In mercy hath he curb'd his cruel will, That still thou livest? But as thus she said, Impatient of that look of hope, her sire Oh! he hath laid a Curse upon my life, A clinging curse, quoth he; Hath sent a fire into my heart and brain, A burning fire, for ever there to be! The winds of Heaven must never breathe on me; The rains and dews must never fall on me ; Water must mock my thirst and shrink from me; The common earth must yield no fruit to me; Sleep, blessed Sleep! must never light on me; And Death, who comes to all, must fly from me; And never, never set Ladurlad free. This is a dream! exclaim'd the incredulous maid, Yet in her voice the while a fear exprest, Which in her larger eye was manifest. This is a dream! she rose and laid her hand Upon her father's brow, to try the charm ; He could not bear the pressure there; ... he shrunk,... He warded off her arm, As though it were an enemy's blow, he smote His daughter's arm aside. Her eye glanced down, his mantle she espied And caught it up; ... Oh misery! Kailyal cried, He bore me from the river-depths, and yet His garment is not wet! IV. THE DEPARTURE. Reclin'd beneath a Cocoa's feathery shade Ladurlad lies, And Kailyal on his lap her head hath laid, The boatman, sailing on his easy way, With envious eye beheld them where they lay; For every herb and flower Was fresh and fragrant with the early dew, Sweet sung the birds in that delicious hour, And the cool gale of morning as it blew, Not yet subdued by day's increasing power, Ruffling the surface of the silvery stream, Swept o'er the moisten'd sand, and rais'd no shower. Telling their tale of love, The boatman thought they lay At that lone hour, and who so blest as they! But now the Sun in heaven is high, The little songsters of the sky Sit silent in the sultry hour, They pant and palpitate with heat; To catch the passing air; They hear it not, they feel it not, It murmurs not, it moves not. The boatman, as he looks to land, Admires what men so mad to linger there, For yonder Cocoa's shade behind them falls, There all the morning was Ladurlad laid, There motionless upon her father's knees, Reclin❜d the silent maid. The man was still, pondering with steady mind, As if it were another's Curse, His own portentous lot; Scanning it o'er and o'er in busy thought, As though it were a last night's tale of woe, Before the cottage door By some old beldame sung, While young and old, assembled round, In fearful pleasure to her wonderous tongue. Musing so long he lay, that all things seem Unreal to his sense, even like a dream, A monstrous dream of things which could not be. That beating, burning brow, . . . why it was now The height of noon, and he was lying there In the broad sun, all bare ! What if he felt no wind? the air was still, That was the general will |