Roll, Gunga, roll in all thy pride,
Thy hallow'd groves among!
Glorious art thou in every mood,
Thou boast of India's widowhood,
Thou theme of every song!
Blent with the murmurs of thy tide
The records of far ages lie,
And live, for thou canst never die.
The Requiem of Timour.
Sleep, perturbed spirit, sleep
Within earth's quiet breast!
Thy task of vengeance now is o'er;
Rest, ruthless conqueror, rest!
As speeds the whirlwind o'er the wave
With its resistless might,
The torrent of thy wrath has roll'd
Upon the field of fight.
The world aghast has quaked beneath
The terrors of thy frown;
Thy footsteps, they have trampled o'er
The royal neck and crown.
The burning sand, the fertile vale,
Have groan'd beneath thy tread;
Thy hardy legions follow'd still,
Where thou undaunted led.
From Kabool's rock, thy crimson flag
Stream'd proudly to the air;
Beneath were martial shields and spears,
And sabres red and bare.
