Their kindred and their friends come on.
The dance of sacrifice ! the funeral song !
And next the victim slaves in long array,
Richly bedight to grace the fatal day,
Move onward to their death ;

The clarions' stirring breath

Lifts their thin robes in every flowing fold,
And swells the woven gold,

That on the agitated air

Trembles, and glitters to the torches glare.

A man and maid of aspect wan and wild, Then, side by side, by bowmen guarded, came. O wretched father! O unhappy child ! Them were all eyes of all the throng exploring ... Is this the daring man

Who raised his fatal hand at Arvalan ?

Is this the wretch condemn'd to feel

Kehama's dreadful wrath?

Them were all hearts of all the throng deploring, For not in that innumerable throng

Was one who lov'd the dead; for who could know

What aggravated wrong

Provok'd the desperate blow!

Far, far behind, beyond all reach of sight,
In ordered files the torches flow along,
One ever-lengthening line of gliding light:
Far... far behind,

Rolls on the undistinguishable clamour,
Of horn, and trump, and tambour;
Incessant as the roar

Of streams which down the wintry mountain pour,

And louder than the dread commotion

Of stormy billows on a rocky shore,
When the winds rage over the waves,
And Ocean to the Tempest raves.

And now toward the bank they go,
Where, winding on their way below,
Deep and strong the waters flow.
Here doth the funeral pile appear
With myrrh and ambergris bestrew'd,

And built of precious sandal wood.

They cease their music and their outcry here; Gently they rest the bier :

They wet the face of Arvalan,

No sign of life the sprinkled drops excite ;

They feel his breast, no motion there;

...

They feel his lips, . . . no breath;

For not with feeble, nor with erring hand,

The stern avenger dealt the blow of death. Then with a doubling peal and deeper blast, The tambours and the trumpets sound on high, And with a last and loudest cry

They call on Arvalan,

Woe! woe! for Azla takes her seat

Upon the funeral pile!

Calmly she took her seat,

Calmly the whole terrific pomp survey'd ;
As on her lap the while

The lifeless head of Arvalan was laid.

Woe! woe! Nealliny,

The young Nealliny!

They strip her ornaments away,

Bracelet and anklet, ring, and chain, and zone;
Around her neck they leave

The marriage knot alone,...
That marriage band, which when

Yon waning moon was young,
Around her virgin neck

With bridal joy was hung.

Then with white flowers, the coronal of death,

Her jetty locks they crown.

O sight of misery!

You cannot hear her cries,... all other sound

In that wild dissonance is drown'd ; ...

The supplication and the agony,...

See in her swelling throat the desperate strength That with vain effort struggles yet for life ; Her arms contracted now in fruitless strife, Now wildly at full length

Towards the crowd in vain for pity spread,..

They force her on, they bind her to the dead.

Then all around retire;

Circling the pile, the ministring Bramins stand, Each lifting in his hand a torch on fire.

Alone the Father of the dead advanced

At once on every side

The circling torches drop.

At once on every side

The fragrant oil is pour'd,

At once on every side

The rapid flames rush up.

Then hand in hand the victim band

Roll in the dance around the funeral pyre;

Their garments flying folds

Float inward to the fire.

In drunken whirl they wheel around;

One drops,... another plunges in;