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Come boldly on! no venom’d snake Can shelter in so cool a brake: Child of the sun! he loves to lie "Mid nature's embers parch'd and dry, Where o'er some tower in ruin laid, The peepul spreads its haunted shade, Or round a tomb his scales to wreathe, Fit warder in the gate of death ! Come on! yet pause ! behold us now Beneath the bamboo's arched bough, Where gemming oft that sacred gloom, Glows the geranium's scarlet bloom, And winds our path through many a bower Of fragrant tree and giant flower; The ceiba's crimson pomp display'd O'er the broad plaintain's humbler shade, And dusk anana's prickly blade ; While o’er the brake, so wild and fair, The betel waves his crest in air. With pendent train and rushing wings, Aloft the gorgeous peacock springs ; And he, the bird of hundred dyes, Whose plumes the dames of Ava prize.
So rich a shade, so green a sod,
A truce to thought ! the jackal's cry
The village song, the horn, the drum.
Enough, enough, the rustling trees
LINES WRITTEN TO HIS WIFE,
WHILE ON A VISIT TO UPPER INDIA.
If thou wert by my side, my love !
How fast would evening fail In green Bengala’s palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale !
If thou, my love! wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,
O’er Gunga's mimic sea !
I miss thee at the dawning gray,
When, on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay,
And woo the cooler wind.
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide, But most beneath the lamp's pale beam,
I miss thee from my side.
LINES WRITTEN TO HIS WIFE.
I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer,
Thy meek attentive ear.
But when of morn and eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,
Thy prayers ascend for me.
Then on! Then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still,
O'er black Almorah's hill.
That course nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor mild Malwah detain,
By yonder western main.
Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say,
Across the dark blue sea,
As then shall meet in thee !