Fair scenes! whence envious Art might steal
    More charms than fancy’s realms reveal—­
    Where the tall palm to the sky
    Lifts its wreath triumphantly—­
    And the bambu’s tapering bough
    Loves its flexile arch to throw—­
    Where sleeps the favored lotus white,
    On the still lake’s bosom bright—­
    Where the champac’s[112] blossoms shine,
    Offerings meet for Brahma’s shrine,
    While the fragrance floateth wide
    O’er velvet lawn and glassy tide—­
    Where the mangoe tope bestows
    Night at noon day—­cool repose,
    Neath burning heavens—­a hush profound
    Breathing o’er the shaded ground—­
    Where the medicinal neem,
    Of palest foliage, softest gleam,
    And the small leafed tamarind
    Tremble at each whispering wind—­
    And the long plumed cocoas stand
    Like the princes of the land,
    Near the betel’s pillar slim,
    With capital richly wrought and trim—­
    And the neglected wild sonail
    Drops her yellow ringlets pale—­
    And light airs summer odours throw
    From the bala’s breast of snow—­
    Where the Briarean banyan shades
    The crowded ghat, while Indian maids,
    Untouched by noon tide’s scorching rays,
    Lave the sleek limb, or fill the vase
    With liquid life, or on the head
    Replace it, and with graceful tread
    And form erect, and movement slow,
    Back to their simple dwellings go—­
    [Walls of earth, that stoutly stand,
    Neatly smoothed with wetted hand—­
    Straw roofs, yellow once and gay,
    Turned by time and tempest gray—­]
    Where the merry minahs crowd
    Unbrageous haunts, and chirrup loud—­
    And shrilly talk the parrots green
    ’Midst the thick leaves dimly seen—­
    And through the quivering foliage play,
    Light as buds, the squirrels gay,
    Quickly as the noontide beams
    Dance upon the rippled streams—­
    Where the pariah[113] howls with fear,
    If the white man passeth near—­
    Where the beast that mocks our race
    With taper finger, solemn face,
    In the cool shade sits at ease
    Calm and grave as Socrates—­
    Where the sluggish buffaloe
    Wallows in mud—­and huge and slow,
    Like massive cloud of sombre van,
    Moves the land leviathan—­[114]
    Where beneath the jungle’s screen
    Close enwoven, lurks unseen
    The couchant tiger—­and the snake
    His sly and sinuous way doth make
    Through the rich mead’s grassy net,
    Like a miniature rivulet—­
    Where small white cattle, scattered wide,
    Browse, from dawn to even tide—­
    Where the river watered soil
    Scarce demands the ryot’s toil—­
    And the rice field’s emerald light
    Out vies Italian meadows bright,—­
    Where leaves of every shape and dye,
    And blossoms varied as the