his counsellors; and, having his
heart set on obtaining the descent of Gunga, engaged in a long course
of sacred austerities upon the mountain Gokurna. With hands erected,
he, O son of Rughoo! surrounded in the hot season with five
fires,[14] according to the prescribed ordinance; in the cold
season lying in water; and in the rainy season exposed to the
descending clouds, feeding on fallen leaves, with his mind restrained,
and his sensual feelings subdued, this valiant and great king
continued a thousand years in the practice of the most severe
austerities. The magnanimous monarch of mighty arm having finished
this period, the divine Bruhma, the lord of creatures, the supreme
governor, was highly pleased; and with the gods, going near to the
great Bhugee-rutha, employed in sacred austerities, said to him, I am
propitious. O performer of sacred vows! ask a blessing. The mighty,
{224} the illustrious Bhugee-rutha, with hands respectfully joined,
replied to the sire of all, O divine one! if thou art pleased with me,
if the fruit of my austerities may be granted, let all the sons of
Sugura obtain water for their funeral rites. The ashes of the great
ones being wetted by the water of Gunga, let all my ancestors ascend
to the eternal heaven.[15] Let a child, O divine one! be granted to
us, that our family become not extinct. O God! let this great blessing
be granted to the family of Ikshwakoo. The venerable sire of all
replied to the king thus requesting in the sweetest and most pleasing
accents: Bhugee-rutha, thou mighty charioteer, be this great wish of
thine heart accomplished. Let prosperity attend thee, thou increaser
of the family of Ikshwakoo! Engage Hura, O king! to receive (in her
descent) Gunga, the eldest daughter of the mountain Himuvut. The
earth, O king! cannot sustain the descent of Gunga, nor beside
Shoolee[16] do I behold any one, O king! able to receive her. The
creator having thus replied to the king, and spoken to Gunga, returned
to heaven with Macroots and all the gods."

Thus far the thirty-fourth Section, describing the gift of the
blessing to Bhugee-rutha.



"Pruja-puti being gone, Bhugee-rutha, O Rama! with uplifted arm,
without support, without a helper, immoveable as a dry tree, and
feeding on air, remained day and night on the tip of his great toe
upon the afflicted earth. A full year having now elapsed, the husband
of Ooma, and the lord of animals, who is reverenced by all worlds,
said to the king, I am propitious to thee, O chief of men! I will
accomplish thy utmost desire. To him the sovereign replied, O Hura,
receive Gunga! Bhurga,[17] thus addressed, replied, I will perform
thy desire; I will receive her on my head, the daughter of the
mountain. Muheshwura then, mounting on the summit of Himuvut,
addressed Gunga, the river flowing in the ether, saying, Descend, O
Gunga! The eldest daughter of Himuvut, adored by the universe, having
heard the words of the lord of Ooma, was filled with anger, and
assuming, O Rama! a form of amazing size, with insupportable celerity,
fell from the air upon the auspicious head of Shiva. The goddess
Gunga, irresistible, thought within herself, I will bear down Shunkura
with my stream, and enter Patala. The {226} divine Hura, the
three-eyed god, was aware of her proud resolution, and, being angry,
determined to prevent her design. The purifier, fallen upon the sacred
head of Roodra, was detained, O Rama! in the recesses of the orb of
his Juta, resembling Himuvut, and was unable, by the greatest efforts,
to descend to the earth. From the borders of the orb of his Juta, the
goddess could not obtain regress, but wandered there for many series
of years. Thus situated, Bhugee-rutha beheld her wandering there, and
again engaged in severe austerities.

