Classic Poem

SERIM:

OR, THE ARTIFICIAL FAMINE :

An East-Indian Eclogue.

" O Guardian-Genius of this sacred wave!
O save thy sons, if thine the power to save!"
So Serim spoke, as sad on Ganges' shore
He sat, his country's miseries to deplore —
" O Guardian Genius of this sacred wave!
O save thy sons, if thine the power to save!
From Agra's towers to Muxadabat's" walls,
On thee for aid the suffering Hindoo calls;
Europe's fell race control the wide domain,
Engross the harvest, and enslave the swam,
Why rise these cumbrous piies along thy tide?
They hold the plenty to our prayers denied!
Guards at their gates perpetual watch maintain,
Where Want, in anguish, craves relief in vain.
" Bring gold, bring gems, " the' insatiate piunderers cry;
" Who hoards his wealth by Hunger's rage shall die. "
Ye Fiends! ye have ravish'd all our little store;
Ye see we perish, yet ye ask for more!
Go ye yourselves, and search for gold the mine;
Go, dive where pearls beneath the ocean shine!
What right have ye to plague our peaceful land?
No ships of ours e'er sought your western strand:
Ne'er from your fields we snatch'd their crops away,
Nor made your daughters or your sons our prey.
Not ev'n in thought we quit our native place —
A calm, contented, inoffensive race!
By Avarice led, ye range remotest climes,
And every nation execrates your crimes.
" When Timur's House, renown'd, in Delhi reign'd,
Distress, assistance unimplor'd obtain'd:
When Famine o'er the' afflicted region frown'd,
And Sickness languish'd on the barren ground,
The' imperial granaries wide display'd their doors,
And ships provision brought from distant shores;
The laden camels crowded Kurah's vales,
From Colgon's cliffs they hail'd the coming sails.
But ye! — ev'n now, while favouring seasons smile,
And the rich glebe would recompense our toil,
Dearth and Disease to you alone we owe;
Ye cause the mischief, and enjoy the woe!
" This beauteous clime, but late, what plenty bless'd!
What days of pleasure, and what nights of rest!
From Gola's streets, fam'd mart of fragrant grain!
Trade's cheerful voice resounded o'er the plain;
There now sad Silence listens to the waves
That break in murmurs round the rocky caves.
Sweet were the songs o'er Jumal's level borne,
While busy thousands throng'd to plant the corn;
Now tenfold tax the farmer forc'd to yield,
Despairs, and leaves unoccupied the field.
Sweet were the songs of Burdwan's mulberry grove
While the rich silk the rapid shuttle wove;
Now from the loom our costly vestments torn,
The' insulting robbers meanest slaves adorn.
In Malda's shades, on Purna's palmy plain,
The hapless artists, urg'd to toil in vain,
Quit their sad homes, and mourn along the land,
A pensive, pallid, self-disabled band! —
" The year revolves — " Bring choicest fruits and flowers!
Spread wide the board in consecrated bowers;
Bring Joy, bring Sport, the song, the dance prepare,
'Tis Drugah's Feast, and all our friends must share! "
The year revolves — nor fruits nor flowers are seen;
Nor festive board in bowers of holy green;
Nor Joy, nor Sport, nor dance, nor tuneful strain:
'Tis Drugah's feast — but Grief and Terror reign.
Yet there, ingrate! oft welcome guests ye came,
And talk'd of Honour's laws and Friendship's flame,
" The year revolves — and Bishen's Fast invites
On Ganges' marge to pay the solemn rites;
All, boons of Bishen, great preserver, crave;
All, in the sacred flood, their bodies lave:
No more, alas! — the multitude no more
Bathe in the tide, or kneel upon the shore;
No more from towns and villages they throng,
Wide o'er the fields, the public paths along:
Sad on our ways, by human foot unworn,
Stalks the dim form of Solitude forlorn! —
From Ava's mountains Morn's bright eyes survey
Fair Ganges' streams in many a winding stray:
There fleecy flocks on many an island feed;
There herds unumber'd pasture many a mead;
(While noxious herbs our last resource supply,
And, dearth escaping, by disease we die)
" Take these, " ye cry, " nor more for food complain;
Take these, and slay like us, and riot on the slain! "
Ah, no! our Law the crime abhor'd withstands;
We die — but blood shall ne'er pollute our hands.
