is poor,
      And him at home thou shalt not find;
    Ask for my father; at the door
      Knock loudly; he is deaf, but kind. 
    Seest thou that lofty gilded spire
      Above these tufts of foliage green? 
    That is our place; its point of fire
      Will guide thee o’er the tract between.”

    “That is the temple spire.”—­“Yes, there
      We live; my father is the priest,
    The manse is near, a building fair
      But lowly, to the temple’s east. 
    When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,
      His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,
    Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,
      And he must pay so much for that. 
    Be sure, he will not let thee pass
      Without the value, and a meal. 
    If he demur, or cry alas! 
      No money hath he—­then reveal,

    Within the small box, marked with streaks
      Of bright vermilion, by the shrine,
    The key whereof has lain for weeks
      Untouched, he’ll find some coin—­’tis mine. 
    That will enable him to pay
      The bracelet’s price, now fare thee well!”
    She spoke, the pedler went away,
      Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;
    While she left lonely there, prepared
      To plunge into the water pure,
    And like a rose her beauty bared,
      From all observance quite secure.

    Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,
      Strong was each limb of flexile grace,
    And full the bust; the mien elate,
      Like hers, the goddess of the chase
    On Latmos hill—­and oh, the face
      Framed in its cloud of floating hair,
    No painter’s hand might hope to trace
      The beauty and the glory there! 
    Well might the pedler look with awe,
      For though her eyes were soft, a ray
    Lit them at times, which kings who saw
      Would never dare to disobey.

    Onwards through groves the pedler sped
      Till full in front the sunlit spire
    Arose before him.  Paths which led
      To gardens trim in gay attire
    Lay all around.  And lo! the manse,
      Humble but neat with open door! 
    He paused, and blest the lucky chance
      That brought his bark to such a shore. 
    Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,
      Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,
    Spoke in a language sweet and plain,
      “Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell.”

    Unconsciously he raised his cry,
      “Shell-bracelets ho!” And at his voice
    Looked out the priest, with eager eye,
      And made his heart at once rejoice. 
    “Ho, Sankha pedler!  Pass not by,
      But step thou in, and share the food
    Just offered on our altar high,
      If thou art in a hungry mood. 
    Welcome are all to this repast! 
      The rich and poor, the high and low! 
    Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,
      Then on thy journey strengthened go.”