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Where, o'er some tower in ruin laid, The peepul spreads it> 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 olt 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 displayed O'er the broad plantain'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, Our English fairies never trod;Yet who in Indian bower has stood, But thought on England's 'good green wood?'
And blessed, beneath the palmy shade, Her hazel and her hawthorn glade, And breathed a prayer, (how oft in vain,) To gaze upon her oaks again?
A truce to thought: the jackal's cry
AN EVENING WALK IN BENGAL. 65
Resounds like sylvan revelry;
Enough, enough, the rustling trees
And we must early sleep to find
LINES WRITTEN TO HIS WIFE, WHILE ON A VISIT TO UPPER INDIA.
Ir thou wert by my side, my love, How fast would evening fail
If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee, ^^ +How gayly would our pinnace $\wr
I miss thee at the dawning gray,
In careless ease my limbs I lay,
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,
I miss thee from my side.
I spread my books, my pencil try, The lingering noon to cheer,
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^ourse 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.