Such hopes as these the stout Telinga cheer,
Amid his days of toil: the sire, the wife,
Are all intent to earn ; each eager hand

To full employment called, the door is latched,
And all the busy family abroad,

Save grandam blind, or sire of silvered hair:
Even softest damsels ply the willing thrift,
Allured by hopes of home; and eager toil
Beneath the mid-day sun in cheerful groupe,
While gladdening song recalls the scenes beloved
Of native mountains dear, and vallies wild.
Such song the traveller stills his pace to hear,
But may not gaze-for, like the cuckoo wild,
Whose fairy note from prying footstep flies,
Their bashful ditty shuns the stranger's gaze,
And drops to timid silence. Busier ply
The maiden groupe their toil, as traveller charmed,
Awaits their syren note, unconscious they
Of all the free simplicity of dress

That gives their forms unveiled a softer grace
In stranger's eye, and bids his fancy dream
Of primal times of innocence and love.
But near the bashful groupe of damsels young
Some aged matron sits, of mien composed,
And careful eye, to awe unlicenced gaze
And, haply too, some infant child to guard,
Whose new-wed mother plies her customed toil
Amid companions yet of maiden life;
While oft with fondest care her eye is turned
To where her infant sleeps, and lists her ear
If chance the sable urchin whimpering wake.
But all in careless sleep that infant lies,
From slanting poles in airy hammock swung,
Secure from speckled snake, and shaded cool
By densest leaves of banian's spreading bough→→
And thence at times, with head upraised, he peeps
To catch his mother's smile; as high from nest,
Amid the rocky steep securely placed,
The swallow's youngling eyes its coming dam,
And looks with wondering gaze on all the scene
Of world as yet untried-where many a wing
Thrids swift and strange the airy space below.

Thus thought the youth, but sooth even whilst he thought
His purpose all was lost; amidst the words,

Where first his wandering speech had found its theme,
His eye had met Phoolranee's gaze of love,

That seemed in anxious grief to scan his thoughts,
And know his hidden wish for home beloved,
Herself but hindrance felt; and whilst she gazed,
Her child, that saw her grief, had left his lap
To wipe her starting tear, and kiss her cheek,
Inquiring why she wept. The infant's deed
Was more than strong reproof; and love like her's
What dream of native land could e'er restore?
He owned her worth, and bade her terrors cease—
20. Her land was now his home. Old Hubert smiled
In sympathy with him, and love to her;
Then sought in cheerful tale his son to lead
To gladder thoughts; or kindliest sought to tell
With what attentive hand his country tries
To bless the age of veterans old and worn,

Whose faithful years in her encounters spent,

Have all those hopes of blissful home forgone ałe nd hand
That bid the exile mourn,-whose countries far
In youth or childhood left, are now estranged,

1

Nor hold one heart, whose pulse would beat with love, ku
To grant the wanderers home. And oft he sought,
As came the punctual day of month elapsed
That gives such hoary band the stipend due
Of age released from toil, his son to lead,
To meet their gathered groupe.

*

O'er village plain

1

To neighbouring wood they speed, whose shadowy depth
Is scarcely yet by glimmering dawn illumed,
There waits the veteran band their destined meed
By British hand dispensed. At distance seen
Romantic seems the view like fairy scene,
Where walk the forms of strange Arabian tale,
In world for genii framed. Amid the grove,
Some lean by shadowy banian's rooted bough,
With turbaned listeners drawn attentive round; +
Whilst some by low enchannelled wall recline,
That guides the hoarded rill from neighbouring tank
The plantains green to feed ; by naked tree,
Whose reddening blossoms deck the leafless branch,
One waiting groupe is seen; whilst others walk,
In lonely meditation, down the ranks

Of tall columnar palms. Like shadows all
In silence gliding dim, with languid step

t

Of grave-approaching age, and decked with robe
Of patriarchal time, they seem the ghosts
Of strange Elysian field, to hero shewn
Mid regions wild of death. But nearer come,
And mingling thro' the crowd, the pictured scene
That pleased the idle eye, is sudden lost
In living sympathy: appears around
In social groupes, a venerable band
Of aged men, in every various garb

Of India's hundred tribes, from many a field
And many a lengthened war the remnants left
Like dropping leaves that clothe December's oak,
When all the forest round has long been stripped.
They meet and talk; each face recalls to each
A thousand gone; and all the ceaseless hum
That floats along the breeze from aged tongues
In words of former years, and names of men
Long dead. The present world of living things
Is there forgot; while hoary memory tells
Her ghostly tale, and all the ancient groupes
Commix their stories wild of other years

,་་ 1

1

The pensioned veterans assemble monthly, from their different villages, at the nearest British station to receive their allowances. The scene presented on such occasions is extremely interesting; as well as the exultation with which these Indians are often heard to contrast the punctual regularity of the British payments with the uncertain and scrambling distributions afforded by the native powers to their dependants

The water is preserved in wells during the dry season, whence it is drawn by many awkward contrivances for the use of the gardens. The buckets are frequently of earthenware. A number of these are attached to a web of ropes, suspended in the well by passing over a revolving cylinder, by which means they are emptied and filled without assistance from the hand. The water flows from thence into a trough leading to certain small aqueducts, made on walls, which are raised about two feet from the ground; and which afford a sufficient descent to carry the water a considerable distance over the inequalities of the fields or gardens.

