3.
The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells,
The Himalaya glows in evening’s light,
And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy night
The elephantine herd breaks forth and yells.
O for a type to show how she excels!
A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight,
Thee the incomparable, good and bright,
So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells.
In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,—
See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme,
And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love!
But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straight
Seize on the sweet guitar, and all the time
Sing in the golden sunny halls above.