Page:Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan.djvu/173

Rh

Like a huge Python, winding round and round

The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars,

Up to its very summit near the stars,

A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound

No other tree could live. But gallantly

The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung

In crimson clusters all the boughs among,

Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;

And oft at nights the garden overflows

With one sweet song that seems to have no close,

Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.

When first my casement is wide open thrown

At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;

Sometimes, and most in winter,—on its crest

A grey baboon sits statue-like alone

Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs

His puny offspring leap about and play;