Where too is she whom most his heart held dear,

His best-beloved Kailyal, where is she,

The solace and the joy of many a year
Of widowhood! is she then gone,
And is he left all-utterly alone,

To bear his blasting curse, and none
To succour or deplore him?

He staggers from the dreadful spot; the throng Give way in fear before him;

Like one who carries pestilence about, Shuddering they shun him, where he moves along.

And now he wanders on

Beyond the noisy rout;

He cannot fly and leave his curse behind,
Yet doth he seem to find

A comfort in the change of circumstance.
Adown the shore he strays,

Unknowing where his wretched feet shall rest,
But farthest from the fatal place is best.

By this in the orient sky appears the gleam

Of day. Lo! what is yonder in the stream,
Down the slow river floating slow,
In distance indistinct and dimly seen?
The childless one with idle eye
Followed its motion thoughtlessly;

Idly he gaz'd, unknowing why,

And half unconscious that he watch'd its way. Belike it is a tree

Which some rude tempest, in its sudden sway, Tore from the rock, or from the hollow shore The undermining stream hath swept away.

But when anon outswelling by its side,
A woman's robe he spied,
Oh then Ladurlad started,

As one, who in his grave

Had heard an angel's call.

Yea, Marriataly, thou hast deign'd to save!

Yea, Goddess! it is she,

Kailyal, still clinging senselessly

To thy dear image, and in happy hour

8

Upborne amid the wave

By that preserving power.

Headlong in hope and in joy
Ladurlad dash'd in the water.

The water knew Kehama's spell,

The water shrunk before him.

Blind to the miracle,

He rushes to his daughter,

And treads the river-depths in transport wild, And clasps and saves his child.

Upon the farther side a level shore Of sand was spread: thither Ladurlad bore His daughter, holding still with senseless hand The saving Goddess; there upon the sand He laid the livid maid,

Rais'd up against his knees her drooping head; Bent to her lips, . . . her lips as pale as death, . . . If he might feel her breath,

His own the while in hope and dread suspended;

Chaf'd her cold breast, and ever and anon Let his hand rest, upon her heart extended.

Soon did his touch perceive, or fancy there, The first faint motion of returning life. He chafes her feet, and lays them bare In the sun; and now again upon her breast Lays his hot hand; and now her lips he prest, For now the stronger throb of life he knew: And her lips tremble too!

The breath comes palpably,

Her quivering lids unclose,

Feebly and feebly fall,

Relapsing as it seem'd to dead repose.

So in her father's arms thus languidly, While over her with earnest gaze he hung, Silent and motionless she lay,

And painfully and slowly writh'd at fits, At fits to short convulsive starts was stung.

Till when the struggle and strong agony

Had left her, quietly she lay repos'd:
Her eyes now resting on Ladurlad's face,
Relapsing now, and now again unclos'd.
The look she fix'd upon his face, implies
Nor thought nor feeling; senselessly she lies,
Compos'd like one who sleeps with open eyes.
Long he leant over her,

In silence and in fear.

Kailyal! . . . at length he cried in such a tone As a poor mother ventures who draws near, With silent footstep, to her child's sick bed. My Father! cried the maid, and rais'd her head, Awakening then to life and thought,... thou here? For when his voice she heard,

The dreadful past recurr'd,

Which dimly, like a dream of pain,

Till now with troubled sense confus'd her brain.

And hath he spar'd us then? she cried,

Half rising as she spake,

For hope and joy the sudden strength supplied;