I've borne children, I am aged--in my soul I've all revolved, And with spirit strong to serve thee--I am steadfast and resolved.

Offering me, all-honoured husband--thou another wife wilt find, And to her wilt do thy duty--gentle as to me, and kind.

Many wives if he espouses--man incurs nor sin nor blame, For a wife to wed another--'tis inexpiable shame.

This well weighed within thy spirit--and the sin thyself to die, Save thyself, thy race, thy children--be the single victim I.

Hearing thus his wife, the husband--fondly clasp'd her to his breast, And their tears they poured together--by their mutual grief oppressed.

THIRD SONG.

Of these two the troubled language--in the chamber as she heard, Lost herself in grief the daughter--thus took up the doleful word.

_The_ DAUGHTER _spake_.

Why to sorrow thus abandoned?--weep not thus, as all forlorn, Hear ye now my speech, my parents--and your sorrows may be borne.

Me with right ye may abandon--none that right in doubt will call, Yield up her that best is yielded--I alone may save you all.

Wherefore wishes man for children?--they in need mine help will be: Lo, the time is come, my parents--in your need find help in me.

Ever here the son by offering--or hereafter doth atone, Either way is he th' atoner--hence the wise have named him son.

Daughters too, the great forefathers--of a n.o.ble race desire, And I now shall prove their wisdom--saving thus from death my sire.

Lo, my brother but an infant!--to the other world goest thou, In a little time we perish--who may dare to question how?

But if first depart to heaven--he that after me was born, Cease our race's sacred offerings--our offended sires would mourn.

Without father, without mother--of my brother too bereft, I shall die, unused to sorrow--yet to deepest sorrow left.

But thyself, my sire! my mother--and my gentle brother save, And their meet, unfailing offerings--shall our fathers' spirits have.

A second self the son, a friend the wife--the daughter's but a grief, From thy grief thy daughter offering--thou of right wilt find relief.

Desolate and unprotected--ever wandering here and there, Shall I quickly be, my father!--reft of thy paternal care!

But wert thou through me, my father--and thy race from peril freed, n.o.ble fruit should I have borne thee--having done this single deed.

But if thou from hence departing-leav'st me, n.o.blest, to my fate, Down I sink to bitterest misery--save, Oh save me from that state!

For mine own sake, and for virtue's--for our n.o.ble race's sake, Yield up her who best is yielded--me thine own life's ransom make.

Instantly this step, the only--the inevitable take.

Hath the world a fate more wretched--than when thou to heaven art fled, Like a dog to wander begging--and subsist on others' bread.

But my father, thus preserving--thus preserving all that's thine, I shall then become immortal--and partake of bliss divine, And the G.o.ds, and our forefathers--all will hail the prudent choice, Still will have the water offerings--that their holy spirits rejoice.

As they heard her lamentation--in their troubled anguish deep, Wept the father, wept the mother--'gan the daughter too to weep.

Then the little son beheld them--and their doleful moan he heard; And with both his eyes wide open--lisped he thus his broken word.

"Weep not father, weep not mother--Oh my sister, weep not so!"

First to one, and then to th' other--smiling went he to and fro.

Then a blade of spear-gra.s.s lifting--thus in bolder glee he said, "With this spear-gra.s.s will I kill him--this man-eating giant dead."

Though o'erpowered by bitterest sorrow--as they heard their prattling boy, Stole into the parents' bosoms--mute and inexpressive joy.

THE DELUGE.

The following extract from the Mahabharata was published by Bopp, with a German translation, (the promised Latin version has not yet reached this country,) with four other extracts from the same poem. It is inserted here not on account of its poetical merit, but on account of the interest of the subject. It is the genuine, and probably the earliest, version of the Indian tradition of the Flood. The author has made the following observations on this subject in the Quarterly Review, which he ventures here to transcribe.

Nothing has thrown so much discredit on oriental studies, particularly on the valuable Asiatic Researches, as the fixed determination to find the whole of the Mosaic history in the remoter regions of the East. It was not to be expected that, when the new world of oriental literature was suddenly disclosed, the first attempts to explore would be always guided by cool and dispa.s.sionate criticism. Even Sir W. Jones was led away, at times, by the ardour of his imagination; and the gorgeous palaces of the Mahabadian dynasty, which were built on the authority of the Desatir and the Dabistan, and thrown upward into an age anterior even to the earliest Indian civilisation, have melted away, and 'left not a wreck behind,' before the cooler and more profound investigations of Mr. Erskine[157]. Sir W. Jones was succeeded by Wilford, a man of most excursive imagination, bred in the school of Bryant, who, even if he had himself been more deeply versed in the ancient language, would have been an unsafe guide. But Wilford, it is well known, unfortunately betrayed to the crafty and mercenary pundits whom he employed, the objects which he hoped to find; and these unscrupulous interpreters, unwilling to disappoint their employer, had little difficulty in discovering, or forging, or interpolating, whatever might suit his purpose. The honest candour with which Wilford, a man of the strictest integrity, made the open and humiliating confession of the deceptions which had been practised upon him, ought for ever to preserve his memory from disrespect.

