2. Vainly, ye blessed twinklers of the night, Your feeble beams ye shed, Quench'd in the unnatural light which might out-stare Even the broad eye of day; And thou from thy celestial way Pourest, O Moon, an ineffectual ray! For lo! ten thousand torches flame and flare Upon the midnight air, Blotting the lights of heaven With one portentous glare. Behold the fragrant smoke in many a fold, Ascending floats along the fiery sky, And hangeth visible on high, A dark and waving canopy. 3. Hark! 'tis the funeral trumpet's breath! 'Tis the dirge of death! At once ten thousand drums begin, With one long thunder-peal the ear assailing; {3} Ten thousand voices then join in, And with one deep and general din Pour their wild wailing. The song of praise is drown'd Amid that deafening sound; You hear no more the trumpet's tone, You hear no more the mourner's moan, Though the trumpet's breath, and the dirge of death, Mingle and swell the funeral yell. But rising over all in one acclaim Is heard the echoed and re-echoed name, From all that countless rout: Arvalan! Arvalan! Arvalan! Arvalan! Ten times ten thousand voices in one shout Call Arvalan! The overpowering sound From house to house repeated rings about, From tower to tower rolls round. 4. The death-procession moves along; Their bald heads shining to the torches' ray, The Bramins lead the way, Chaunting the funeral song. {4} And now at once they shout Arvalan! Arvalan! With quick rebound of sound, All in accordant cry, Arvalan! Arvalan! The universal multitude reply. In vain ye thunder on his ear the name! Would ye awake the dead? Borne upright in his palankeen, There Arvalan is seen! A glow is on his face, . . . a lively red; 'Tis but the crimson canopy Which o'er his cheek the reddening shade hath shed. He moves, . . . he nods his head; . . . But the motion comes from the bearers' tread, As the body, borne aloft in state, Sways with the impulse of its own dead weight. 5. Close following his dead son, Kehama came, Nor joining in the ritual song, Nor calling the dear name; With head deprest and funeral vest, And arms enfolded on his breast, {5} Silent and lost in thought he moves along. King of the world, his slaves unenvying now Behold their wretched Lord; rejoiced they see The mighty Rajah's misery; For nature in his pride hath dealt the blow, And taught the master of mankind to know Even he himself is man, and not exempt from woe.