By Michael Madhusudhan Dutt
The Golden chariot slowly rolled along
The woodland path, shedding, on all around
A golden glory, like a setting sun;
And as it rolled along, there came a voice,-
A voice of woe, athwart the murmuring stream,
Commingling with its own – low, soft and sweet:
And thus it said “Ah me! O Royal Lord
And dost thou forsake me? Am I then
Abandoned? Woe is me! This is no dream,
No mockery of fancy! Lo! I see
The skiff that ferried me from yonder bank
Deserted? There it glides adown the stream,
How like the crescent moon along the sky!
[Incomplete]
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