No friends had they, no help or stay, Except an only boy, A bright-eyed child, his laughter gay, Their leaf-hut filled with joy.
Attentive, duteous, loving, kind, Thoughtful, sedate, and calm, He waited on his parents blind, Whose days were like a psalm.
He roamed the woods for luscious fruits, He brought them water pure, He cooked their simple mess of roots, Content to live obscure.
To fretful questions, answers mild He meekly ever gave, If they reproved, he only smiled, He loved to be their slave.
Not that to him they were austere, But age is peevish still, Dear to their hearts he was,--so dear, That none his place might fill.
They called him Sindhu, and his name Was ever on their tongue, And he, nor cared for wealth nor fame, Who dwelt his own among.
A belt of _Bela_ trees hemmed round The cottage small and rude, If peace on earth was ever found "Twas in that solitude.
PART II.
Great Dasarath, the King of Oude, Whom all men love and fear, With elephants and horses proud Went forth to hunt the deer.
Oh gallant was the long array!
Pennons and plumes were seen, And swords that mirrored back the day, And spears and axes keen.
Rang trump, and conch, and piercing fife, Woke Echo from her bed!
The solemn woods with sounds were rife As on the pageant sped.
Hundreds, nay thousands, on they went!
The wild beasts fled away!
Deer ran in herds, and wild boars spent Became an easy prey.
Whirring the peac.o.c.ks from the brake With Argus wings arose, Wild swans abandoned pool and lake For climes beyond the snows.
From tree to tree the monkeys sprung, Unharmed and unpursued, As louder still the trumpets rung And startled all the wood.
The porcupines and such small game Unnoted fled at will, The weasel only caught to tame From fissures in the hill.
Slunk light the tiger from the bank, But sudden turned to bay!
When he beheld the serried rank That barred his tangled way.
Uprooting fig-trees on their path, And trampling shrubs and flowers, Wild elephants, in fear and wrath, Burst through, like moving towers.
Lowering their horns in crescents grim Whene"er they turned about, Retreated into coverts dim The bisons" fiercer rout.
And in this mimic game of war In bands dispersed and past The royal train,--some near, some far, As day closed in at last.
Where was the king? He left his friends At midday, it was known, And now that evening fast descends Where was he? All alone.
Curving, the river formed a lake, Upon whose bank he stood, No noise the silence there to break, Or mar the solitude.
Upon the gla.s.sy surface fell The last beams of the day, Like fiery darts, that lengthening swell, As breezes wake and play.
Osiers and willows on the edge And purple buds and red, Leant down,--and "mid the pale green sedge The lotus raised its head.
And softly, softly, hour by hour Light faded, and a veil Fell over tree, and wave, and flower, On came the twilight pale.
Deeper and deeper grew the shades, Stars glimmered in the sky, The nightingale along the glades Raised her preluding cry.
What is that momentary flash?
A gleam of silver scales Reveals the _Mahseer_;--then a splash, And calm again prevails.
As darkness settled like a pall The eye would pierce in vain, The fireflies gemmed the bushes all, Like fiery drops of rain.
Pleased with the scene,--and knowing not Which way, alas! to go, The monarch lingered on the spot,-- The lake spread bright below.
He lingered, when--oh hark! oh hark What sound salutes his ear!
A roebuck drinking in the dark, Not hunted, nor in fear.
Straight to the stretch his bow he drew, That bow ne"er missed its aim, Whizzing the deadly arrow flew, Ear-guided, on the game!
Ah me! What means this?--Hark, a cry, A feeble human wail, "Oh G.o.d!" it said--"I die,--I die, Who"ll carry home the pail?"
Startled, the monarch forward ran, And then there met his view A sight to freeze in any man The warm blood coursing true.
A child lay dying on the gra.s.s, A pitcher by his side, Poor Sindhu was the child, alas!
His parents" stay and pride.
His bow and quiver down to fling, And lift the wounded boy, A moment"s work was with the king.
Not dead,--that was a joy!
He placed the child"s head on his lap, And ranged the blinding hair, The blood welled fearful from the gap On neck and bosom fair.
He dashed cold water on the face, He chafed the hands, with sighs, Till sense revived, and he could trace Expression in the eyes.
Then mingled with his pity, fear-- In all this universe What is so dreadful as to hear A Bramin"s dying curse!
So thought the king, and on his brow The beads of anguish spread, And Sindhu, fully conscious now, The anguish plainly read.
"What dost thou fear, O mighty king?
For sure a king thou art!
Why should thy bosom anguish wring?
No crime was in thine heart!
"Unwittingly the deed was done; It is my destiny, O fear not thou, but pity one Whose fate is thus to die.
"No curses, no!--I bear no grudge, Not thou my blood hast spilt, Lo! here before the unseen Judge, Thee I absolve from guilt.
"The iron, red-hot as it burns, Burns those that touch it too, Not such my nature,--for it spurns, Thank G.o.d, the like to do.
"Because I suffer, should I give Thee, king, a needless pain?
Ah, no! I die, but mayst thou live, And cleansed from every stain!"