each path shall teem
    With hurried feet, and visages of care. 
    And eager throngs shall meet where dusky marts
    Resound like ocean-caverns, with the din
    Of toil and strife and agony and sin. 
    Trade’s busy Babel!  Ah! how many hearts
    By lust of gold to thy dim temples brought
    In happier hours have scorned the prize they sought?

D.L.R.

I now give a pair of sonnets upon the City of Palaces as viewed through somewhat clearer glasses.

VIEW OF CALCUTTA.

    Here Passion’s restless eye and spirit rude
    May greet no kindred images of power
    To fear or wonder ministrant.  No tower,
    Time-struck and tenantless, here seems to brood,
    In the dread majesty of solitude,
    O’er human pride departed—­no rocks lower
    O’er ravenous billows—­no vast hollow wood
    Rings with the lion’s thunder—­no dark bower
    The crouching tiger haunts—­no gloomy cave
    Glitters with savage eyes!  But all the scene
    Is calm and cheerful.  At the mild command
    Of Britain’s sons, the skilful and the brave,
    Fair palace-structures decorate the land,
    And proud ships float on Hooghly’s breast serene!

D.L.R.

SONNET, ON RETURNING TO CALCUTTA AFTER A VOYAGE TO THE STRAITS OF
MALACCA.

    Umbrageous woods, green dells, and mountains high,
    And bright cascades, and wide cerulean seas,
    Slumbering, or snow-wreathed by the freshening breeze,
    And isles like motionless clouds upon the sky
    In silent summer noons, late charmed mine eye,
    Until my soul was stirred like wind-touched trees,
    And passionate love and speechless ecstasies
    Up-raised the thoughts in spiritual depths that lie. 
    Fair scenes, ye haunt me still!  Yet I behold
    This sultry city on the level shore
    Not all unmoved; for here our fathers bold
    Won proud historic names in days of yore,
    And here are generous hearts that ne’er grow cold,
    And many a friendly hand and open door.

D.L.R.

There are several extremely elegant customs connected with some of the Indian Festivals, at which flowers are used in great profusion.  The surface of the “sacred river” is often thickly strewn with them.  In Mrs. Carshore’s pleasing volume of Songs of the East[053] there is a long poem (too long to quote entire) in which the Beara Festival is described.  I must give the introductory passage.

“THE BEARA FESTIVAL.

    “Upon the Ganges’ overflowing banks,
    Where palm trees lined the shore in graceful ranks,
    I stood one night amidst a merry throng
    Of British youths and maidens, to behold
    A witching Indian scene of light and song,
    Crowds of veiled native loveliness untold,
    Each streaming path poured duskily along. 
    The air was filled with the