"With these austerities, O son of Rughoo! Hura being greatly pleased,
discharged Gunga towards the lake Vindoo. In her flowing forth seven
streams were produced. Three of these streams[18] beautiful, filled
with water conveying happiness, Hladinee,[19] Pavunee,[20] and
Nulinee,[21] directed their course eastward: while
Soochukohoo,[22] Seeta,[23] and Sindhoo,[24] three pellucid
mighty rivers, flowed to the west. The seventh of these streams
followed king Bhugee-rutha. The royal sage, the illustrious {227}
Bhugee-rutha, seated on a resplendent car, led the way, while Gunga
followed. Pouring down from the sky upon the head of Shunkura, and
afterwards upon the earth, her streams rolled along with a shrill
sound. The earth was willingly chosen by the fallen fishes, the
turtles, the porpoises, and the birds. The royal sages, the
Gundhurvas, the Yukshas, and the Siddhas, beheld her falling from the
ether to the earth; yea, the gods, immeasurable in power, filled with
surprise, came thither with chariots resembling a city, horses, and
elephants, and litters, desirous of seeing the wonderful and
unparalleled descent of Gunga into the world. Irradiated by the
descending gods, and the splendour of their ornaments, the cloudless
atmosphere shone with the splendour of an hundred suns, while by the
uneasy porpoises, the serpents, and the fishes, the air was coruscated
as with lightning. Through the white foam of the waters, spreading in
a thousand directions, and the flights of water-fowl, the atmosphere
appeared filled with autumnal clouds. The water, pure from defilement,
falling from the head of Shunkura, and thence to the earth, ran in
some places with a rapid stream, in others in a tortuous current; here
widely spreading, there descending into caverns, and again spouting
upward; in some places it moved slowly, stream uniting with stream;
while repelled {228} in others, it rose upwards, and again fell to the
earth. Knowing its purity, the sages, the Gundhurvas, and the
inhabitants of the earth, touched the water fallen from the body of
Bhuva.[25] Those who, through a curse, had fallen from heaven to
earth, having performed ablution in this stream, became free from sin:
cleansed from sin by this water, and restored to happiness, they
entered the sky, and returned again to heaven. By this illustrious
stream was the world rejoiced, and by performing ablution in Gunga,
became free from impurity.

"The royal sage, Bhugee-rutha, full of energy, went before, seated on
his resplendent car, while Gunga followed after. The gods, O Rama!
with the sages, the Dityas, the Danuvas, the Rakshuses, the chief
Gundhurvas, and Yukshas, with the Kinnuras, the chief serpents, and
all the Upsuras, together with aquatic animals, following the chariot
of Bhugee-rutha, attended Gunga. Whither king Bhugee-rutha went,
thither went the renowned Gunga, the chief of streams, the destroyer
of all sin.

"After this, Gunga, in her course, inundated this sacrificial ground
of the great Juhnoo of astonishing deeds, {229} who was then offering
sacrifice. Juhnoo, O Raghuva! perceiving her pride enraged, drank up
the whole of the water of Gunga:--a most astonishing deed! At this the
gods, the Gundhurvas, and the sages, exceedingly surprised, adored the
great Juhnoo, the most excellent of men, and named Gunga the daughter
of this great sage.

"The illustrious chief of men, pleased, discharged Gunga from his
ears. Having liberated her, he, recognizing the great Bhugee-rutha,
the chief of kings, then present, duly, honoured him, and returned to
the place of sacrifice. From this deed Gunga, the daughter of Jahnoo,
obtained the name Jahnuvee.

"Gunga now went forward again, following the chariot of Bhugee-rutha.
Having reached the sea, the chief of streams proceeded to Patala, to
accomplish the work of Bhugee-rutha. The wise and royal sage, having
with great labour conducted Gunga thither, there beheld his ancestors
reduced to ashes. Then, O chief of Rughoo's race, that heap of ashes,
bathed by the excellent waters of Gunga, and purified from sin, the
sons of the king obtained heaven. Having arrived at the sea, the king,
followed by Gunga, entered the subterraneous regions, where lay the
sacred ashes. After these, O Rama! had been laved by the water of
Gunga, Bruhma, the lord of all, thus addressed the king: O chief of
men! thy predecessors, {230} the sixty thousand sons of the great
Sugura, are all delivered by thee: and the great and perennial
receptacle of water, called by Sugura's name, shall henceforth be
universally known by the appellation of Sagura.[26] As long, O
king! as the waters of the sea continue in the earth, so long shall
the sons of Sugura remain in heaven, in all the splendour of gods.

