5. He took his wonted seat before the door, . . . {86} Even as of yore, When he was wont to view, with placid eyes, His daughter at her evening sacrifice. Here were the flowers which she so carefully Did love to rear for Marriataly's brow; Neglected now, Their heavy heads were drooping, over-blown: All else appeared the same as heretofore, All . . . save himself alone; How happy then, . . . and now a wretch for evermore! 6. The market-flag which hoisted high, From far and nigh, Above yon cocoa grove is seen, Hangs motionless amid the sultry sky. Loud sounds the village-drum: a happy crowd Is there; Ladurlad hears their distant voices, But with their joy no more his heart rejoices; And how their old companion now may fare, Little they know, and less they care. The torment he is doom'd to hear Was but to them the wonder of a day, A burthen of sad thoughts soon put away. {87} 7. They knew not that the wretched man was near, And yet it seem'd, to his distempered ear, As if they wrong'd him with their merriment. Resentfully he turn'd away his eyes, Yet turn'd them but to find Sights that enraged his mind With envious grief more wild and overpowering. The tank which fed his fields was there, and there The large-leav'd lotus on the waters flowering. There, from the intolerable heat, The buffaloes retreat; Only their nostrils rais'd to meet the air, Amid the sheltering element they rest. Impatient of the sight, he clos'd his eyes, And bow'd his burning head, and in despair Calling on Indra, . . . Thunder-God! he said, Thou owest to me alone this day thy throne, Be grateful, and in mercy strike me dead! 8. Despair had rous'd him to that hopeless prayer, Yet thinking on the heavenly Powers, his mind Drew comfort; and he rose and gather'd flowers, {88} And twin'd a crown for Marriataly's brow; And taking then her withered garland down, Replaced it with the blooming coronal. Not for myself, the unhappy Father cried, Not for myself, O mighty one! I pray, Accursed as I am beyond thy aid! But, oh! be gracious still to that dear Maid Who crown'd thee with these garlands day by day, And danced before thee aye at even-tide In beauty and in pride. O Marriataly, wheresoe'er she stray Forlorn and wretched, still be thou her guide! 9. A loud and fiendish laugh replied, Scoffing his prayer. Aloft, as from the air, The sound of insult came: he look'd, and there The visage of dead Arvalan came forth, Only his face amid the clear blue sky, With long-drawn lips of insolent mockery, And eyes whose lurid glare Was like a sulphur fire, Mingling with darkness ere its flames expire. {89}