Preface. 
Yll 
His measures of all fields were false, His acre’s rods were always wrong, 
And howsoe’er the poor complained their words were as an idle song. 
Waste heaths he reckoned fruitful fields; he passed across the land like 
Death ; 
The poor man’s last rag he would seize; prayers to his ears were idle 
breath. 
The moneylender s aid was naught; his loans but added more to pay ; 
Two annas short was each rupee, and then the interest day by day. 
At last the ryots lost all hope; their hard-earned borrowings brought no 
cheer, 
And if they tried to sell their stock, there were no buyers far or near. 
Good Gopinath by some ill fate was thrown in prison; in wild surprise 
The ryots crowded round the court, but what availed their tears or cries ? 
Stunned with the blow I sold my stock for little more than half its worth, 
And after counsel held with friends I left my home and wandered forth. 
I and my brother took our way ; ’t was Candi led the helpless pair; 
At Bhetna Rupral gave us alms, and Jadukunda sheltering care. 
Adown the Gharal stream we sailed, the Darukegvar next we passed ; 
We stayed awhile at Pandurpur, and to Kucatya came at last. 
There without oil I took my bath, water my hunger’s only stay ; 
Hungry and faint my children wailed, but I was famished e’en as they. 
There near a lonely hermitage, hungry and scared, I fell asleep, 
When Candi in a vision came and bade me rise and cease to weep. 
A leaf she brought and pen and ink, and though I knew no Yedic lore, 
She taught me metres and their laws and bade me sing her praises o’er. 
The river Qilal then I crossed, to Arara my way I found, 
A land with holy Brahmans filled, its lord like Vyas himself renowned, 
Bankura-ray his honoured name ; I paid my homage full of fear, 
And brought some verses in my hand, to wdiich he lent a favouring ear. 
He gave me rice and paid my debts, and made me tutor to his son, 
And from that day Prince Raghunath has stored my lessons every one. 
Dowered with all virtues from his birth, sages and nobles at his call, 
He greets me ‘ guru ’ from his heart and honours me before them all.” 
While Babu Gobind Candra Datt resided in Cambridge some 
thirty years ago, I first learned from him about this old Bengali 
poem, and he kindly undertook to read it with me. We read 