"This Gunga, O king! shall be thy eldest daughter, known throughout
the three worlds (by the name) Bhagee-ruthee; and because she passed
through the earth, the chief of rivers shall be called Gunga[27]
throughout the universe. (She shall also be) called Triputhaga, on
account of her proceeding forward in three different directions,
watering the three worlds. Thus is she named by the gods and sages.
She is called Gunga, O sovereign of the Vashyas! on account of her
flowing through Gang;[28] and her third name, O thou observer of
vows! is Bhagee-ruthee. O, accomplished one! through affection to
thee, and regard to me, these names will remain: as long as Gunga, the
great river, shall remain in the world, so long shall thy deathless
fame live throughout {231} the universe. O lord of men! O king!
perform here the funeral rites of all thine ancestors. Relinquish thy
vows,[29] O king! this devout wish of theirs was not obtained by
thine ancestors highly renowned, chief among the pious; not by
Ungshooman, unparalleled in the universe, so earnestly desiring the
descent of Gunga, O beloved one! was this object of desire obtained.
Nor, O possessor of prosperity! O sinless one! could she be (obtained)
by thine illustrious father Dwileepa, the Rajurshi eminently
accomplished, whose energy was equal to that of a Muhurshi, and who,
established in all the virtues of the Kshutras, in secret austerities
equalled myself. This great design has been fully accomplished by
thee, O chief of men! Thy fame, the blessing so much desired, will
spread throughout the world. O subduer of enemies! this descent of
Gunga has been effected by thee. This Gunga is the great abode of
virtue: by this deed thou art become possessed of the divinity itself.
In this stream constantly bathe thyself, O chief of men! Purified, O
most excellent of mortals! be a partaker of the fruit of holiness;
perform the funeral ceremonies of all thy ancestors. May blessings
attend thee, O chief of men! I return to heaven.


"The renowned one, the sovereign of the gods, the sire of the
universe, having thus spoken, returned to heaven.

"King Bhugee-rutha, the royal sage, having performed the funeral
ceremonies of the descendants of Sugura, in proper order of
succession, according to the ordinance; the renowned one having also,
O chief of men! performed the customary ceremonies, and purified
himself, returned to his own city, where he governed the kingdom.
Having (again,) O Raghura! possessed of abundant wealth, obtained
their king, his people rejoiced; their sorrow was completely removed;
they increased in wealth and prosperity, and were freed from disease.

"Thus, O Rama! has the story of Gunga been related at large by me. May
prosperity attend thee: May every good be thine. The evening is fast
receding. He who causes this relation, securing wealth, fame,
longevity, posterity, and heaven, to be heard among the Brahmans, the
Kshutriyas, or the other tribes of men, his ancestors rejoice, and to
him are the gods propitious: and he who hears this admirable story of
the descent of Gunga, ensuring long life, shall obtain, O Kakootstha!
all the wishes of his heart. All his sins shall be destroyed, and his
life and fame be abundantly prolonged."


End of the thirty-fifth Section, describing the descent of Gunga.

  _Parvati._--X. p. 94.

All the Devetas, and other inhabitants of the celestial regions, being
collected, at the summons of Bhagavat, to arrange the ceremonials of
the marriage of Seeva and Parvati, first came Brahma, mounted on his
goose, with the Reyshees at his stirrup; next Veeshnu, riding on
Garoor his eagle, with the chank, the chakra, the club, and the pedive
in his hands; Eendra also, and Yama, and Cuvera, and Varuna, and the
rivers Ganga and Jumna, and the Seven Seas. The Gandarvas also, and
Apsaras, and Vasookee, and other serpents, in obedience to the
commands of Seeva, all dressed in superb chains and habits of
ceremony, were to be seen in order amidst the crowded and glittering

And now, Seeva, after the arrival of all the Devetas, and the
completion of the preparations for the procession, set out, in the
utmost pomp and splendour, from the mountain Kilas. His third eye
flamed like the sun, and the crescent on his forehead assumed the form
of a radiated diadem; his snakes were exchanged for chains and
necklaces of pearls and rubies, his ashes for sandal and perfume, and
his elephant's skin for a silken robe, {234} so that none of the
Devetas in brilliance came near his figure. The bridal attendants now
spread wide abroad the carpet of congratulation, and arranged in order
the banquet of bliss. Nature herself assumed the appearance of
renovated youth, and the sorrowing universe recalled its
long-forgotten happiness. The Gandarvas and Apsaras began their
melodious songs, and the Genes and Keeners displayed the magic of
their various musical instruments. The earth and its inhabitants
exulted with tongues of glorification and triumph; fresh moisture
invigorated the withered victims of time; a thousand happy and
animating conceptions inspired the hearts of the intelligent, and
enlightened the wisdom of the thoughtful: The kingdom of external
forms obtained gladness, the world of intellect acquired brightness.
The dwellers upon earth stocked the casket of their ideas with the
jewels of delight, and reverend pilgrims exchanged their beads for
pearls. The joy of those on earth ascended up to Heaven, and the Tree
of the bliss of those in Heaven extended its auspicious branches
downwards to the earth. The eyes of the Devetas flamed like torches on
beholding these scenes of rapture, and the hearts of the just kindled
like touchwood on hearing these ravishing symphonies. Thus Seeva set
off like a garden in full blow, and Paradise was eclipsed by his
motion.--MAURICE, _from the Seeva-Pooraun_.