VOL. VIII.

E

With none to yield them love, and none to seek
With fond caress their soft connubial care,

་་་་་

They droop forlorn: and yet, whate'er the hand
Of power can do, the widow's heart to cheer
Is here in kindness tried; no bitter fear
Of haggard want shall haunt her feeble Eld,
And bid her children weep; her husband's lord
Is her protector still, and fills her hand
With competence: And here perchance she meets
With other widowed dame, whose youthful son
Has won her daughter's love, and led her forth
To share his fate, and like her mother sooth
Amid the toil of camps the soldier's cares.
How fair the bonds of love! the mothers too
Are thus conjoined, and each, in lonely Eld,
Finds pleasures new by kindness interchanged,
And hopes commingled fond in grandchild born.

But 'mid the veteran bands, one friendlier voice
Meets Hubert's ear, and bids his step return :—
The aged Nursoo, long his comrade loved
In days of war. For Nursoo's faithful years
In British warfare many a clime had seen
From green Ceylon to Egypt's northern lands;
And many a fight the proud medallions told

Had decked his breast. With him the veteran loves
Beneath the shadowy grove, where sweet at morn
The juicy palm-tree pours her Indian* wine,
To scan the wars and intervals of peace

That pleased their youth. Old Nursoo loves to tell
Of days of calm amid his native glens,
When sent with English arms to guard the vale
Where passed his youth, he met her kinsmen old
With welcome throned in every brightening eye;
And saw the peasants urge their toil secure,
Or yield their thanks for his protection given,
Where war late raged, and where his youth had seen,
Beneath each fieldward tree the ploughman's arms,
Who, trembling, strewed his field with hopeless seed,
While lurked the plunderers near. Nor less the heart

Of English Hubert loves to trace the time
When 'mid those Indian vales his days had passed
In sweet respite from war; his sole employ
The beaten foe from rocky towers to watch,
And guard with Sepoyt band the peaceful vale;
While all the love the grateful Indians bore
To generous England, centered sole in him,
Lone English soldier, mid their wondering crowds.
Unblessed their rites of village splendor seemed,

t1

The toddy, or palm-wine, is produced from three species of the palm, the cocoa, the date, and what is called the crab-tree: Those trees from which the juice or wine is drawn, produce no fruit. The juice is received from the stump of the fruit-bearing branches by means of a small earthen pot, into which the end of the branch is fixed; it is removed every morning and evening, but is seldom used by Europeans, except in the morning, the heat of the sun giving it a disagreeable sourness, when it oozes from the tree during the day. Many of the natives, on the contrary, prefer it in its acid state, and prepare from it, by boiling with garlic and spices, a beverage which is perfectly nauseating to European palates, but of which they are very fond. The palm-wine, when kept for a certain time, is also used as vinegar; and when distilled yields an inferior kind of spirituous liquor; when boiled in its fresh state, the residuum is a kind of coarse sugar.

+ Sepoy, (Sipahi, Spahi) is the Arabic word signifying soldier; it is now generally used to signify an Indian soldier in the British service.

In Middle Ind. All these his years have seen
And traced in all the fierce Pindarrie's haunt,
Yet triumph still in sinews unsubdued.
Yon man of stooping age, whose shivering limbs
Scarce patient seem the chilly morn to bear,
Was once a soldier stout: the Ebon staff,
Where press his leaning hands, is trophy ta'en
From arbor, loved by old Tippoo Sultaun,
In triumph half, and half in pity kept.
Yon Moslem old, from earliest childhood bred
Amid the British camp, scarce deigns to own
A different kindred; flows the English tongue
Like native Hindoostanee o'er his speech;
And oft with pride the hardy veteran tells
How side by side he stood with English bands,
To meet on isles of France the Frenchman's sword, t
And drive him headlong back. That glory shared
Yon dark Hindoo, whose mien, subdued and mild,
Seems scarce for soldier meet; yet firm and brave,
By Briton's side he met the shock of fight
Like Coral-soft amid its native deeps,
Yet charmed to firmest strength in upper air.
And see where stalks, with folded arms and slow,
Yon tall Bungalla: trained to all the skill
Of British war, he joined the fierce assault
That burst Batavia's iron lines, and tamed,
Thro' smoke and blood, Cornelis desperate fort:t
A faithful soldier he; yet strict to hold

Each rite of Brahman faith: with proud contempt
The newer sects he views, from Indian faith
By stranger's arts allured, as traveller sees
The crumbling stones by idle Arabs torn
From vast Egyptian pyramid, whose heighth,
Through countless time, yet unimpaired remains.

