Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/84

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62
HORACE HAYMAN WILSON.

But thine own honours fairest show
Where Bhagirathi's waters flow
In many a rich and lovely scene.
Invested with unfading green,
That as revolving seasons run
Still bids defiance to the Sun.
Upon the margin of the river
The leafy grove is verdant ever;
Dark is the Mango's foliage spread;
Erect the tall Palm lifts its head;
Broad the Banana waves and bright;
Graceful the Bambu bends and light;
Boiling and black the billows flow
The wide spread Indian fig below,
Whose scion branches, many and vast,
Far from the mighty parent cast,
Above the wave extend their shade
In columned arch and long arcade.
And here, by native faith revered,
The Peepul's twisted trunk is reared.

Nor want we animation—rife
Is all around, with busy life.
Upon the bosom of the tide
Vessels of every fabric ride.
The fisher's skiff, the light canoe
That from a single trunk they hew;
The snake and peacock modelled boat
In Eastern pageant sent afloat;
The heavy barge—the ponderous bark
Huge lumbering like another ark:
The Bujra broad, the Bholia trim,
Or Pinnaces that gallant swim
With favouring breeze—or dull and slow
Against the heady current go;
Creeping along the bank where pace
The crew—a strange amphibious race,