  _Thereat the heart of the Universe stood still._--X. p. 94.

After these lines were written, I was amused at finding a parallel
passage in a sermon:

_Quando o Sol parou às vozes de Josuè, aconteceram no mundo todas
aquellas consequencias, que parando o movimento celeste, consideram os
Filosofos. As plantas por todo aquelle tempo nam creceram; as
calidades dos elementos, e dos mixtos, nam se alteraram; a geraçam e
corrupçam com que se conserva o mundo, cessou; as artes e os
exercicios de hum e outro Emisferio estiveram suspensos; os Antipodas
nam trabalhavam, porque lhes faltava a luz, os de cima cançados de
tam comprido dia deixavam o trabalho; estes pasmados de verem o Sol
que se nam movia; aquelles tambem pasmados de esperarem pelo Sol, que
nam chegava; cuidavam que se acabàra para elles a luz; imaginavam que
se acabava o mundo: tudo era lagrimas, tudo assombros, tudo horrores,
tudo confusoens_.--VIEYRA, Sermoens, _tom. ix. p._ 505.

  _Surya._--X. p. 105.

_Surya_, the Sun. The poets and painters describe his car as drawn by
seven green horses, preceded by _Arun_, or the Dawn, who acts as his
charioteer, and followed by thousands of genii, worshipping him, and
modulating his {236} praises. Surya is believed to have descended
frequently from his car in a human shape, and to have left a race on
earth, who are equally renowned in the Indian stories with the
Heliadai of Greece. It is very singular that his two sons, called
_Aswinau_, or _Aswinicumarau_, in the Dual, should be considered as
twin brothers, and painted like Castor and Pollux; but they have each
the character of Æsculapius among the gods, and are believed to have
been born of a nymph, who, in the form of a mare, was impregnated with
sun-beams.--Sir W. JONES.

That sun, O daughter of Ganga! than which nothing is higher, to which
nothing is equal, enlightens the summit of the sky--with the sky
enlightens the earth--with the earth enlightens the lower
worlds;--enlightens the higher worlds, enlightens other worlds;--it
enlightens the breast,--enlightens all besides the breast.--Sir W.
JONES, _from the Veda_.

  _Forgetful of his Dragon foe._--X. p. 105.

_Ra'hu_ was the son of _Cas'yapa_ and _Dity_, according to some
authorities; but others represent _Sinhica'_ (perhaps the sphinx) as
his natural mother. He had four arms; his lower parts ended in a tail
like that of a dragon; and his aspect was grim and gloomy, like the
_darkness_ of the chaos, whence he had also the name of _Tamas_. He
was {237} the adviser of all mischief among the _Daityas_, who had a
regard for him: but among the _De'vatas_ it was his chief delight to
sow dissension; and when the gods had produced the _amrit_, by
churning the ocean, he disguised himself like one of them, and
received a portion of it; but the Sun and Moon having discovered his
fraud, _Vishnu_ severed his head and two of his arms from the rest of
his monstrous body. That part of the nectareous fluid which he had
time to swallow secured his immortality: his trunk and dragon-like
tail fell on the mountain of _Malaya_, where _Mini_, a _Brahman_,
carefully preserved them by the name of _Ce'tu_; and, as if a complete
body had been formed from them, like a dismembered _polype_, he is
even said to have adopted _Ce'tu_ as his own child. The head, with two
arms, fell on the sands of _Barbara_, where _Pi't'he'na's_ was then
walking with _Sinhica'_, by some called his wife: They carried the
_Daitya_ to their palace, and adopted him as their son; whence he
acquired the name of _Paite'he'nasi_. This extravagant fable is, no
doubt, astronomical; _Ra'hu_ and _Ce'tu_ being clearly the _nodes_, or
what astrologers call the _head_ and _tail_ of the dragon. It is
added, that they appeased _Vishnu_, and obtained re-admission to the
firmament, but were no longer visible from the earth, their
enlightened sides being turned from it; that _Ra'hu_ strives, during
eclipses, to wreak vengeance on the Sun {238} and Moon, who detected
him; and that _Ce'tu_ often appears as a comet, a whirlwind, a fiery
meteor, a water-spout, or a column of sand.--WILFORD. _Asiatic

  _Suras._--X. p. 105.

