Thou, who made the heavens, created earth!
The sun, the moon! from its primitive birth!
And all the stars that lustrous shine at night
And the deep waters, moving murmuring white!
Who destined man o’er universe preside!
And reason, intellect given for his guide!
Thine aid I implore; would that thou inspire
My song and make it worthy of the lyre.
How many wait for nuptial day’s approach,
How many ask for wealth, and four and coach!
How many maids for Hymen’s waters, thirst!
How many ‘buse the bachelors accurst!
How many younglings wish for wedlock’s joys!
As wife were simple plaything, doll, or toys!
How many ‘trothed awaited their honeymoon!
How many look on woman’s death a boon!
How many better do marry age—and wealth
And joys with others, husbands kept by stealth!
How many duchesses, countesses, misses,
Do pass in balls as veteran mistresses!
Trembling and pale before thee stands
Oh, Lord, thy humble minion.
On me, oh, pour with blissful hands
The joy, the hope, the peace. Thou lenient.
The joy, the hope, the peace, the liniment?
Unconscious unto sin betrayed
A devout redemption implore.
Let Ardibesht preside o’er fate
And Tir the granaries restore.
Let Berhram give his helping hand
To virtue, decency, and truth,
And Plenty rule o’er smiling land
Thro’ Angel Meher forsooth.
Such rows are very common at the ‘Change,
In London, the resort of wealth and fashion,
Where men never cheat, but purses sharp estrange,
So honorable is their intention;
While women sleep for pennies at the Grange,
So damned to shame is their wicked passion.
If Indians for a moral place you seek,
I recommend you London safe for a week.
No lavished charges burthened then the state;
Not thousands were the order of those days;
No separate plans Europeans procreate,
Or "more for whites" was not the rulers’ craze:
Not choicest bits assigned at highest rate
To them alone—as modern India pays
Even to idiots—with horses, garden, hansom,
Clear two thousand every mensem.
Oh, English, Scottish, Irish whites, that haunt
Our Indian soil and cling to it like leeches,
Remember, ere our humbleness you taunt,
That most of you when come had no whole breeches.
How mild and gentle, guileless, obliging,
Is that Young Man’s Christian Association, etc., etc.
Peace to the perturbed spirits of those dead!
Peace may ye find in heaven’s unclouded skies;
May blood-red flowers illumine o’er your bed
To trickle tears from posterity’s eyes.
* * * * *
Calm be your rest who fought so bold, unworn!
Calm be your graves as joined in death as life!
Calm be the hearts that spouseless, sonless mourn!
Calm the revenge, calm the avenging strife!
To Polly the younger I love her so strong
That wherever she linger my heart goes along;
In the ball, at the dance, on the ring for skaters,
Or volunteer’s advance ‘tis Polly me fetters.
In the landau driven what transport divine
Finds echo in my haven as her. eyes meet mine.
On the stand, on the bunder, with music’s soft trills,
When her papa goes under, what coos and what bills!
When lo her father entered, all brandy and gin,
But his head had not centred on our scene.
Oh for those stately ced’r and oak
My anxious heart repines,
And country chimneys’ morning smoke
And tender drooping vines I
Oh for the hawthorn bush and glade
That sloped the hill adown,
And minster spire’s uptowering head,
Adorned with clock and crown!
Oh for my redbreast robin’s voice,
And bittern’s early song;
Oh for the whitened fields and snows
Of Lincoln’s Norman-Long.
Oh for the river barque to glide
Along the gravel shore;
Oh for my Bella’s gentle stride—
This Bombay seems a bore.
Oh for the evening walks and drives
Along the park and green,
And for the happy parson’s wives,
So chatty though so mean!
Your English books, periodicals are at hand,
From which I cull, etc., etc.