T. Ramakrishna

    A poet of my native land has said -
    The life the good and virtuous lead on earth
    Is like the black-eyed maiden of the East,
    Who paints the lids to look more bright and fair.
    The eyes may smart and water, but withal
    She loves to please them that behold her face.
    E'en so, my Master, thine own life has been.
    Thy songs have pleased the world, thy thoughts divine
    Have purified, likewise ennobled man.
    And what are they, those songs and thoughts divine,
    But sad experience of thy life, dipt deep
    In thine own tears, and traced on nature's page?
    To please and teach the world for two dear ones
    You mourned - a friend in youth, a son in age
    'Tis said the life that gives one moment's joy
    To one lone mortal is not li...

    It was by far the loveliest scene in Ind: -
    A deep sunk lonely vale, 'tween verdant hills
    That, in eternal friendship, seemed to hold
    Communion with the changing skies above;
    Dark shady groves the haunts of shepherd boys
    And wearied peasants in the midday noon;
    A lake that shone in lustre clear and bright
    Like a pure Indian diamond set amidst
    Green emeralds, where every morn, with songs
    Of parted lovers that tempted blooming maids
    With pitchers on their heads to stay and hear
    Those songs, the busy villagers of the vale
    Their green fields watered that gave them sure hopes
    Of future plenty and of future joys.
    Oh, how uncertain man's sure hopes and joys!
    In this enchanted hollow that was scooped -
  ...

BY T. RAMAKRISHNA, B.A.


With an Introduction by the Hon. the Rev. W. MILLER, M.A., LL.D., C.I.E., and dedicated, by permission, to the late Lord Tennyson, Poet Laureate.

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OPINIONS.


They are interesting and remarkable. - Lord Tennyson.

It is a great pleasure to me to find that a native of South India has so distinguished himself. - The Right Hon. Sir M.E. Grant Duff, G.C.S.I.

It is not often that natives succeed so well as you have done in English versification. - H.H. Kérala Varma, C.S.I.

Krishnapore irresistibly reminds us of Auburn, the fortunes of Seeta are in many respects not unlike those of Evangeline, and some forms of expression seem to be coined in the mint ...

The Korathy is the tattooer of the Indian village, who offers her services for a small fee. Hindu females are very fond of having their bodies tattooed. The Korathy first makes a sketch of the figure of a scorpion or a serpent on the part of the body offered to her for tattooing, then takes a number of sharp needles, dips them in some liquid preparation which she has ready, and pricks the flesh most mercilessly. In a few days the whole appears green. This is considered a mark of beauty among the Hindus. While the tattooing takes place the Korathy sings a crude song, so as to make the person undergoing the process forget the pain. The following is as nearly as possible a translation of the song which I myself heard: -


    Stay, darling, stay - 'tis only for an hour,
    And you will be the fairest of the fair.
  ...

    It was the month of May, and glorious rose
    The sun on Jinji, bathing in his light
    Her lofty hills, her ancient walls and towers,
    Her battlements, and all the glittering scene
    That bade the stranger tell - "here lives a prince;"
    And greeting late, as if too long he slept
    Upon his ocean bed, the eager crowd
    That in their best attire at early dawn
    Fast gathered from their hamlets far and wide,
    And like a hive swarmed on the castled hills.

    Perhaps some village poet waited there,
    Who day and night toiled hard in metres rare
    To sing the deeds and virtues of his prince
    And trace them on the leaves of that lone palm
    Which stood close by his humble cottage home.
    Perhaps with faces that bespoke deep grief<...

    A deep calm sea; on the blue waters toiled,
    From morn till eve, the simple fishermen;
    And, on the beach, there stood a group of huts
    Before whose gates old men sat mending nets
    And eyed with secret joy the little boys
    That gaily gambolled on the sandy beach
    Regardless of their parents' daily toils.
    And all the busy women left their homes
    And their young ones with baskets on their heads
    Filled with the finny treasures of the deep.

    A thousand yards to landward rose a town
    With its broad streets, high roofs, and busy marts.
    An ancient temple in the centre stood,
    Where to his servant Nandi once appeared
    Great Siva, it is said, in human frame.
    E'en learned saints sang of the holy shrine;
    And ...

    It was a land of plenty and of wealth;
    There God's indulgent hand made for a race
    Supremely blest a paradise on earth.
    A land of virtue, truth, and charity,
    Where nature's choicest treasures man enjoyed
    With little toil, where youth respected age,
    Where each his neighbour's wife his sister deemed,
    Where side by side the tiger and the lamb
    The water drank, and sported oft in mirth.
    A land where each man deemed him highly blest
    When he relieved the miseries of the poor,
    When to his roof the wearied traveller came
    To share his proffered bounty with good cheer.
    Such was the far-famed land of Panchala.

    Here reigned a king who walked in virtue's path,
    Who ruled his country only for his God.
    Hi...

    The star that rose to cheer our humble life,
    And make a little heaven of our home,
    Shall rise again - yes, surely rise again
    To give us everlasting joy divine.