The word _Sura_ in Sanscrit signifies both wine and true wealth;
hence, in the first _C'hand_ of the _Ramayan_ of VALMIC, it is
expressly said that the _Devetas_, having received the _Sura_,
acquired the title of _Suras_, and the _Daityas_ that of _Asura_, from
not having received it. The _Veda_ is represented as that wine and
true wealth.--PATERSON. _Asiat. Researches_.

  _Camdeo._--X. p. 106.

  Eternal CAMA! or doth SMARA bright,
  Or proud ANANGA, give thee more delight?
                     _Sir W. Jones_.

He was the son of MAYA, or the general _attracting_ power, and
married to RETTY, or _Affection_, and his bosom friend is BESSENT,
or _Spring_. He is represented a a beautiful youth, sometimes
conversing with his mother and consort in the midst of his gardens and
temples; sometimes riding by moonlight on a parrot or lory, a attended
by dancing girls or nymphs, the foremost {239} whom bears his colours,
which are a _fish_ on a red ground. His favourite place of resort is a
large tract of country round _Agra_, and principally the plains of
_Matra_, where KRISHEN also, and the nine GOPIA, who are clearly
the _Apollo_ and _Muses_ of the Greeks, usually spend the night with
music and dance. His bow of sugar-cane or flowers, with a string of
bees, and his _five_ arrows, each pointed with an Indian blossom of a
heating quality, are allegories equally new and beautiful.

It is possible that the words _Dipuc_ and _Cupid_, which have the same
signification, may have the same origin; since we know that the old
Hetrurians, from whom great part of the Roman language and religion
was derived, and whose system had a near affinity with that of the
Persians and Indians, used to write their lines alternately forwards
and backwards, as furrows are made by the ploughs.--Sir W. JONES.

Mahadeva and Parvati were playing with dice at the ancient game of
Chaturanga, when they disputed, and parted in wrath; the goddess
retiring to the forest of Gauri, and the god repairing to Cushadwip.
They severally performed rigid acts of devotion to the Supreme Being;
but the fires which they kindled blazed so vehemently as to threaten a
general conflagration. The Devas, in great alarm, hastened to Brahma,
who led them {240} to Mahadeva, and supplicated him to recall his
consort; but the wrathful deity only answered, That she most come by
her own free choice. They accordingly dispatched Gunga, the river
goddess, who prevailed on Parvati to return to him, on condition that
his love for her should be restored. The celestial mediators then
employed Cama-Deva, who wounded Mahadeva with one of his flowery
arrows; but the angry divinity reduced him to ashes with a flame from
his eye. Parvati soon after presented herself before him in the form
of a Cirati, or daughter of a mountaineer, and seeing him enamoured of
her, resumed her own shape. In the place where they were reconciled, a
grove sprang up, which was named Camavana; and the relenting god, in
the character of Cameswara, consoled the afflicted Reti, the widow of
Cama, by assuring her that she should rejoin her husband when he
should be born again in the form of Pradyumna, son of Crishna, and
should put Sambara to death. This favourable prediction was in due
time accomplished, and Pradyumna having sprung to life, he was
instantly seized by the demon Sambara, who placed him in a chest,
which he threw into the ocean; but a large fish, which had swallowed
the chest, was caught, in a net, and carried to the palace of a
tyrant, where the unfortunate Reti had been compelled to do menial
service. {241} It was her lot to open the fish, and seeing an infant
in the chest, she nursed him in private, and educated him, till he had
sufficient strength to destroy the malignant Sambara. He had before
considered Reti as his mother; but the minds of them both being,
irradiated, the prophecy of Mahadeva was remembered, and the God of
Love was again united with the Goddess of Pleasure.--WILFORD.
_Asiatic Researches_.

  _Eating his very core of life away._--XI. p. 113.

