(where this ceremony is so frequent that often, in the dusk of evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-Jala or Sea of Stars,) informed the Princess that it was the usual way, in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return.  If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain.

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo’s lamp proceeded:  and while she saw with pleasure that it was unextinguished, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river.”

Moore prepared himself for the writing of Lalla Rookh by “long and laborious reading.”  He himself narrates that Sir James Mackintosh was asked by Colonel Wilks, the Historian of British India, whether it was true that the poet had never been in the East.  Sir James replied, “Never.”  “Well, that shows me,” said Colonel Wilks, “that reading over D’Herbelot is as good as riding on the back of a camel.”  Sir John Malcolm, Sir William Ouseley and other high authorities have testified to the accuracy of Moore’s descriptions of Eastern scenes and customs.

The following lines were composed on the banks of the Hooghly at Cossipore, (many long years ago) just after beholding the river one evening almost covered with floating lamps.[054]

A HINDU FESTIVAL.

    Seated on a bank of green,
    Gazing on an Indian scene,
    I have dreams the mind to cheer,
    And a feast for eye and ear. 
    At my feet a river flows,
    And its broad face richly glows
    With the glory of the sun,
    Whose proud race is nearly run

    Ne’er before did sea or stream
    Kindle thus beneath his beam,
    Ne’er did miser’s eye behold
    Such a glittering mass of gold
    ’Gainst the gorgeous radiance float
    Darkly, many a sloop and boat,
    While in each the figures seem
    Like the shadows of a dream
    Swiftly, passively, they glide
    As sliders on a frozen tide.

    Sinks the sun—­the sudden night
    Falls, yet still the scene is bright
    Now the fire-fly’s living spark
    Glances through the foliage dark,
    And along the dusky stream
    Myriad lamps with ruddy gleam
    On the small waves float and quiver,
    As if upon the favored river,
    And to mark the sacred hour,
    Stars had fallen in a shower.

    For many a mile is either shore
    Illumined with a countless store
    Of lustres ranged in glittering rows,
    Each a golden column throws
    To light the dim depths of the tide,
    And the moon in all her pride
    Though beauteously her regions glow,
    Views a scene as fair below