"None is in his eyes the meanest-- He whose limbs are lame and palsied, He whose soul is wildly riven, Worn with sorrow, hopeless, helpless, Be he Brahmin, be he Pariah, If tow'rd heaven he turns his gaze, Will perceive, will learn to know it: Thousand eyes are glowing yonder, Thousand ears are calmly list'ning, From which nought below is hid. "If I to his throne soar upward, If he sees my fearful figure By his might transform'd to horror, He for ever will lament it,-- May it to your good be found! And I now will kindly warn him, And I now will madly tell him Whatsoe'er my mind conceiveth, What within my bosom heaveth. But my thoughts, my inmost feelings-- Those a secret shall remain." 1821. ----- III. THE PARIAH'S THANKS. MIGHTY Brama, now I'll bless thee! 'Tis from thee that worlds proceed! As my ruler I confess thee, For of all thou takest heed. All thy thousand ears thou keepest Open to each child of earth; We, 'mongst mortals sunk the deepest, Have from thee received new birth. Bear in mind the woman's story, Who, through grief, divine became; Now I'll wait to view His glory, Who omnipotence can claim. 1821. ----- DEATH-LAMENT OF THE NOBLE WIFE OF ASAN AGA. [From the Morlack.) WHAT is yonder white thing in the forest? Is it snow, or can it swans perchance be? Were it snow, ere this it had been melted, Were it swans, they all away had hastend. Snow, in truth, it is not, swans it is not, 'Tis the shining tents of Asan Aga. He within is lying, sorely wounded; To him come his mother and his sister; Bashfully his wife delays to come there. When the torment of his wounds had lessen'd, To his faithful wife he sent this message: "At my court no longer dare to tarry, At my court, or e'en amongst my people." When the woman heard this cruel message, Mute and full of sorrow stood that true one. At the doors she hears the feet of horses, And bethinks that Asan comes--her husband, To the tower she springs, to leap thence headlong, Her two darling daughters follow sadly, And whilst weeping bitter tears, exclaim they: These are not our father Asan's horses; 'Tis thy brother Pintorowich coming!" So the wife of Asan turns to meet him, Clasps her arms in anguish round her brother: "See thy sister's sad disgrace, oh brother! How I'm banish'd--mother of five children!" Silently her brother from his wallet, Wrapp'd in deep red-silk, and ready written, Draweth forth the letter of divorcement, To return home to her mother's dwelling, Free to be another's wife thenceforward. When the woman saw that mournful letter, Fervently she kiss'd her two sons' foreheads, And her two girls' cheeks with fervour kiss'd she, But she from the suckling in the cradle Could not tear herself, so deep her sorrow! So she's torn thence by her fiery brother, On his nimble steed he lifts her quickly, And so hastens, with the heart-sad woman, Straightway tow'rd his father's lofty dwelling.