From the sands that were lamp-lit at eve, and at morning are level and lone?
Is there nought in the heaven above, whence the hail and the levin are hurled,
But the wind that is swept around us by the rush of the rolling world?
The wind that shall scatter my ashes, and bear me to silence and sleep
With the dirge, and the sounds of lamenting, and the voices of women who weep.
Sir Alfred Lyall.
MEDITATION OF A HINDU PRINCE AND SCEPTIC
I think till I weary with thinking, said the sad-eyed Hindu King,