O Guardian-Genius of this sacred wave!
Save, save thy sons, if thine the power to save!"
So Serim spoke — while by the moon's pale beam,
The frequent corse came floating down the stream,
He sigh'd, and rising turn'd his steps to rove
Where wav'd o'er Nizim's vale the cocoa-grove;
There, midst scorch'd ruins, one lone roof remain'd,
And one forlorn inhabitant contain'd.
The sound of feet he near his threshold heard;
Slow from the ground his languid limbs he rear'd:
" Come, Tyrant, come! perform a generous part,
Lift thy keen steel, and pierce this fainting heart!
Com'st thou for gold? my gold, alas, I gave,
My darling daughter in distress to save!
Thy faithless brethren took the shining store,
Then from my arms the trembling virgin tore!
Three days, three nights, I've languish'd here alone —
Three foodless days, three nights to sleep unknown!
Come, Tyrant, come! perform a generous part,
Lift thy keen steel, and pierce this fainting heart!"
" No hostile steps the haunt of Woe invade,
Serim replied — and, passing where the glade
A length of prospect down the vale display'd,
Another sight of misery met his view;
Another mournful voice his notice drew!
There, near a temple's recent ruin, stood
A white-rob'd Bramin, by the sacred flood:
His wives, his children, dead beside him lay —
Of hunger these, and those of grief the prey!
Thrice he with dust defil'd his aged head;
Thrice o'er the stream his hands uplifted spread:
" Hear, all ye powers to whom we bend in prayer!
Hear, all who rule o'er water, earth, and air!
'Tis not for them, though lifeless there they lie;
'Tis not for me, though innocent I die; —
My country's breast the tiger, Avarice, rends,
And loud to you her parting groan ascends.
Hear, all ye powers to whom we bend in prayer!
Hear, all who rule o'er water, earth, and air!
Hear, and avenge! — —
" But hark! what voice, from yonder starry sphere,
Slides, like the breeze of evening, o'er my ear?
Lo, Birmah's form! on amber clouds enthron'd;
His azure robe with lucid emerald zon'd;
He looks celestial dignity and grace,
And views with pity wretched human race!
" Forbear, rash man! nor curse thy country's foes;
Frail man to man forgiveness ever owes.
When Moisasoor the fell, to Earth's fair plain
Brought his detested offspring, Strife and Pain;
Revenge with them, relentless Fury, came,
Her bosom burning with infernal flame!
Her hair sheds horror, like the comet's blaze;
Her eyes, all ghastly, blast where'er they gaze;
Her lifted arm a poison'd crice sustains;
Her garments drop with blood of kindred veins!
Who asks her aid, must own her endless reign,
Feel her keen scourge, and drag her galling chain!
" The strains sublime in sweetest music close,
And all the tumult of my soul compose.
Yet you, ye' oppressors! uninvok'd on you,
Your steps, the steps of Justice will pursue!
Go, spread your white sails on the azure main;
Fraught with our spoils, your native land regain;
Go, plant the grove, and bid the lake expand,
And on green hills the pompous palace stand:
Let Luxury's hand adorn the gaudy room,
Smooth the soft couch, and shed the rich perfume —
There Night's kind calm in vain shall sleep invite,
While fancied omens warn, and spectres fright:
Sad sounds shall issue from your guilty walls,
The widow'd wife's, the sonless mother's calls;
And infant Rajahs' bleeding forms shall rise,
And lift to you their supplicating eyes:
Remorse intolerable your hearts will feel,
And your own hands plunge deep the' avenging steel.
(For Europe's cowards Heaven's command disdain,
To Death's cold arms they fly for ease in vain.)
For us, each painful transmigration o'er,
Sweet fields receive us to resign no more;
Where Safety's fence for ever round us grows,
And Peace, fair flower, with bloom unfading blows;
Light's sun unsetting shines with cheering beam;
And Pleasure's river rolls its golden stream!"
Enrapt he spoke — then ceas'd the lofty strain,
And Orel's rocks return'd the sound again. —
A British ruffian, near in ambush laid,
Rush'd sudden from the cane-isle's secret shade;
" Go to thy Gods!" with rage infernal cried,
And headlong plung'd the hapless Sage into the foaming tide.