If for a day that lofty aim was crost,
You grieved, like Titus, that a day was lost.
Alas! it is not now a few brief hours
That fate withholds—a heavier grief o'erpowers
A nation whom you loved as if your own—
A life that gave the life of life is gone!
Yet oh! my countrymen, why weep in vain?
If aught may cause an earth-freed spirit pain,
'Tis when it sees in fond hearts left below
An unresigned and unavailing woe.
Be sighs above the grave breathed forth no more;
The gods are deaf when men the past deplore;
But let a friend's true merit best be proved
By imitative zeal in acts he loved.
His memory thus with loftiest lessons rife
May well complete the purpose of his life,
And while our Hindu youth Mind's blessings share
They'll learn to venerate the name of HARE!
To Laha Pennoo: The God of War.
A Khoond War Lyric.
Great God of battles! Oh, forgive
(For thou our wants and weakness saw,)
If we so long have seemed to live
Regardless of thy glorious law;
Our herds were few, our fields were bare.
Our bravest warriors bowed with care.
Fate wore for us a scowling brow,
And Famine haunted cot and bower.
And some the fever-blasts laid low.
And some the wild beasts dared devour;
Unnerved is many a manly limb.
And many a dauntless eye is dim.
