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HORACE HAYMAN WILSON.

1786-1860.

The Ganges.

Vast as a sea the Ganges flows,
And fed by Himalaya's snows,
Or rushing rains, with giant force
Unwearied runs its fated course;
The banks that skirt its lengthened way
Boundless variety display;
The mural height, the level green.
The dangerous rock, the dark ravine,
The barren sand, the fertile mound
With maze of flowery thicket crowned.
The cheerful lawn, or frowning glade.
Embrowned by overhanging shade:
The spacious plain, that waving corn.
Orchards, or fragrant groves adorn;
Whilst towns and hamlets intervene
And gild with life the changing scene.

But nature's chiefest bounties fall
To thy productive fields, Bengal,
It is not that the mountains rise
Here as a pathway to the skies—
Nor desert spreads its dreary tract—
Nor foams the thundering cataract.
Nor gloomy forest stretches, where
The lion prowls or lurks the bear—
Nor angry ocean raves and roars
In tempest on the rocky shores—
Though e'en of these thy wide extent
Some awful glimpses doth present—

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