« PreviousContinue »
*c Now, Prince, shalt thou perish, if vengeance be due
He left her desponding; then sadly she rose,
"To thee have I pledg'd my firm oath as thy bride,
Sad Gunnar, what strife thy fond bosom must rend!
Mid the night's baneful gloom, see the torches that glare!
Adieu! ye rocks, and thou sweet vale,
Let other waters rudely sweep
Be thine, sweet Brook, an humbler fate;
Or, if so undeserved :i fate
• Characterised by Dr. Drennan. wlm has inserted this and the next mece in hk pooms, as one •• who would have taken his place among the very first poets of th* ^ had he not rather chosen to become its first philosopher." "*
And yield it to some channel's care,
These blessings, lovely Brook, be thine;
On an unfortunate young Lady.
BY THE SAME.
A lingering struggle of misfortune past,
When fir'd with hope, or eager for applause,
The hero suffers in a public cause,
Unfelt, unheeded, falls misfortune's dart,
And fame's sweet echoes cheer the drooping heart.
The patriot's toils immortal laurels yield,
And death itself is envied in the field.
Her's was the humbler, yet severer fate,
To pine unnoticed in a private state;
Her's were the suff 'rings which no laurels bring,
The generous labours which no muses sing,
The cares that haunt the parent and the wife,
And the still sorrows of domestic life.
What though no pageant o'er her humble earth,
Here shall the virtues which her soul posscss'd,
POEM OF KHOOSHHAUL.
Afghaun Poetry, by the Hon. Mountstuart Elphinstone.
Whence has this spring appear'd again,
Which has made the country all round one rose garden?
The anemone is there, the sweet herbs, the Iris, and the basil,
The jasmine, the daffodil, the narcissus, and pomegranate flower.
The flowers of the spring are of all colours;
But the cheek of the red tulip glows most among them all.
The maidens have handfuls of roses in their bosoms.
The youths have bunches of flowers in their turbans.
The musician applies his bow to his cheghauneh.
And searches out the melodies of every string.
Come, O cup-bearer, bring full, full cups:
Let me be satiated with wine and revelry.
The Afghaun youth have Teddened their hands,
As a falcon dyes its talons in the blood of its quarry.
They have made their white swords rosy with blood,
As a bed of tulips blooming in summer.
Ainail Khaun and Derry a Khaun were the heroes.
Each emulous of the other.
They stained the valley of Kheiber with blood;
And poured the tumult (of war) on to Currupa.
lip to Currupa, and to Bajour, the mountains, and the plains
Trembled, as with an earthquake, again and again.
It is now five years that in those quarters,
Every day has been heard the clashing of bright swords.
Since I left that country, I am annihilated.
Am I dead, or are those around me dead?
I call aloud for troops till I am weary:
But those around me are deaf both to complaints and reproaches.
Had Had I known the state of the Eusofzyes,
I should have preferred flying to Dumghaur.
The dogs of the Khuttuks would be better that the Eusofzyes,
Even if the Khuttuks themselves were no better than dogs.
The whole of the Afghauns, from Candahar to Attock,
Rely openly or secretly on each other's honour.
Yet, see how many battles have taken place in all quarters,
And yet the Eusofzyes have shewn no sense of shame.
The first battle was behind the hills,
Where forty thousand Moguls were cut to pieces.
Their wives, and their daughters, were the prisoners of the AfghaunSj
And strings on strings of horses, camels, and elephants were taken.
The second was fought by Meer Hossein, in the Dooaub,
When his head was crushed like that of a snake.
After that, was the fight of the Fort of Nonshehra,
Which removed the intoxication from the head of the Moguls.
After it, came Jeswunt Sing, and Shoojaut Khaun,
Whom Amail defeated at Gundaub.
The sixth battle was with Mookurrum Khaun, and Shumsheer Khaun,
Whom Amail cut up to his heart's content.
We have always hitherto been victorious in battle;
And therefore, henceforward, let us trust in the Lord.
Arungzebe, for the last year, has been encamped against us:
Disordered in his appearance, and perplexed in his mind.
All his nobles have fallen in battle;
And the soldiers who have perished, who can number?
The treasures of Hindostaun have been scattered abroad.
The red gold Mohurs have been sunk in the mountains.'
No man would have found out, in eighteeen guesses,
That such transactions would have taken place in this country.
Yet, the King's malignity is not diminished;
Which formerly drew down the curse of his own father.
No dependance can be placed on the King, For he has ill designs, and is false and treacherous. No other issue can be discovered in this affair; Either the Moguls must be annihilated, or the Afghauns undone. If this be the course of the spheres which we see; If it be God's pleasure (that we perish), let this be the time. The heavens do not always revolve in the same manner. They are sometimes suited to the rose and sometimes to the thorn. This time (of danger) is the time for honour. Without honour, what would become of the Afghauns? If they harbour any other thought, it is destruction. There is no deliverance, but in the sword. The Afghauns are better than the Moguls at the sword. If the understanding of the Afghauns was awakened $