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(From Shuhur, Jeypore)
A LONELY grave, far from all kindred ties; | |
| Lonely like life, and that was passed afar | |
| From friends and home. ’T is well that youth has hopes | |
| That gladden, with the future, present hours; | |
| Or else how sorrowful would seem the time | 5 |
| Which parts the young bird from its parent nest, | |
| To wing its passage through the dreary world. | |
| Alas! hope is not prophecy,—we dream, | |
| But rarely does the glad fulfilment come: | |
| We leave our land and we return no more, | 10 |
| Or come again, the weary and the worn. | |
| But yonder grave, where the dark branches droop, | |
| The only sign of mourning, early closed | |
| O’er the young English stranger;—former love | |
| And other days were warm about his heart, | 15 |
| When it grew cold forever. * * * * * | |
| And many are the tombs that scattered lie | |
| Alone neglected, o’er the Indian plains,— | |
| ’T is the worst curse, on this our social world, | |
| Fortune’s perpetual presence,—wealth, which now | 20 |
| Is like life’s paramount necessity. | |
| For this, the household band is broken up, | |
| The hearth made desolate, and sundered hearts | |
| Left to forget or break. For this the earth | |
| Is covered with a thousand English graves, | 25 |
| By whose side none remain to weep or pray; | |
| Alas! we do mistake, and vainly buy | |
| Our golden idols at too great a price. * * * * * | |
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