Page:The Slave Girl of Agra.djvu/60

 had made a gift to the Musalmans of Birnagar for the building of their mosque.

It was nearly mid-day before Nobo Kumar and his party could turn homewards. Not far from the lion-gate of the Zemindari House two little boys, all crimson with red powder, were dancing and playing under a tree, reciting some verses with a monotonous cadence. Something in their voice and antics struck Nobo Kumar, and although he was tired with the morning's long walk through the town, he stood awhile and listened.

Lo! Kansa the tyrant is ruling the land,
 * And lords o'er the people in fury and might,

And the sturdiest bend neath his iron-bound wand,
 * And the lowliest flee from his cold, cruel sight!

But the rule of the tyrant will never endure,
 * His end is approaching, as prophets can tell,

For a Child hath been born, and his vengeance is sure,
 * He will rise in his wrath and the tyrant will fell!

The tyrant hath heard and he knoweth no rest,
 * He doometh the young and the sinless to die,

And they slaughter the babe on the young mother's breast,
 * And shrieks of the dying fill earth and the sky!

But new-born Murari will escape in the night,
 * And the hood of the cobra the infant will shield,

And Jumna's blue waters will part in their height,
 * And darkness will hide him in cottage and field.

Lo! Kansa the tyrant is ruling the land,
 * And he lords o'er the people in fury and might,