freedom and of joy.[4]
E'en so, none dared, so fearful is the gorge,
To gaze upon the river's loveliness,
Except those inmates of the mountain caves,
That in the noontide hour, to quench their thirst,
Climb down, regardless of the huntsman's bow,
Or save the vultures of the air, those birds
Which, soaring on majestic wings aloft,
Alight, as if by instinct drawn, upon
Her shady margins, there to feast upon
The carcass of some beast that died of age.
But soon the valley widens, and she flows
At will, her waters sparkle in the sun,
And on her margins for grim hills are seen
Green fields, deep shady groves, and peaceful homes.
'Tis here those mountains, that kept zealous guard
O'er Pampa, fade away from view, as if
To make amends for past unkindliness,
So leaving her to shoot into the plain
And watering Vijiapore and countless lands:
'Twas here the village stood of Chengalpore,
The scene of many noble deeds of man
And woman's high devotion to her lord.
'Twas here one crowded hour of Timma's life
Was worth his country's brightest annals, rich
In spoils of war and deeds of valiant men.
In that one hour of all his glorious life
He won a kingdom and a bride, for whom
He left that kingdom never to return;
And this the story of that glorious hour.
One day the news to Vijiapore was brought:
The elephant whose rich caparisoned back
The king, to please his subjects, once a year
Rode on, his keeper in a sudden fit
Of frenzy killed, and dreadful havoc wrought
Amongst the royal steeds in Chengalpore;
And now the mandate from the king went forth
That Timmaraj should slay his fav'rite beast,
For e'en the stoutest warrior of the land
Dared not approach him in his frenzied mood.
Then 'twas that Chandra suddenly her mind
Declared and boldly spake in words like these:
"It is not meet, dear father, that thou shouldst
So lightly use our only warrior's life,
Who won so many battles for his king
And added nought but glory and renown
Unto his country, and bid him thus fling
His life away before a beast insane.
Thou knowest well thy foes are ever bent
On wresting from thine hands this ancient crown,
And he alone it is that often curbs
Their pride. Yes, Timmaraj shall slay the beast,
But grant my pray'r that he shall marry me,
For often hast thou said that womanhood
I long ago attained, and soon should wed
One, therefo