Page:Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan.djvu/141

Rh We do not curse thee, God forbid!
 * But to my inner eye

The future is no longer hid,
 * Thou too shalt like us die.

Die—for a son's untimely loss!
 * Die—with a broken heart!

Now help us to our bed of moss,
 * And let us both depart."

Upon the moss he laid them down,
 * And watched beside the bed;

Death gently came and placed a crown
 * Upon each reverend head.

Where the Sarayu's waves dash free
 * Against a rocky bank,

The monarch had the corpses three
 * Conveyed by men of rank;

There honoured he with royal pomp
 * Their funeral obsequies,—

Incense and sandal, drum and tromp,
 * And solemn sacrifice.