8. So saying, on her knees the maid Began the pious toil. Soon their joint labour scoops the easy soil; They raise the image up with reverent hand, And round its rooted base they heap the sand. O Thou whom we adore, O Marriataly, thee do I implore, The virgin cried; my Goddess, pardon thou The unwilling wrong, that I no more, With dance and song, Can do thy daily service, as of yore! The flowers which last I wreath'd around thy brow, Are withering there; and never now Shall I at eve adore thee, And swimming round with arms outspread, {34} Poise the full pitcher on my head, In dextrous dance before thee; White underneath the reedy shed, at rest, My father sate the evening rites to view, And blest thy name, and blest His daughter too. 9. Then heaving from her heart a heavy sigh, O Goddess! from that happy home, cried she, The Almighty Man hath forced us! And homeward with the thought unconsciously She turn'd her dizzy eye. . . . But there on high, With many a dome, and pinnacle, and spire, The summits of, the Golden Palaces Blaz'd in the dark blue sky, aloft, like fire. Father, away! she cried, away! Why linger we so nigh? For not to him hath Nature given The thousand eyes of Deity, Always and every where with open sight, To persecute our flight! Away . . . away! she said, And took her father's hand, and like a child He followed where she led. V. THE SEPARATION. {35} 1. Evening comes on: arising from the stream, Homeward the tall flamingo wings his flight; And where he sails athwart the setting beam, His scarlet plumage glows with deeper light. The watchman, at the wish'd approach of night, Gladly forsakes the field, where he all day, To scare the winged plunderers from their prey, With shout and sling, on yonder clay-built height, Hath borne the sultry ray. Hark! at the Golden Palaces, The Bramin strikes the hour. For leagues and leagues around, the brazen sound {36} Rolls through the stillness of departing day, Like thunder far away. 2. Behold them wandering on their hopeless way, Unknowing where they stray, Yet sure where'er they stop to find no rest. The evening gale is blowing, It plays among the trees; Like plumes upon a warrior's crest, They see yon cocoas tossing to the breeze. Ladurlad views them with impatient mind, Impatiently he hears The gale of evening blowing, The sound of waters flowing, As if all sights and sounds combin'd To mock his irremediable woe: For not for him the blessed waters flow, For not for him the gales of evening blow, A fire is in his heart and brain, And Nature hath no healing for his pain.