No figures can be imagined more anti-picturesque, and less poetical, than the mythological personages of the Bramins. This deformity was easily kept out of sight:—their hundred hands are but a clumsy personification of power; their numerous heads only a gross image of divinity, "whose countenance," as the Bhagvat-Geeta other obvious objection, that the religion of Hindostan is not generally known enough to supply fit machinery for an English poem, I can only answer, that, if every allusion to it throughout the work is not sufficiently self-explained to render the passage intelligible, there is a want of skill in the poet. Even those readers who should be wholly unacquainted with the writings of our learned Orientalists, will find all the preliminary knowledge that can be needful, in the brief explanation of mythological names prefixed to the Poem. "We know not that Mr. Southey's most devoted admirers can complain of our having omitted a single incident essential to the display of his character or the development of his plot. To other readers we should apologize for our prolixity, were we not desirous, as we hinted before, of giving a death-blow to the gross extravagances of the author's school of poetry, if we cannot hope to re-expresses it, "is turned on every side." To the form so great an offender as himself. In general, all that nature and all that art has lavished on him is rendered useless by his obstinate adherence to his own system of fancied originality, in which every thing that is good is old, and every thing that is new is good for nothing. Convinced as we are that many of the author's faults proceed from mere idleness, deserving even less indulgence than the erroneous principles of his poetical system, we shall conclude by a general exhortation to all critics to condemn, and to all writers to avoid, the example of combined carelessness and perversity which is here afforded by Mr. Southey; and we shall mark this last and worst eccentricity of his Muse with the following character:- Here is the composition of a poet not more distinguished by his genius and knowledge, than by his contempt for public opinion and the utter depravity of his taste —a depravity which is incorrigible, and, we are sorry to add, most unblushingly rejoicing in its own hopelessness of amendment.' The Monthly Review has, I believe, been for some years defunct. I never knew to whom I was beholden for the good service rendered me in that Journal, when such assistance was of most value; nor by whom I was subsequently, during several years, favored in the same Journal with such flagrant civilities as those of which the reader has here seen a sample. KESWICK, 19th May, 1838. ORIGINAL PREFACE. In the religion of the Hindoos, which of all false religions is the most monstrous in its fables, and the most fatal in its effects, there is one remarkable peculiarity. Prayers, penances, and sacrifices, are supposed to possess an inherent and actual value, in no degree depending upon the disposition or motive of the person who performs them. They are drafts upon Heaven, for which the Gods cannot refuse payment. The worst men, bent upon the worst designs, have in this manner obtained power which has made them formidable to the Supreme Deities themselves, and rendered an Avatar, or Incarnation of Veeshnoo the Preserver, necessary. This belief is the foundation of the following Poem. The story is original; but, in all its parts, consistent with the superstition upon which it is built; and however startling the fictions may appear, they might almost be called credible when compared with the genuine tales of Hindoo mythology. BRAMA,.. SEEVA, ... the Creator. the Destroyer. These form the Trimourtee, or Trinity, as it has been VINDRA, .... Hell, - -under the Earth, and, like the Earth, of an octagon shape; its eight gates are guarded by as Hark! 'tis the funeral trumpet's breath! At once ten thousand drums begin, You hear no more the trumpet's tone, Swell with commingled force the funeral yell. Arvalan! Arvalan! Arvalan! Arvalan! Ten times ten thousand voices in one shout Call Arvalan! the overpowering sound, From house to house repeated, rings about, From tower to tower rolls round. 4. The death-procession moves along; Their bald heads shining to the torches' ray, The Bramins lead the way, Chanting the funeral song. And now at once they shout, Arvalan! Arvalan! With quick rebound of sound, All in accordant cry, Arvalan! Arvalan! The universal multitude reply. In vain ye thunder on his ear the name; Would ye awake the dead? Close following his dead son, Kehama came, Nor calling the dear name; And arms enfolded on his breast, That nature in his pride hath dealt the blow, And taught the Master of Mankind to know Even he himself is man, and not exempt from woe. 6. O sight of grief! the wives of Arvalan, With symphony, and dance, and song, Their kindred and their friends come on. The dance of sacrifice! the funeral song! And next the victim slaves in long array, Richly bedight to grace the fatal day, Move onward to their death; The clarions' stirring breath Lifts their thin robes in every flowing fold, And swells the woven gold, That on the agitated air Flutters and glitters to the torch's glare. 