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? Wilt thou still be stern and mute? Dearest, when the morning's red 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? 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; And banish envy from their breast; 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 Who serve their God, the laws obey, And earnest, faithful, work and pray; To these, the bounteous, pure, and true, Mahabharat. |