Seeta And Rama - A Tale Of The Indian Famine.

It was by far the loveliest scene in Ind: -         A deep sunk lonely vale, 'tween verdant hills         That, in eternal friendship, seemed to hold         Communion with the changing skies above;         Dark shady groves the haunts of shepherd boys         And wearied peasants in the midday noon;         A lake that shone in lustre clear and bright         Like a pure Indian diamond set amidst         Green emeralds, where every morn, with songs         Of parted lovers that tempted blooming maids         With pitchers on their heads to stay and hear         Those songs, the busy villagers of the vale         Their green fields watered that gave them sure hopes         Of future plenty and of future joys.         Oh, how uncertain man's sure hopes and joys!         In this enchanted hollow that was scooped -         For so it seemed - by God's own mighty hand,         Where Nature shower'd her richest gifts to make         Another paradise, stood Krishnapore         With her two score and seven huts reared by         The patient labour of her simple men.         In this blest hamlet one there was that owned         Its richest lands: beloved by all its men,         Their friend in times of need, their guide in life,         Partaker of their joys and woes as well,         The arbiter of all their petty strifes.         By him his friend the village master lived         That at his door a group of children taught;         A man he was well versed in ancient lore;         And oft at night, when ended was their toil,         The villagers with souls enraptured heard him         In fiery accents speak of Krishna's deeds         And Rama's warlike skill, and wondered that         He knew so well the deities they adored.         One only daughter this schoolmaster had,         And Seeta was her name, the prettiest maid         In all the village, nursed by the fond cares         Of her indulgent sire, and loved with all         The tender feelings that pure love inspires         By the rich villager's only son, the heir         Of all his father's wealth; the best at school,         The boldest of the village youths at play,         And the delight of all those that saw him;         And these seemed such a fitting pair that oft         The secret whisper round the village ran         That Seeta was to wed the rich man's son.         Thus, in this Eden, its blest inmates lived         And passed their days, the villagers at the fields,         Their busy women at the blazing hearths,         The village master at his cottage door,         And Rama and fair Seeta in true love.         Hither a monster came, that slowly sucked         The vigour, the very life of Krishnapore.         The brilliant lustre of the diamond lake,         The emerald greenness of the waving fields,         The shady groves and pleasant cottage grounds,         And all the beauties of the happy vale         Soon vanished imperceptibly, as if         Some unconsuming furnace underneath         Had baked the earth and rendered it all bare,         Until its inmates wandered desolate,         With hollow cheeks, sunk eyes, and haggard faces,         Like walking skeletons pasted o'er with skin.         No more would blooming girls with pitchers laden         Repair to the clear lake while curling smoke         Rose from their cottage roofs; no more at morn         Would Rama be the first at school to see         His Seeta deck her father's house with flowers;         No more at eve the village master pour         From Hindu lore the mighty deeds of gods         To the delighted ears of simple men;         For these have left their lands and their dear homes.         And Seeta with her father left her cot,         And cast behind, with a deep, heavy sigh,         One ling'ring look upon that vale where she         Was born and fondly nursed, - where glided on         Her days in pleasure and pure innocence, -         Where Rama lived and loved her tenderly.         Her father died of hunger on the way,         And the lone creature wandered in the streets         Of towns from door to door, and vainly begged         For food, till some, deep moved by the sad tales         Of the lone straggler, safely lodged her in         A famine camp, where, heavy laden with         A double sorrow (for her lover too,         She thought, had died), her tedious life she spent.         And days and weeks and months thus rolled away,         Until at last her love for the dead youth         Mysterious waned, and, like a shallow lamp,         Burnt in her breast with nothing to feed it.         One day the news went through the famine shed         That a lean youth, plucked from the very arms         Of cruel death, was tenderly nursed there;         And all its inmates hurried to the scene.         Poor Seeta saw the youth, and that sad sight         She ne'er forgot; the youth was in her mind         Too firmly rooted to be rooted out,         Who ev'ry day in strength and beauty grew, till he         Appeared the fairest youth in all the camp.         First pity for the youth, then love for him         Mysterious came to her, until at last         The flick'ring flame shone sudden in her breast.         "This stranger I must wed, for him I love,         I know not how; that pleasant face is like         The face of him I dearly loved; I see         Appearing ev'ry day upon that face,         As if by magic wrought, those beauties that         Were seated on dead Rama's face." Thus mused         This maiden of the camp, and the fair youth         Thus kindled in her breast the hidden flame         Of love and fed it ever with new strength,         Which shone again in all its purity.         As the moon whose effulgence hidden lies         When dimmed by clouds, suddenly blazes forth         And in her wonted beauty shines again         What time she darts into the cloudless vault,         So shone again in lovely Seeta's breast         The lamp of love by clouds of sorrow dimmed.         The smothered passion suddenly blazed forth         In brighter lustre, and to her returned         With double force, as when the flaming fire         Is smothered when more fuel is on it thrown,         And straightway flames and gives a brighter light.         At last the monster left the land, the camp         Was broke, its inmates left it for their homes.         England, would that one of thy sons were there         To hear what words, what blessings now burst from         Their inward hearts for nursing them when they         From all estranged had poured into thine arms!         Poor Seeta hastened to the youth she loved,         And to him with a gladdened heart thus spake: -         Her rosy lips, just oped to speak, were like         A half-blown rosebud blossoming all at once;         Such magic was wrought on her ere she spake:         "Kind stranger, whither goest thou? I am         A lonely maiden, and friends I have none;         And thee alone I trust as my safe guide         To Krishnapore."                                          "Dear maid! thy sorrows cease;         My way now lies through Krishnapore: fear not,         I shall restore thee to thy home and friends;         Trust me as your safe guide and dearest friend."         She, overjoyed, recounted to the youth         Her tale - how she, her father's only hope         And pride, reluctant left their native vale         And cottage home; how he died on the way,         And she, a lonely creature, wandered in         The streets from door to door and begged for food;         How she was taken to the famine camp;         How he, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes,         Was brought one day and there nursed tenderly;         And how in beauty ev'ry day he grew         Until like her dead Rama he appeared.         The village youth, unable any more         Now to suppress him, suddenly exclaimed,         "Look here, whose name is on this arm tattooed?"         "O Rama, Krishna, Govinda, and all         Ye Gods that I adore, ye have blest me;         This is the happiest moment in my life,         And this the happiest spot in all the earth,         For now my long-lost Rama I have found."         So saying, she intently gazed on him.         As a rich mine pours forth its hidden wealth         To the delight of those that day and night         Court eagerly its treasures them t' enrich;         So from this lovely pair's deep mine of feelings,         What honeyed words escaped now through their lips         To their intense joy, better far than all         The treasures any ample mine bestows!         With sweet talk they beguiled their tedious way;         The verdant hills sublime rose to the view;         The broad lake glittered diamond-like again;         And wreathing smoke curled from the cottage roofs;         The lovely vale became the lovely vale         Again, and all the long forgotten scenes         In quick succession flowed before them both;         And never was a happier marriage seen         In all that happy vale of Krishnapore.