7. A man and maid of aspect wan and wild, Then, side by side, by bowmen guarded, came; O wretched father! O unhappy child! Them were all eyes of all the throng exploringIs this the daring man Who raised his fatal hand at Arvalan? Then were all hearts of all the throng deploring; 8. Far, far behind, beyond all reach of sight, Rolls on the undistinguishable clamor You cannot hear her cries, their sound In that wild dissonance is drown'd; But in her face you see The supplication and the agony, — See in her swelling throat the desperate strength And groan'd, and smote his breast, and o'er his face I thought thou wouldst imbody me anew, Undying as I am; Yea, re-create me! - Father, is this all? This all? and thou Almighty! 4. But in that wrongful and upbraiding tone For rising anger half suppress'd his grief. Had I not spell-secur'd thee from disease, Fire, sword, all common accidents of man,— And thou!- -fool, fool—to perish by a stake! And by a peasant's arm!— Even now, when from reluctant Heaven, Forcing new gifts and mightier attributes, So soon I should have quell'd the Death-God's power. 5. Waste not thy wrath on me, quoth Arvalan; It was my hour of folly! Fate prevail'd; Nor boots it to reproach me that I fell. I am in misery, Father! Other souls, Predoom'd to Indra's Heaven, enjoy the dawn Of bliss; to them the temper'd elements Minister joy: genial delight the sun Sheds on their happy being, and the stars Effuse on them benignant influences; And thus o'er earth and air they roam at will, And, when the number of their days is full, Go fearlessly before the awful throne. But I,-all naked feeling and raw life,What worse than this hath Yamen's hell in store? If ever thou didst love me, mercy, father! Save me, for thou can'st save- the Elements Know and obey thy voice. 6. KEHAMA. The Elements Shall sin no more against thee; whilst I speak, Already dost thou feel their power gone. Fear not! I cannot call again the past; Fate hath made that its own; but Fate shall yield To me the future; and thy doom be fix'd By mine, not Yamen's will. Meantime all power, Whereof thy feeble spirit can be made Participant, I give. Is there aught else To mitigate thy lot? ARVALAN. Only the sight of vengeance. Give me that! Vengeance, full, worthy vengeance!-not the stroke Of sudden punishment, -no agony That spends itself, and leaves the wretch at rest, But lasting, long revenge. KEHAMA. What, boy? is that cup sweet? then take thy fill! 7. So, as he spake, a glow of dreadful pride Inflamed his cheek; with quick and angry stride He moved toward the pile, And raised his hand to hush the crowd, and cried, 8. It chanced that near her, on the river-brink, The sculptured form of Marriataly stood; It was an Idol roughly hewn of wood, Artless, and mean, and rude; The Goddess of the poor was she; None else regarded her with piety. But when that holy Image Kailyal view'd, To that she sprung, to that she clung; On her own Goddess with close-clasping arms, For life the maiden hung. 9. They seized the maid; with unrelenting grasp They bruised her tender limbs; She, nothing yielding, to this only hope Clings with the strength of frenzy and despair; She screams not now, she breathes not now, She sends not up one vow, She forms not in her soul one secret prayer, All thought, all feeling, and all powers of life In the one effort centring. Wrathful they With tug and strain would force the maid away; Didst thou, O Marriataly, see their strife? In pity didst thou see the suffering maid? Or was thine anger kindled, that rude hands Assail'd thy holy Image?- for behold The holy image shakes! 10. From the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, From fire and from flood, From the serpent's tooth, And the beasts of blood: From Sickness I charm thee, And Time shall not harm thee; But Earth, which is mine, Its fruits shall deny thee; And Water shall hear me, And know thee and fly thee; And the Winds shall not touch thee When they pass by thee, And the Dews shall not wet thee, When they fall nigh thee: And visit thee never, And the Curse shall be on thee 15. There where the Curse had stricken him, There stood Ladurlad, with loose-hanging arms, Was it a dream? alas! He heard the river flow; He heard the crumbling of the pile; He heard the wind which shower'd The thin, white ashes round. There motionless he stood, As if he hoped it were a dream, And feared to move, lest he should prove The actual misery; And still at times he met Kehama's eye, Kehama's eye, that fastened on him still. III. THE RECOVERY. 1. THE Rajah turned toward the pile again; Loud rose the song of death from all the crowd; Their din the instruments begin, And once again join in O wretched man, in this disastrous scene? The dimly-fading fire. 2. Where, too, is she whom most his heart held dear, He staggers from the dreadful spot; the throng Like one who carries pestilence about, Shuddering they shun him, where he moves along. And now he wanders on Beyond the noisy rout: He cannot fly and leave his Curse behind; Yet doth he seem to find A comfort in the change of circumstance. Adown the shore he strays, Unknowing where his wretched feet shall rest, But farthest from the fatal place is best. 3. By this in the orient sky appears the gleam Of day. Lo! what is yonder in the stream, Down the slow river floating slow, In distance indistinct and dimly seen? The childless one, with idle eye, Followed its motion thoughtlessly; Idly he gazed, unknowing why, And half unconscious that he watch'd its way. Belike it is a tree Which some rude tempest, in its sudden sway, Tore from the rock, or from the hollow shore The undermining stream hath swept away. 4. But when anon outswelling, by its side, Yea, Marriataly, thou hast deign'd to save! |