TARA'S LAMENT.

Tara, widowed of her spouse,

Kissed him on the cheek and brows;

O'er her fallen hero bent,

Called him with this wild lament:

'Still, my lord, without reply?

Is the earth more loved than I,

That thou choosest to recline

On her breast, forsaking mine?
Lord and keeper, good and brave,
Sage to guide and strong to save,
See, thy chiefs, a mournful ring,
Wait around their silent king.

Wilt thou still be stern and mute?
Must they miss thy kind salute?

Dearest, when the morning's red
Calls thee from thy royal bed,
'Tis thy wont to welcome each
With a gift or pleasant speech.

Must thy lords unheeded stay?

Will thou not arise to-day?

Wilt thou not awake from sleep

While thy friends around thee weep? Look, thy child before thee stands

Lifts to thee his little hands.

Wilt thou, silent yet, despise

That appeal of wistful eyes?

Ah! my love is dead, is dead.

Look ye,

how his wounds have bled;

How the crimson torrents make

Round his limbs a rising lake.

Death, my child, has hurried hence

Him who was our sure defence.

Come, and look on him who thus

Slain in fight has gone from us.

Kiss thy sire and say farewell!'

Came the little child and fell

On his knees and fondly pressed

Those cold feet with arm and breast:

'Here is Angada,' he cried;

'Father, speak!' but none replied.

Weeping, as her child she viewed,

Tara thus her plaint renewed :

'Hast thou not a word-not one

Father, for thy darling son?

Canst thou still and silent lie,

Hear him call, and not reply?
Husband, by thy bloody bed

Thus I sit and mourn thee dead;

Like some mother of the herd,

By the lion undeterred,

Mourning in the grassy dell

Where her lord and leader fell.'

TRUE GLORY.

To whom is glory justly due ?

To those who pride and hate subdue;

Who, 'mid the joys that lure the sense,

Lead lives of holy abstinence;

Who, when reviled, their tongues restrain,

And, injured, injure not again;

Who ask of none, but freely give

Most liberal to all that live;

Who toil unresting through the day,

Their parents' joy and hope and stay;
Who welcome to their homes the guest,

And banish envy from their breast;
With reverent study love to pore

On precepts of our sacred lore;

Who work not, speak not, think not sin, In body pure and pure within ;

Whom avarice can ne'er mislead

To guilty thought or sinful deed;

Whose fancy never seeks to roam

From the dear wives who cheer their home;

Whose hero souls cast fear away

When battling in a rightful fray;

Who speak the truth with dying breath

Undaunted by approaching death,

Their lives illumed with beacon light
To guide their brothers' steps aright;
Who loving all, to all endeared,
Fearless of all by none are feared;
To whom the world with all therein,
Dear as themselves, is more than kin;
Who yield to others, wisely meek,
The honours which they scorn to seek;
Who toil that rage and hate may cease,
And lure embittered foes to peace;

Who serve their God, the laws obey,

And earnest, faithful, work and pray;

To these, the bounteous, pure, and true,
Is highest glory justly due.

Mahabharat.