Derozio's poetry
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1.   My country !       
2.   
The Fakeer of Jungheera, Canto First, II       
3.   
The Fakeer of Jungheera, Canto First, IV           
4.   
The Fakeer...,Canto First,VI-CHORUS OF WOMEN      
5.   
The Fakeer...,Canto First,VIII-CHORUS OF BRAHMUNS     
6.   
The Fakeer...,Canto Second,III-SONG      
  
 
     
   
 
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     My country

My country! in the day of glory past
A beauteous halo circled around thy brow.
And worshipped as a deity thou wast---
Where is that glory, where that reverence now ?
Thy eagle pinion is chained down at last,
And grovelling in the lowly dust art thou ;
Thy minstrel hath no wreath to weave for thee
Save the sad story of thy misery !

Well let me dive in to the depths of time,
And bring from out the ages that have rolled
A few small fragments of those wrecks sublime,
Which human eye may never more behold ;
And let the guerdon of my labour be
My fallen country ! one kind wish of thee !
   
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The Fakeer of Jungheera, Canto First, II

The golden God of the day has driven
               His chariot to the western gate
Of yonder red resplendent heaven,
               Where angels high to hail him wait ;
But ere his couch he press to night
His rays a mournful scene shall light ?
The laughing wave that-rolls below
Gilt with the yellow sunshine's glow,
Shall hear, ere changed its hue may be,
A maddening wail of misery.
The minstrel's gay that fondly pour
Their carols wild from brake and bower,
Will change their strains, so sweet, so glad,
For lays still sweet, but ah! more sad.
The winds mow walking o'er the wave,
Before they seek their prison cave,
Before they sink to nightly rest
Upon the billow's gentle breast,
Or ere they range the garden bowers
To cull their fragrance from the flowers,
Shall chant a requiem sad, and slow
O'er hope destroyed and bliss laid low ;
For ere the evening shadows fly,
Devoted woman here must die.

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The Fakeer of Jungheera, Canto First, IV


Alas! in fairest seeming souls
The tide of guilt all blacky rolls ;
And then they steal religion's ray
Upon its surface but to play:
As o'er the darkest sea gleam
Of brightest sunshine oft may beam,
Gilding the wave, while dark beneath
Are lurking danger, woe, and death.

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The Fakeer of Jungheera, Canto First, VI
           CHORUS OF WOMEN


On to the alter, and scatter the flower,
      Sweeten the path as ye wander along ;
On to the alter;-- another blest hour
      Brings to her spirit the Kinnura's song.

Bright be the halo that circle's her brow,
      Thornless th rose on her bosom she bears ;
Spread thy broad pinion now over her Thou !
      Lord of the tempest, who hushest our cares.

Gay are the gardens that she will inherit,
      Blossoms that bloom there are golden, and bright,
When like a ring-dove her heaven-bound spirit,
      Strecheth its wings for that region of light.
Amarnaths are budding in those sunny vales,
      Crystal and amber are sparkling around ;
Fragrance delicious is bourne on the gales,
      Music enchanting breathes soft in each sound.

Fountains are falling in melody rare,
      Harpers celestial respond to their strain ;
Stars are the lamps of the palaces there,
      Triumphant in splendour that never can wane.

Rainbows undying their colours display
      Cloudless, and clear in that beautiful sky ;
Joys are immortal, hopes never decay,
       Onward from glory to glory they fly !

Such is the boon that to her shall be given ;
       Myriads of ages for her are in store ;
She shall enjoy all the blessings of heaven,
       Till heaven, and its blessings themselves are no more.

Happy ! thrice happy ! thus early to leave
       Earth and its sorrows, for heaven and its bliss !
Who that hath known it at parting would grieve
       Quitting a world so disastrous as this ?
Happy ! thrice happy ! thy lord shall meet there thee,
       Twined round his heart shalt thou ever remain ;
Happy ! bright angels are longing to greet thee,
       Tuned are their harp strings, and ready theie strain.

On to the alter, and scatter the flower,
       Sweeten the path as ye wander along ;
On to the alter;-- another blest hour
       Brings to her spirit the Kinnura's song.

      
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The Fakeer of Jungheera, Canto First, VI
         CHORUS OF BRAHMUNS


Scatter, scatter flowrets around
Let the linkling cymbal sound ;
Strew the scented orient spice,
Prelude to the sacrifice ;
Bring the balm, and bring the myrrh,
Sweet as is the breath of her,
Who upon the funeral pyre
Shall, ere Surya sets, expire.
Let pure incense to the skies
Like the heart's warm wishes rise,
Till, unto the lotus throne
Of the great eternal one
High ascending, it may please
Him who guides our destinies.
Bring the pearl of purest white,
Bring the diamond flashing light ;
Bring your gift of choicest things,
Fans of peacocks starry wings,
Gold refined, and ivory,
Branches of the sandal tree,
Which their fragrance still impart
Like the good man's injured heart,
This is triumph, this is boast,
Sweetest 'tis when injured most !
Ere he sets, the golden Sun
Must with richest gifts be won,
Ere his glorious brow he lave
In yon scared yellow wave,
Rising through the realms of air
He must hear the widow's prayer,--
Haste ye, haste, the day declines
Onward, onward while he shines,
Let us press, and all shall see
Glory of our Deity !

    
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The Fakeer of Jungheera, Canto Second, III
                       SONG


O ! lovely is my native land
        With all its skies of cloudless light ;
But there's a heart, and there's a hand
        More dear to me than sky more bright.
I prize them-yes, as though they were
        On earth the only things divine,
The only good, the only fair--
        And oh ! that heart and hand are thine.

My native land has the heavenliest bowers
        Where Houris ruby-cheeked might dwell,
And they are gemmed with buds and flowers
        Sweeter than lip or lute may tell.
But there's a sigh and there's a fear
        With passions warmth, and glory's shine ;
Than bud or flower to me more dear--
        And oh ! that tear and sigh are thine.

My native home, my native home
        Hath in its groves the turtle dove,
And from her nest she will not roam--
        for it is warmed with faith and love.
But there is love, and there is faith,
        Which round a bleeding heart entwine,
To the devoted even to death--
        And ah ! that love and faith are mine !

A mosque there is in fair Cashmeer
        With all its minarets bright as day,
Where resteth now of sainted Peer
        The lifeless but unfading clay.
But there's heart, a broken heart,
        Where burns a thought as in a shrine,
And cannot, will not, all depart--
        The thought's of thee, the heart is mine.--

  
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