IX. THE HOME-SCENE.
1.
The steam of slaughter from that place of blood
Spread o’er the tainted sky.
Vultures, for whom the Rajah’s tyranny
So oft had furnish’d food, from far and nigh
Sped to the lure: aloft with joyful cry,
Wheeling around, they hover’d over head;
Or, on the temple perch’d, with greedy eye,
Impatient watch’d the dead.
Far off the tygers, in the inmost wood,
Heard the death-shriek, and snuff’d the scent of blood.
They rose, and through the covert went their way,
Couch’d at the forest edge, and waited for their prey.
2.
He who had sought for death went wandering on,
The hope which had inspir’d his heart was gone,
Yet a wild joyance still inflam’d his face,
A smile of vengeance, a triumphant glow.
Where goes he? . . . Whither should Ladurlad go!
Unwittingly the wretch’s footsteps trace
Their wonted path toward his dwelling-place;
And wandering on, unknowing where,
He starts at finding he is there.
3.
Behold his lowly home,
By yonder broad-bough’d plane o’ershaded:
There Marriataly’s image stands,
And there the garland twin’d by Kailyal’s hands
Around its brow hath faded.
The Peacocks, at their master’s sight,
Quick from the leafy thatch alight,
And hurry round, and search the ground,
And veer their glancing necks from side to side,
Expecting from his hand
Their daily dole, which erst the maid supplied,
Now all too long denied.
4.
But as he gaz’d around,
How strange did all accustom’d sights appear!
How differently did each familiar sound
Assail his altered ear!
Here stood the marriage bower,
Rear’d in that happy hour
When he, with festal joy and youthful pride,
Had brought Yedillian home, his beauteous bride.
Leaves not its own, and many a borrowed flower,
Had then bedeck’d it, withering ere the night;
But he who look’d, from that auspicious day,
For years of long delight,
And would not see the marriage-bower decay,
There planted and nurst up, with daily care,
The sweetest herbs that scent the ambient air,
And train’d them round to live and flourish there.
Nor when dread Yamen’s will
Had call’d Yedillian from his arms away,
Ceas’d he to tend the marriage-bower, but still,
Sorrowing, had drest it like a pious rite
Due to the monument of past delight.
5.
He took his wonted seat before the door, . . .
Even as of yore,
When he was wont to view, with placid eyes,
His daughter at her evening sacrifice.
Here were the flowers which she so carefully
Did love to rear for Marriataly’s brow;
Neglected now,
Their heavy heads were drooping, over-blown:
All else appeared the same as heretofore,
All . . . save himself alone;
How happy then, . . . and now a wretch for evermore!
6.
The market-flag which hoisted high,
From far and nigh,
Above yon cocoa grove is seen,
Hangs motionless amid the sultry sky.
Loud sounds the village-drum: a happy crowd
Is there; Ladurlad hears their distant voices,
But with their joy no more his heart rejoices;
And how their old companion now may fare,
Little they know, and less they care.
The torment he is doom’d to hear
Was but to them the wonder of a day,
A burthen of sad thoughts soon put away.
7.
They knew not that the wretched man was near,
And yet it seem’d, to his distempered ear,
As if they wrong’d him with their merriment.
Resentfully he turn’d away his eyes,
Yet turn’d them but to find
Sights that enraged his mind
With envious grief more wild and overpowering.
The tank which fed his fields was there, and there
The large-leav’d lotus on the waters flowering.
There, from the intolerable heat,
The buffaloes retreat;
Only their nostrils rais’d to meet the air,
Amid the sheltering element they rest.
Impatient of the sight, he clos’d his eyes,
And bow’d his burning head, and in despair
Calling on Indra, . . . Thunder-God! he said,
Thou owest to me alone this day thy throne,
Be grateful, and in mercy strike me dead!
8.
Despair had rous’d him to that hopeless prayer,
Yet thinking on the heavenly Powers, his mind
Drew comfort; and he rose and gather’d flowers,
And twin’d a crown for Marriataly’s brow;
And taking then her withered garland down,
Replaced it with the blooming coronal.
Not for myself, the unhappy Father cried,
Not for myself, O mighty one! I pray,
Accursed as I am beyond thy aid!
But, oh! be gracious still to that dear Maid
Who crown’d thee with these garlands day by day,
And danced before thee aye at even-tide
In beauty and in pride.
O Marriataly, wheresoe’er she stray
Forlorn and wretched, still be thou her guide!
9.
A loud and fiendish laugh replied,
Scoffing his prayer. Aloft, as from the air,
The sound of insult came: he look’d, and there
The visage of dead Arvalan came forth,
Only his face amid the clear blue sky,
With long-drawn lips of insolent mockery,
And eyes whose lurid glare
Was like a sulphur fire,
Mingling with darkness ere its flames expire.
10.
Ladurlad knew him well: enraged to see
The cause of all his misery,
He stoop’d and lifted from the ground
A stake, whose fatal point was black with blood;
The same wherewith his hand had dealt the wound,
When Arvalan, in hour with evil fraught,
For violation seiz’d the shrieking Maid.
Thus arm’d, in act again to strike he stood,
And twice with inefficient wrath essay’d
To smite the impassive shade.
The lips of scorn their mockery-laugh renew’d,
And Arvalan put forth a hand and caught
The sun-beam, and condensing there its light,
Upon Ladurlad turn’d the burning stream.
Vain cruelty! the stake
Fell in white ashes from his hold, but he
Endur’d no added pain; his agony
Was full, and at the height;
The burning stream of radiance nothing harm’d him:
A fire was in his heart and brain,
And from all other flame
Kehama’s Curse had charm’d him.
11.
Anon the Spirit wav’d a second hand;
Down rush’d the obedient whirlwind from the sky;
Scoop’d up the sand like smoke, and from on high
Shed the hot shower upon Ladurlad’s head.
Where’er he turns, the accursed Hand is there;
East, West, and North and South, on every side
The Hand accursed waves in air to guide
The dizzying storm; ears, nostrils, eyes and mouth,
It fills and choaks, and, clogging every pore,
Taught him new torments might be yet in store.
Where shall he turn to fly? behold his house
In flames; uprooted lies the marriage-bower,
The Goddess buried by the sandy shower.
Blindly, with staggering step, he reels about,
And still the accursed Hand pursued,
And still the lips of scorn their mockery laugh renew’d.
12.
What, Arvalan! hast thou so soon forgot
The grasp of Pollear? Wilt thou still defy
The righteous Powers of Heaven? or know’st thou not
That there are yet superior Powers on high,
Son of the Wicked? . . . Lo, in rapid flight,
Ereenia hastens from the etherial height;
Bright is the sword celestial in his hand,
Like lightning in its path athwart the sky.
He comes and drives, with angel-arm, the blow.
Oft have the Asuras, in the wars of Heaven,
Felt that keen sword by arm angelic driven,
And fled before it from the fields of light.
Thrice through the vulnerable shade
The Glendoveer impels the griding blade.
The wicked Shade flies howling from his foe.
So let that spirit foul
Fly, and for impotence of anger, howl,
Writhing with pain, and o’er his wounds deplore;
Worse punishment hath Arvalan deserv’d,
And righteous Fate hath heavier doom in store.
13.
Not now the Glendoveer pursued his flight.
He bade the Ship of Heaven alight,
And gently there he laid
The astonished Father by the happy Maid,
The Maid now shedding tears of deep delight.
Beholding all things with incredulous eyes,
Still dizzy with the sand-storm, there he lay,
While sailing up the skies, the living Bark,
Through air and sunshine, held its heavenly way.
