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THE CURSE OF KEHAMA.
I.
With unimpeded and insatiate sightTo view the funeral pomp which passes by,As if the mournful riteWere but to them a scene of joyance and delight.
Vainly, ye blessed twinklers of the night,Your feeble beams ye shed,Quench'd in the unnatural light which might out-stareEven the broad eye of day;And thou from thy celestial wayPourest, O Moon, an ineffectual ray!For lo! ten thousand torches flame and flareUpon the midnight air,Blotting the lights of heavenWith one portentous glare.Behold the fragrant smoke in many a fold,Ascending floats along the fiery sky,And hangeth visible on high,A dark and waving canopy.
Hark! 'tis the funeral trumpet's breath!'Tis the dirge of death!At once ten thousand drums begin,
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