“O sweetest Dove,
May grief be far from thee,
Who lovest sorrow when thou lovest me;
But changeful love
May yet be fixed by grief no more to rove,
And we by woe be bound in constancy. 
O Roses, bear me witness of my truth,
Death with my love were life a thousand-fold,
Dear death were fairer than immortal youth
Could it life’s weal in friendly arms enfold. 
Dark Angel of the River’s brink, draw near,
In stable grasp this sovereign hour assure,
Cast icy glamour o’er my love’s sweet cheer,
Forever then shall that dear love endure,
An end of sweets fair Chance may hold in store
Were death of all the changeful moods of time,
And boundless being of my love’s sweet prime.

     Ah, thorny Roses, prate ye still of ruth
     And would me my brief hour of bliss deny? 
     And yet all happy things to love are sooth,
     But I, ah me, this destiny so high
     Weighs on my spirit like a drowsy spell,
     I cannot joy like those, nor stay, I fail
     Before the greatness of my high behest,
     Ah, high is holiness, but love is rest,
     Yes, love is rest, is rest; then blow, sweet gale
     Of soft forgetfulness about me still,
     And O, ye Roses, balmy breath exhale
     And all my consciousness with slumber fill.

     And, O sweet Love, I pray you yield me now
     One little pearl from the fair coronal
     That crowns the loveliness of that calm brow,
     And I, where’er I be, will own its thrall,
     And gaze on it and dream until I see
     A phantom love, before whom I shall fall
     And pray, adoring white-robed purity.”

CHAPTER V.

“Your lofty faith and devotion, my son, move me deeply.  The heroic spirit of my brother Raee seems once more to incite me to deeds of daring which in these degenerate days would alas be vain.”

So spoke Lehna Singh in the midst of luxury and splendour that had been amassed in no hazardous career of adventure or enterprise, but by methods of coldest calculation and avarice.  His listeners were his nephew, whom he addressed, and the Rajah Lal Singh, chief favourite of the notorious Ranee, a man of cringing and servile demeanour, notwithstanding his rank, whose crafty smile followed the speaker’s words as he scrutinized the countenance of Atma, as if to learn their effect.  The apartment in which they sat was an inner chamber, small, secluded, and silent, for the fame of Lal, lately Wuzeer to the little Maharajah, but for grave offences disgraced and removed from Lahore, was such as to demand caution on the part of those who would consort with him.