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| FATHER of rivers, Ganges, hail to thee! | |
| Thou, in the joy of thine unfading day, | |
| Goest thy wonted way, | |
| Unwearied, to the sea; | |
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| And, ever gazing with a steadfast gaze | 5 |
| On the huge canopy of sunny heaven, | |
| Singest from morn to even | |
| Thy changeless song of praise. | |
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| So thou art happy: for thy hymn is loud | |
| Eternally to him, the eternal King | 10 |
| Doubt flaps her murky wing, | |
| Dim Ignorance spreads her cloud | |
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| Around thee; and wild fancies, wild and vain, | |
| Hither and thither thread the lurid air: | |
| Darkness, Sin’s mother, there | 15 |
| Holds her unlovely reign; | |
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| And never, since thy glorious course began, | |
| Hath the glad light, Nature’s most precious flower, | |
| Looked from its home of power | |
| Upon the soul of man. | 20 |
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| How often yet,—how often will the sun | |
| Behold the rites of death with that calm smile? | |
| Lo, they have laid the pile; | |
| The virgins, one by one, | |
| |
| Chant solemnly the hymn,—the funeral hymn! | 25 |
| The rich robes float; the costly gems beam bright! | |
| The flambeau’s flickering light | |
| Makes the clear day look dim. | |
| |
| Where is the victim? Lo, the bride appears, | |
| Mute, motionless, a blameless sacrifice; | 30 |
| Upon the pile she lies, | |
| Weeping unheeded tears. | |
| |
| Woe for Nealliny, the tender reed! | |
| Woe! she has said the irrevocable vow; | |
| Self-slaughtered? Answer thou, | 35 |
| Priest of a bloody creed! | |
| |
| For her the dismal pathway must be trod, | |
| The hall of Padalon, the dark, the dread, | |
| Is yawning for its dead, | |
| And the relentless god | 40 |
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| Frowns with his moody eyebrows. Naught avail | |
| With those unpitying seers her terrors meek, | |
| Her soft-toned prayers, her cheek | |
| So eloquently pale! | |
| |
| Hark to the cymbal, and the bellowing drum! | 45 |
| “Farewell, farewell!” she whispers. It is past; | |
| And round her, thick and fast, | |
| The stifling flashes come. | |
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| Away, away! they fly, those sights of death. | |
| Now fiercer echoes scare my shuddering ear! | 50 |
| Hear’st thou? I hear,—I hear, | |
| Upon the wild wind’s breath, | |
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| The thunder of the chariot wheels, the shout | |
| Of mighty multitudes, that cheer or chide, | |
| The charger’s voice of pride! | 55 |
| Hurriedly thronging out | |
| |
| From street and grove the human flood is poured; | |
| Mothers and sons and maidens whose white hands | |
| Wave wide the blazing brands: | |
| And He, the mighty Lord, | 60 |
| |
| The thousand-headed Serpent, sits the while, | |
| Sceptred and crowned, upon his rolling throne, | |
| Writhing his lips of stone | |
| Into a fearful smile. | |
| |
| Beneath the creaking axle the red flood | 65 |
| Gushes unceasing; scattered on the stones | |
| Lie crushed and mangled bones; | |
| Through slaughter and through blood | |
| |
| The chariot of the god—the dark god—reels; | |
| And laughter—shrill, unnatural laughter—rings | 70 |
| As each mad victim springs | |
| To meet the murderous wheels. | |
| |
| And still the cry goes up, “Begin the song,— | |
| Begin! Behold him on his golden seat, | |
| The terrible! ’t is meet, | 75 |
| Thus as he rides along, | |
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| “To worship him, the Lord, whose slaves we are! | |
| Yea, yea, we worship, hymning now the hymn, | |
| And dancing round the grim | |
| And flower-encircled car!” * * * * * | 80 |
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