Page:The Bengali Book of English Verse.djvu/102

70 O'er crumbled thrones thy waters glide, Through scenes of blood and woe; And crown and kingdom, might and sway, The victor's and the poet's bay, Ignobly sleep below. Sole remnant of our ancient pride; Thy waves survive the wreck of time, And wanton free, as in their prime.

I gaze upon thy current strong Beneath the blaze of day; What conjured visions throng my sight, Of war and carnage, death and flight! Thy waters to the Bay In purple eddies sweep along, And Freedom shrieking leaves her shrine, Alas! no longer now divine.

'Twas here the savage Tartar stood, And toss'd his brand and spear; The ripples of thy sacred stream Reflected back his sabre's gleam, While quaked with dastard fear The children of a haughtier blood, No longer now a haughty race, Their own, their sires', their land's disgrace.

But why recount our woes and shame? Upon thy sacred shore Be mine to dream of glories past, To grieve those glories could not last, And muse on days of yore; For ever harp on former fame, Remembering still those spirits brave Who sleep beneath thy boist'rous wave.