One of the wonders of this country is the _Jiggerkhar_, (or
liver-eater.) One of this class can steal away the liver of another by
looks and incantations. Other accounts say, that, by looking at a
person, he deprives him of his senses, and then steals from him
something resembling the seed of a pomegranate, which he hides in the
calf of his leg. The _Jiggerkhar_ throws on the fire the grain before
described, which thereupon spreads to the size of a dish, and he
distributes it amongst his fellows, to be eaten; which ceremony
concludes the life of the fascinated person. A _Jiggerkhar_ is able to
communicate his art to another, which he does by learning him the
incantations, and by making him eat a bit of the liver-cake. If any
one cut open the calf of the magician's leg, extract the grain, and
give it to the afflicted person {242} to eat, he immediately recovers.
Those _Jiggerkhars_ are mostly women. It is said, moreover, that they
can bring intelligence from a great distance in a short space of time;
and if they are thrown into a river, with a stone tied to them, they
nevertheless will not sink. In order to deprive any one of this wicked
power, they brand his temples, and every joint in his body, cram his
eyes with salt, suspend him for forty days in a subterraneous cavern,
and repeat over him certain incantations. In this state he is called
_Detche-reh_. Although, after having undergone this discipline, he is
not able to destroy the liver of any one, yet he retains the power of
being able to discover another _Jiggerkhar_, and is used for detecting
these disturbers of mankind. They can also cure many diseases, by
administering a potion, or by repeating an incantation. Many other
marvellous stories are told of these people.--AYEEN ACBERY.

An Arabian old woman, by name Meluk, was thrown in prison, on a charge
of having bewitched, or, as they call it, eaten the heart of a young
native of Ormuz, who had lately, from being a Christian, turned
Mahommedan. The cause of offence was, that the young man, after
keeping company some time with one of her daughters, had forsaken her:
He himself, who was in a pitiable condition, and in danger of his
life, was one of her {243} accusers. This sort of witchcraft, which
the Indians call eating the heart, and which is what we call
bewitching, as sorcerers do by their venomous and deadly looks, is not
a new thing, nor unheard of elsewhere; for many persons practised it
formerly in Sclavonia, and the country of the Triballes, as we learn
from Ortelius, who took the account from Pliny, who, upon the report
of Isigones, testifies, that this species of enchantment was much in
use among these people, and many others whom he mentions, as it is at
present here, especially among the Arabians who inhabit the western
coast of the Persian gulph, where this art is common. The way in which
they do it is only by the eyes and the mouth, keeping the eyes fixed
steadily upon the person whose heart they design to eat, and
pronouncing, between their teeth, I know not what diabolical words, by
virtue of which, and by the operation of the devil, the person, how
hale and strong soever, falls immediately into an unknown and
incurable disease, which makes him appear phthysical, consumes him
little by little, and at last destroys him. And this takes place
faster or slower as the heart is eaten, as they say; for these
sorcerers can either eat the whole or a part only; that is, can
consume it entirely and at once, or bit by bit, as they please. The
vulgar give it this name, because they believe that the devil, acting
upon {244} the imagination of the witch when she mutters her wicked
words, represents invisibly to her the heart and entrails of the
patient, taken out of his body, and makes her devour them. In which
these wretches find so delightful a task, that very often, to satisfy
their appetite, without any impulse of resentment or enmity, they will
destroy innocent persons, and even their nearest relatives, as there
is a report that our prisoner killed one of her own daughters in this

This was confirmed to me by a similar story, which I heard at Ispahan,
from the mouth of P. Sebastian de Jesus, a Portugueze Augustinian, a
man to be believed, and of singular virtue, who was prior of their
convent when I departed. He assured me, that, on one of the places
dependent upon Portugal, on the confines of Arabia Felix, I know not
whether it was at Mascate or at Ormuz, an Arab having been taken up
for a similar crime, and convicted of it, for he confessed the fact,
the captain, or governor of the place, who was a Portugueze, that he
might better understand the truth of these black and devilish actions,
of which there is no doubt in this country, made the sorcerer be
brought before him before he was led to his punishment, and asked him,
If he could eat the inside of a cucumber without opening it, as well
as the heart of a man? The sorcerer said yes; and, in order to {245}
prove it, a cucumber was brought: he looked at it, never touching it,
steadily for some time, with his usual enchantments, and then told the
captain he had eaten the whole inside; and accordingly, when it was
opened, nothing was found but the rind. This is not impossible; for
the devil, of whom they make use in these operations, having, in the
order of nature, greater power than all inferior creatures, can, with
God's permission, produce these effects, and others more marvellous.

The same father told me, that one of these sorcerers, whether it was
the same or not I do not know, having been taken for a similar
offence, was asked, If he could eat the heart of the Portuguese
captain? and he replied no; for the Franks had a certain thing upon
the breast, which covered them like a cuirass, and was so
impenetrable, that it was proof against all his charms. This can be
nothing else than the virtue of baptism, the armour of the faith, and
the privilege of the sons of the church, against which the gates of
hell cannot prevail.

