Part 8 (1/2)

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.