Indian Antiquary Vol 05

SR No.: 032497
Original Sutra Author: N/A
Author: Jas Burgess
Publisher: Swati Publications
Publication Year: 1984
Total Pages: 438
Language: English
Classification: Book_English
File Size: 20 MB

Page 81

FEBRUARY, 1876.]
for one, a translation by Dr. Grant from the warlike poetry of Paraporal:
BOOK NOTICE.
The King goes to battle. "Like a sea surges up the terrible host, As by wind by its fury now goaded,
And the Monarch storms past through the opening ranks,
In a chariot with gold overloaded;
And there flies round the host, in its front and its rear,
In circles still growing more narrow, A flock of black demons, whose wide-gaping
"
maws
Will feed on the fallen one's marrow.
The Queen's Sorrow.
Who once filled the throne lies stretched on the
field,
And foes of his valour are singing; But Husband, O husband!' exclaims the wife Of the smile so tender and winning; And weeping and moaning she puts next her heart
His wreath all faded and gory, And clings to the breast which, pierced by a dart, Is covered with heavenly glory.
A Hero's Death. "As the lion who roams thro' the forest glade wild,
His eye with majesty flashing,
Yields his life without murmur when struck by a rock
That comes through the valley down dashing; So the hero, with sword all dripping with blood, Looks round on the hosts that surround him, Then flashes his eye, he raises his hand,
And falls with his foes all around him. Self-sacrifice of the Royal Wives.
"And now the great kings of the mighty sword On the field stark and cold are all lying, And see! the proud king with the giant-like arm,
Where the slain lie the thickest, is dying: The world too is weeping, and now the sad wives Themselves in the flames are all throwing, But, horror! the death-god is not yet content, But gloats o'er the death-piles still growing.
At the conclusion of the chapter on Religion and Worship, the author adds,-"I should, however, be doing these idol-worshippers an injustice if I did not expressly say that among them there are many pious and earnest minds. These do not remain floundering in the quagmire of idolatry, but regard it as a mere outward husk, and reject it indeed in words, but still as far as their actual daily life is concerned they cannot disconnect themselves from it, for the whole life of the people is entwined with it. Many of this kind rely in
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spirit on the truth and good which the Vedanta has brought to light. They seek to grasp God as the most perfect Being, as the most perfect Intelligence, and as the most perfect Bliss (Sat, Chit, Ananda), and endeavour to find union with him by the path of self-contemplation. . . . I cannot describe them better than Tayumanaver, one of themselves, has described them in a poem full of tenderness and longing for God, and which reminds one of the 42nd Psalm. The following is taken from Dr. Graul's translation, in his Indische Sinnpflanzen :
A modern Tamil Hymn. "Thou standest at the summit of all the glorious earth,
Thou rulest and pervadest the world from ere its birth, O Supremest Being! And can the pious man find out no way to thee, Who melting into love with tears approaches Thee, O Supremest Being? Already on the way is he who takes as guide, An earnest, loving heart, and self-discernment tried, O Supremest Being! Who'd gaze at heaven, first climbs the mountainheight,
Self-contemplation's wings towards Thee aim their flight, O Supremest Being! Thou throned above the ether's pinnacle, O Lord,
"Tis thou who art the spirit, and thou who art the word, O Supremest Being! Untouched thyself, the mind of him thou gently
movest Who pondering, bewildered, the word and spirit loseth, O Supremest Being! Things heavenly thou showest unto the wondering sight, Reflected in a mirror, thou mountain of delight, O Supremest Being! He dies, O Lord Supreme, who loves thee to perfection,
And slumbering ever rests in blissful contemplation, O Supremest Being! of every heartfelt plea
The object thou of love,
sure,
Of souls that prize alike the potsherd and the treasure, O Supremest Being! A madness there possessed me to kill the 'Self and Mine;'
In need I wandered helpless, seeking help divine, O Supremest Being! My pride became then softened and touched by thee above,
To water ran my bones, and I dissolved in love, O Supremest Being!