Page:Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan.djvu/165

Rh Not dead,—oh no,—she cannot die! Only a swoon, from loss of blood! Levite England passes her by, Help, Samaritan! None is nigh; Who shall stanch me this sanguine flood?

Range the brown hair, it blinds her eyne, Dash cold water over her face! Drowned in her blood, she makes no sign, Give her a draught of generous wine. None heed, none hear, to do this grace.

Head of the human column, thus Ever in swoon wilt thou remain? Thought, Freedom, Truth, quenched ominous, Whence then shall Hope arise for us, Plunged in the darkness all again!