To return, however, to my first subject:--This witch of Combru made
some difficulty at first to confess her guilt; but seeing herself
pressed with threats of death, and being led, in fact, to the public
square, where I saw her with the sick young man, she said, that though
she had not been the cause of his complaint, perhaps she could cure
{246} it, if they would let her remain alone with him, in his house,
without interruption; by which she tacitly confessed her witchcraft:
For it is held certain in these countries, that these wicked women can
remove the malady which they have caused, if it be not come to the
last extremity. And of many remedies which they use to restore health
to the sufferers, there is one very extraordinary, which is, that the
witch casts something out of her mouth, like the grain of a
pomegranate, which is believed to be a part of the heart that she had
eaten. The patient picks it up immediately, as part of his own
intestines, and greedily swallows it; and by this means, as if his
heart was replaced in his body, he recovers by degrees his health. I
dare not assure you of these things as certainly true, not having
myself seen them, surpassing as they do the course of nature. If they
are as is said, it can be only in appearance, by the illusions of the
devil; and if the afflicted recover actually their health, it is
because the same devil ceases to torment them. Without dwelling longer
upon these curious speculations,--the witch having given hopes that
she would cure the patient, the officers promised that she should
receive no injury, and they were both sent home; but an archer was set
over her as a guard, that she might not escape.--PIETRO DELLA VALLE.


  _The Calis._--XI. p. 114.

The Calis and Pandaris are the protectresses of cities; each city has
its own. They address prayers to these tutelary divinities, and build
temples to them, offering to them blood in sacrifice, and sometimes
human victims. These objects of worship are not immortal, and they
take their name from the city over which they preside, or from the
form in which they are represented. They are commonly framed of a
gigantic stature, having several arms, and the head surrounded with
flames; several fierce animals are also placed under their

  _Sani, the dreadful God, who rides abroad_
  _Upon the King of the Ravens._--XI. p. 114.

Mr. Moor has a curious remark upon this subject:

"Sani being among the astrologers of India, as well as with their
sapient brethren of Europe, a planet of malignant aspects, the
ill-omened raven may be deemed a fit _Vahan_ for such a dreaded being.
But this is not, I think, a sufficient reason for the conspicuous
introduction of the raven into the mythological machinery of the Hindu
system, so accurate, so connected, and so complete in all its parts;
although the investigations that it hath hitherto undergone have not
fully developed or reached such points {248} of perfection. Now let me
ask the reason, why, both in England and in India, the raven it so
rare a bird? It breeds every year, like the crow, and is much longer
lived; and while the latter bird abounds every where, to a degree
bordering on nuisance, a pair of ravens, for they are seldom seen
singly or in trios, are scarcely found duplicated in any place.
Perhaps, take England or India over, two pair of ravens will not be
found, on an average, in the extent of five hundred or a thousand
acres. I know not, for I write where I have no access to books, if our
naturalists have sought the theory of this; or whether it may have
first occurred to me, which it did while contemplating the character
and attributes of Sani, that the raven destroys its young; and if this
notion be well founded, and on no other can I account for the rareness
of the annual-breeding long-lived raven, we shall at once see the
propriety of symbolizing it with Saturn, or Kronos, or Time, devouring
or destroying his own offspring.--MOOR's _Hindu Pantheon_, p. 311.

  _A thousand eyes were quench'd in endless night,_
  _To form that magic globe._--XI. p. 117.

A similar invention occurs in Dr. Beaumont's Psyche, one of the most
extraordinary poems in our language. I am far from claiming any merit
for such inventions, which {249} no man can value more cheaply,--but
such as it is, I am not beholden for it to this forgotten writer,
whose strange, long, but by no means uninteresting work I had never
read till after two editions of Kehama were printed.

  A stately mirror's all-enamell'd case
   The second was; no crystal ever yet
  Smil'd with such pureness: never ladies' glass
   Its owner flattered with so smooth a cheat.
  Nor could Narcissus' fount with such delight
  Into his fair destruction him invite.

  For He in that and self-love being drown'd,
   Agenor from him pluck'd his doting eyes:
  And, shuffled in her fragments, having found
   Old Jezabels, he stole the dog's due prize.
  Goliah's staring bacins too he got,
  Which he with Pharaoh's all together put.

  But not content with these, from Phaeton,
   From Joab, Icarus, Nebuchadnezzar,
  From Philip and his world-devouring son,
   From Sylla, Cataline, Tully, Pompey, Cæsar,
  From Herod, Cleopatra, and Sejanus,
  From Agrippina and Domitianus,


  And many surly stoics, theirs he pull'd;
   Whose proudest humours having drained out,
  He blended in a large and polish'd mould;
   Which up he fill'd with what from Heaven he brought,
  In extract of those looks of Lucifer,
  In which against his God he breathed war.

