Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/86

64 Grave in the tide the Brahman stands, And folds his cord, or twirls his hands. And tells his beads, and all unheard Mutters a solemn mystic word. With reverence the Sudra dips, And fervently the current sips. That to his humbler hopes conveys A future life of happier days. But chief do India's simple daughters Assemble in these hallowed waters, With vase of classic model laden, Like Grecian girl or Tuscan maiden, Collecting thus their urns to fill From gushing fount or trickling rill; And still with pious fervour they To Ganga veneration pay, And with pretenceless rite prefer The wishes of their hearts to her. The maid or matron, as she throws Champac or lotus, bel or rose, Or sends the quivering light afloat In shallow cup or paper boat, Prays for a parent's peace and wealth. Prays for a child's success and health. For a fond husband breathes a prayer, For progeny their loves to share. For what of good on earth is given To lowly life, or hoped in heaven,

And still in quick succession start Village and hamlet; town and mart, And ghats that to the stream descend. And temples where the votaries bend In homage unto stones and flowers, Or to less inoffensive powers. And hark, the sounds of horn and drum Along the river fitful come.