Page:The Bengali Book of English Verse.djvu/101

Rh  The mountain-torrent rushing down Can ne'er its course retrace, And souls that speed on glory's path Must ever onward press:

Aye, onward press—to bleed and die, Triumphant still in death; Impostor, hence! in other lands Go draw thy coward breath.

 

The waves are dashing proudly down, Along thy sounding shore; Lashing, with all the storm of power, The craggy base of mountain tower, Of mosque, and pagod hoar, That darkly o'er thy waters frown; As if their moody spirits' sway Could hush thy wild and boist'rous play.

Unconscious roll the surges down, But not unconscious thou, Dread spirit of the roaring flood! For ages worshipp'd as a god, And worshipp'd even now— Worshipp'd and not by serf or clown; For sages of the mightiest fame Have paid their homage to thy name.

Canst thou forget the glorious past, When, mighty as a god, With hands and heart unfetter'd yet, And eyes with slavish tears unwet, Each sable warrior trod Thy sacred shore; before the blast Of Moslem conquest hurried by; Ere yet the Mogul spear was nigh?

