Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan Part 11

"There is a spell against cold steel Which known, the steel can work no harm, Some sycophant with baneful zeal Hath taught this foolish boy the charm.

It would be wise, O king, to deal Some other way, or else I fear Much damage to the common weal."

Thus spake the wily-tongued vizier.

Dark frowned the king.--"Enough of this,-- Death, instant death, is my command!

Go throw him down some precipice, Or bury him alive in sand."

With terror dumb, from that wide hall Departed all the courtier band, But not one man amongst them all Dared raise against the prince his hand.

And now vague rumours ran around, Men talked of them with bated breath: The river has a depth profound, The elephants trample down to death, The poisons kill, the firebrands burn.

Had every means in turn been tried?

Some said they had,--but soon they learn The brave young prince had not yet died.

For once more in the Council-Hall He had been cited to appear, 'Twas open to the public all, And all the people came in fear.

Banners were hung along the wall, The King sat on his peac.o.c.k throne, And now the h.o.a.ry Marechal Brings in the youth,--bare skin and bone.

"Who shall protect thee, Prehlad, now?

Against steel, poison, water, fire, Thou art protected, men avow Who treason, if but bold, admire.

In our own presence thou art brought That we and all may know the truth-- Where are thy G.o.ds?--I long have sought But never found them, hapless youth.

"Will they come down, to prove their strength?

Will they come down, to rescue thee?

Let them come down, for once, at length, Come one, or all, to fight with me.

Where are thy G.o.ds? Or are they dead, Or do they hide in craven fear?

There lies my gage. None ever said I hide from any,--far or near."

"My gracious Liege, my Sire, my King!

If thou indeed wouldst deign to hear, In humble mood, my words would spring Like a pellucid fountain clear, For I have in my dungeon dark Learnt more of truth than e'er I knew, There is one G.o.d--One only,--mark!

To Him is all our service due.

"Hath He a shape, or hath He none?

I know not this, nor care to know, Dwelling in light, to which the sun Is darkness,--He sees all below, Himself unseen! In Him I trust, He can protect me if He will, And if this body turn to dust, He can new life again instil.

"I fear not fire, I fear not sword, All dangers, father, I can dare; Alone, I can confront a horde, For oh! my G.o.d is everywhere!"

"What! everywhere? Then in this hall, And in this crystal pillar bright?

Now tell me plain, before us all, Is He herein, thy G.o.d of light?"

The monarch placed his steel-gloved hand Upon a crystal pillar near, In mockful jest was his demand, The answer came, low, serious, clear: "Yes, father, G.o.d is even here, And if He choose this very hour Can strike us dead, with ghastly fear, And vindicate His name and power."

"Where is this G.o.d? Now let us see."

He spumed the pillar with his foot, Down, down it tumbled, like a tree Severed by axes from the root, And from within, with horrid clang That froze the blood in every vein, A stately sable warrior sprang, Like some phantasma of the brain.

He had a lion head and eyes, A human body, feet and hands, Colossal,--such strange shapes arise In clouds, when Autumn rules the lands!

He gave a shout;--the boldest quailed, Then struck the tyrant on the helm, And ripped him down; and last, he hailed Prehlad as king of all the realm!

A thunder clap--the shape was gone!

One king lay stiff, and stark, and dead, Another on the peac.o.c.k throne Bowed reverently his youthful head.

Loud rang the trumpets; louder still A sovereign people's wild acclaim.

The echoes ran from hill to hill, "Kings rule for us and in our name."

Tyrants of every age and clime Remember this,--that awful shape Shall startle you when comes the time, And send its voice from cape to cape.

As human, peoples suffer pain, But oh, the lion strength is theirs, Woe to the king when galls the chain!

Woe, woe, their fury when he dares!

IX.

SiTA.

Three happy children in a darkened room!

What do they gaze on with wide-open eyes?

A dense, dense forest, where no sunbeam pries, And in its centre a cleared spot.--There bloom Gigantic flowers on creepers that embrace Tall trees; there, in a quiet lucid lake The white swans glide; there, "whirring from the brake,"

The peac.o.c.k springs; there, herds of wild deer race; There, patches gleam with yellow waving grain; There, blue smoke from strange altars rises light, There, dwells in peace, the poet-anchorite.

But who is this fair lady? Not in vain She weeps,--for lo! at every tear she sheds Tears from three pairs of young eyes fall amain, And bowed in sorrow are the three young heads.

It is an old, old story, and the lay Which has evoked sad Sita from the past Is by a mother sung.... 'Tis hushed at last And melts the picture from their sight away, Yet shall they dream of it until the day!

When shall those children by their mother's side Gather, ah me! as erst at eventide?

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

NEAR HASTINGS.

Near Hastings, on the shingle-beach, We loitered at the time When ripens on the wall the peach, The autumn's lovely prime.

Far off,--the sea and sky seemed blent, The day was wholly done, The distant town its murmurs sent, Strangers,--we were alone.

We wandered slow; sick, weary, faint, Then one of us sat down, No nature hers, to make complaint;-- The shadows deepened brown.

A lady past,--she was not young, But oh! her gentle face No painter-poet ever sung, Or saw such saintlike grace.

She past us,--then she came again, Observing at a glance That we were strangers; one, in pain,-- Then asked,--Were we from France?

We talked awhile,--some roses red That seemed as wet with tears, She gave my sister, and she said, "G.o.d bless you both, my dears!"

Sweet were the roses,--sweet and full, And large as lotus flowers That in our own wide tanks we cull To deck our Indian bowers.

But sweeter was the love that gave Those flowers to one unknown, I think that He who came to save The gift a debt will own.

The lady's name I do not know, Her face no more may see, But yet, oh yet I love her so!

Blest, happy, may she be!

Her memory will not depart, Though grief my years should shade, Still bloom her roses in my heart!

And they shall never fade!