Thus through the various groupe the veteran's tale
Discursive roved; and oft with grateful heart
Would bid his son remark, how through the gloom
Of feeblest age each soldier smiled content,
And rested gladsome o'er his staff of Eld,
Secure in British faith, where waning years
For youthful toil with large rewards are paid.
And then would Hubert piteous seek the groupe
Of soldier's widows near :-Some wandering lone
Amid the distant trees, or leaning sad

Beneath the Jaca, laden with giant fruit ;-
With orphans some, a mournful burthen, charged,
Their hope at once, and grief; and childless some,
With no consoler near, save soldier old,
Their husband's ancient friend, who oft had shared
In wounds with him, and pestilence of camps
Their nursing care. Now, silent here and Îone,

• Most readers will know, that Pindarrie, is merely the Hinduwee word signifying Robber. The habits of the predatory race, to whom this name has been latterly restricted, bear a great resemblance to those of the well known Moss-troopers of border song.

The bravery and good conduct of the native troops, under their English officers, both at the capture of the Mauritius and of Batavia, will be long remembered. At both these places, particularly the former, they came immediately into contact with European antagonists, and did not one jot disgrace the character of British soldiers.

The laca is a species of what is called the Bread Fruit-tree; its fruit is considerably larger than an ordinary sized cucumber.

With none to yield them love, and none to seek
With fond caress their soft connubial care,
They droop forlorn: and yet, whate'er the hand
Of power can do, the widow's heart to cheer
Is here in kindness tried; no bitter fear
Of haggard want shall haunt her feeble Eld,
And bid her children weep; her husband's lord
Is her protector still, and fills her hand
With competence: And here perchance she meets
With other widowed dame, whose youthful son
Has won her daughter's love, and led her forth
To share his fate, and like her mother sooth
Amid the toil of camps the soldier's cares.
How fair the bonds of love! the mothers too
Are thus conjoined, and each, in lonely Eld,
Finds pleasures new by kindness interchanged,
And hopes commingled fond in grandchild born.

But 'mid the veteran bands, one friendlier voice
Meets Hubert's ear, and bids his step return :-
The aged Nursoo, long his comrade loved
In days of war. For Nursoo's faithful years
In British warfare many a clime had seen
From green Ceylon to Egypt's northern lands;
And many a fight the proud medallions told

Had decked his breast. With him the veteran loves
Beneath the shadowy grove, where sweet at morn
The juicy palm-tree pours her Indian* wine,
To scan the wars and intervals of peace

That pleased their youth, Old Nursoo loves to tell
Of days of calm amid his native glens,

When sent with English arms to guard the vale
Where passed his youth, he met her kinsmen old
With welcome throned in every brightening eye;
And saw the peasants urge their toil secure,
Or yield their thanks for his protection given,
Where war late raged, and where his youth had seen,
Beneath each fieldward tree the ploughman's arms,
Who, trembling, strewed his field with hopeless seed,
While lurked the plunderers near. Nor less the heart

Of English Hubert loves to trace the time
When 'mid those Indian vales his days had passed
In sweet respite from war; his sole employ
The beaten foe from rocky towers to watch,
And guard with Sepoyt band the peaceful vale;
While all the love the grateful Indians bore
To generous England, centered sole in him,
Lone English soldier, mid their wondering crowds.
Unblessed their rites of village splendor seemed,

*The toddy, or palm-wine, is produced from three species of the palm, the cocoa, the date, and what is called the crab-tree: Those trees from which the juice or wine is drawn, produce no fruit. The juice is received from the stump of the fruit-bearing branches by means of a small earthen pot, into which the end of the branch is fixed; it is removed every morning and evening, but is seldom used by Europeans, except in the morning, the heat of the sun giving it a disagreeable sourness, when it oozes from the tree during the day. Many of the natives, on the contrary, prefer it in its acid state, and prepare from it, by boiling with garlic and spices, a beverage which is perfectly nauseating to European palates, but of which they are very fond. The palm-wine, when kept for a certain time, is also used as vinegar; and when distilled yields an inferior kind of spirituous liquor; when boiled in its fresh state, the residuum is a kind of coarse sugar.

+ Sepoy, (Sipahi, Spahi) is the Arabic word signifying soldier; it is now generally used to signify an Indian soldier in the British service.