124 On the Ballads and Legends of the Punjab. [No. 2. 



The vision fled, Bussaloo woke, in arms of proof array'd 

 His hero limbs, and pois'd and shook his trenchant battle blade, 

 And jealous scann'd its surface blue, lest haply stain impair 

 Or dim the pure etherial hue, baptiz'd in* fire and air. 

 The flexile mail around him. clings, blue steel and ruddy gold ; 

 O'er this the surcoat rich he flings, whose every (4) vital fold 

 Is fenc'd with damask plate of proof, which prison'd Genii frame 

 Beneath the mountain's cavern' d roof in red Volcano flame. 

 His father's shield, his father's sword, the bow of steel, which none 

 Prom (5) Bruhm, the empire's first dread Lord, to this his hero son 

 Could bend, but which Eussaloo's might like twig of osier plied, 

 Whilst every dart (6) that err'd in flight, rebounded to his side. 

 Such were his arms ; no flaring gleams their hue celestial mar, 

 But from his eye heav'n's vengeance streams, a bright destroying star : 

 And such the life, grace, power and joy his every gesture shows, 

 The air seems made his step to buoy and glistering round him flows. 



No rest his gallant courser knew, till o'er those verdant bowers, 

 "Where Bavi leads her current blue, rose Oodinugri's towers ; 

 A battlemented mass immense, ramp, bastion, gateway high, 

 Whose slender obelisks streak intense the sapphire-vaulted sky : 

 A lean dog howl'd before the gate, no sign of life, beside, 

 Bose from that city desolate, where roar'd of late life's tide ; 

 No warder watch' d the massive port, no turban' d troop stream' d 



through, 

 But o'er the foot- worn, terrac'd court, the dank weed frequent grew : 

 And as the steep ascent he clomb, his hoof sounds scar'd the rest 

 Of vampire bats whichmake their home, where man'slast homeis drest. 

 He pac'd the silent street. — One form, so wan, so pale, it might 

 Be the sad ghost who rides the storm, flitted before his sight. 

 As broke the long-unwonted clang, she vanish' d, shrieking, "Woe:" 

 That thin voice like a death knell rang, it ic'd his bosom through. 

 " Woe ! woe I" the faint, unearthly cry fill'd all that city lone, 

 The empty walls, the hollow sky were peopled with a moan. 

 High tower' d the fort with menace vain, wide-ported halls appear' d 



* The cast steel of sword blades forged in the East is generally too brittle to 

 bear the plunge into water, and is tempered either in air or in oil. 