  Then to the North, that glassy kingdom, where
   Establish'd frost and ice for ever reign,
  He sped his course, and meeting Boreas there,
   Pray'd him this liquid mixture to restrain.
  When lo! as Boreas oped his mouth and blew
  For his command, the slime all solid grew.

  Thus was the mirror forged, and contain'd
   The vigour of those self-admiring eyes
  Agenor's witchcraft into it had strain'd;
   A dangerous juncture of proud fallacies;
  Whose fair looks so inamour'd him, that he
  Thrice having kiss'd it, nam'd it Philanty.

  Inchanted Psyche ravish'd was to see
   The Glass herself upon herself reflect
  With trebled majesty. The sun, when he
   Is by Aurora's roseat fingers deckt,
  Views not his repercussed self so fair
  Upon the eastern main, as she did here.

  _Be true unto yourselves._--XII. p. 127.

The passage in which Menu exhorts a witness to speak the truth is one
of the few sublime ones in his Institutes. "The soul itself is its own
witness; the soul itself is its own refuge; offend not thy conscious
soul, the supreme internal witness of men! . . The sinful have said in
their hearts, none see us. Yes, the gods distinctly see them, and so
does the spirit within their breasts . . The guardian deities of the
firmament, of the earth, of the waters, of the human heart, of the
moon, of the sun, and of fire, of punishment after death, of the
winds, of night, of both twilights, and of justice, perfectly know the
state of all spirits clothed with bodies. . . O friend to virtue! that
supreme Spirit, _which thou believest one and the same with thyself_,
resides in thy bosom perpetually, and is an all-knowing inspector of
thy goodness or of thy wickedness. If thou beest not at variance, by
speaking falsely, with Yama, the subduer of all, with Vaivaswata the
punisher, with that great Divinity who dwells in thy breast,--go not
on a pilgrimage to the river Ganga, nor to the plains of Curu, for
thou hast no need of expiation.--_Ch. viii. p._ 84, 85, 86, 91, 92.


  _The Aunnay Birds._--XII. p. 128.

The Aunnays act a considerable part in the history of the Nellah
Rajah, an amusing romance, for a translation of which we are indebted
to Mr. Kindersley. They are milk-white, and remarkable for the
gracefulness of their walk.



[1] _Murresoo_, or _Mursoo_, in the Hala Canara, signifies _rude,
uncivilized;--Wokul_, a _husbandman_.

[2] Dignus vindice nodus.

[3] In the Azanaga dialect of the Lybian tongue, Aseif signifies a river.

[4] The Hindoos call a child _Bala_ till it attains the age of
fifteen years old. From the sixteenth year to the fiftieth,
_Youvuna_, or a state of youth, is supposed to continue.
Each of these has several subdivisions; and in certain cases
the period admits of variation, as appears to have been the
case here.

[5] The horse intended for the sacrifice.

[6] The Indian spade, formed like a hoe, with a short handle.

[7] An instrument said to be formed like an ox's yoke.

[8] A dart, or spear.

[9] A club, or crow.

[10] A weapon, now unknown.

[11] The eight Vusoos, the eleven Roodras, the twelve Adityas, and
Ushwinee and Koomæra.

[12] This seems to have been spoken by these youths in the warmth of their

[13] The Hindoos say, that Kupila, or Vasoo-deva, is an incarnation of
Vishnoo, whom they describe as having been thus partially incarnate
twenty-four times.

[14] One towards each of the cardinal points, and the sun over his head,
towards which he was constantly looking.

[15] The heaven from which there can be no fall.

[16] Shiva, from Shoola, the spear which he held.

[17] Shiva.

[18] Literally, three Gungas. Wherever a part of Gunga flows it is
dignified with her name: Thus the Hindoos say, the Gunga of Pouyaga, &c.

[19] The river of joy.

[20] The purifier.

[21] Abounding with water.

[22] Beautiful eyed.

[23] White.

[24] Probably the Indus.

[25] Shiva, the existant.

[26] Sagura is one of the most common names for the sea which the Hindoos

[27] From the root _gum_, signifying motion.

[28] The earth.

[29] The end of thy vows is accomplished, therefore now relinquish thy
vows of being an ascetic.


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