But he loosed not his clutch when his hands were cold.
We entered a town, as it shook to and fro,
An earthquake was raging in fury below;
Dwellings were rocking like trees when storm-tost,
Crashing and sinking—till all were lost!
We stayed our flight o’er a funeral pile,
Where the Ganges roll’d swift through a deep defile;
Where Brahmin priests rent with cries the air,
While the victim lay burning and crackling there;
And the devotees of dark Jaggernath