Soft o’er the tranquil current floats,
Mingling its cadence, as it dies,
With the lone hunza’s[[41]] mournful cries;
(Sad cries, which, wafted on the gale,
Seem like some pensive spirit’s wail;)
The mûllah’s[[42]] song, ere, toil-oppress’d,
He seeks his nook and evening rest.
Afar Junghera’s rocky isle,
Crown’d by the tapering temple’s pile.
On rolls the sacred tide its course