The fictions to which he had given currency, only retained, and still we are ashamed to say retain, their ground in histories of the Bible and works of a certain school of theology, from which no criticism can exorcise an error once established: still, however, with sensible men, a kind of suspicion was thrown over the study itself; and the cool and sagacious researches of men, probably better acquainted with their own language than some of the Brahmins themselves, were implicated in the fate of the fantastic and, though profoundly learned, ever injudicious reveries of Wilford.

Now, however, that we may depend on the genuineness of our doc.u.ments, it is curious to examine the Indian version or versions of the universal tradition of the Deluge; for, besides this extract from the Mahabharata, Sir W. Jones had extracted from the Bhagavata Purana another, and, in some respects, very different legend. Both of these versions are strongly impregnated with the mythological extravagance of India; but the Purana, one of the Talmudic books of Indian tradition, as M. Bopp observes, is evidently of a much later date than the ruder and simpler fable of the old Epic. It belongs to a less ancient school of poetry, and a less ancient system of religion. While it is much more exuberant in its fiction, it nevertheless betrays a sort of apprehension lest it shall shock the less easy faith of a more incredulous reader; it is manifestly from the religious school of the follower of Vishnu, and, indeed, seems to have some reference to one of the philosophic systems. Yet the outline of the story is the same. In the Mahabharatic version, Manu, like Noah, stands alone in an age of universal depravity. His virtues, however, are of the Indian cast--the most severe and excruciating penance by which he extorts, as it were, the favour of the deity[158].

THE DELUGE.

Vivaswata's son, a raja--and a sage of mighty fame, King of men, the first great fathers--in his glory equalled he, In his might and kingly power--Manu, and in earthly bliss, And in wonder-working penance--sire and grandsire far surpa.s.sed.

With his arms on high outstretching--wrought the sovereign of men, Steadily on one foot standing--penance rigorous and dread, With his downward head low-drooping--with his fixed, unwavering eyes, Dreed he thus his awful penance--many a long and weary year.

To the penitent with tresses--streaming loose, and wet, and long, By the margin of Wirini--thus the fish began to speak: "Blessed! lo, the least of fishes--of the mighty fish in dread, Wilt thou not from death preserve me--thou that all thy vows fulfill'st?

Since the strongest of the fishes--persecute the weaker still, Over us impends for ever--our inevitable fate.

Ere I sink, if thou wilt free me--from th' extremity of dread, Meet return can I compensate--when the holy deed is done."

Speaking thus the fish when heard he--full of pity all his heart, In his hand that fish king Manu--son of Vivaswata took.

Brought the son of Vivaswata--to the river sh.o.r.e the fish, Cast it in a crystal vessel--like the moonshine clear and bright.

"Rapid grew that fish, O raja--tended with such duteous care, Cleaved to him the heart of Manu--as to a beloved son.

Time rolled on, and larger, larger--ever waxed that wonderous fish, Nor within that crystal vessel--found he longer s.p.a.ce to move."

Spake again the fish to Manu--as he saw him, thus he spake: "O all prosperous! O all gentle!--bring me to another place."

Then the fish from out the vessel--blessed Manu took again; And with gentle speed he bare him,--Manu, to a s.p.a.cious lake.

There the conqueror of cities,--mighty Manu, cast him in.

Still he grew, that fish so wondrous--many a circling round of years.

Three miles long that lake expanded--and a single mile its breadth, Yet that fish with eyes like lotus--there no longer might endure; Nor, O sovereign of the Vaisyas!--might that lake his bulk contain.

Spake again that fish to Manu--as he saw him, thus he spake: "Bring me now, O blest and holy!--to the Ganga, ocean's bride, Let me dwell in her wide waters--yet, O loved one, as thou wilt, Be it so; whate'er thy bidding,--murmur would beseem me ill, Since through thee, O blest and blameless!--to this wondrous bulk I've grown."

Thus addressed, the happy Manu--took again the fish, and bore To the sacred stream of Ganga--and himself he cast him in.

Still it grew, as time rolled onward--tamer of thy foes! that fish.

Spake again that fish to Manu--as he saw him, thus he spake: "Mightiest! I can dwell no longer--here in Ganga's narrow stream; Best of men! once more befriend me--bear me to the ocean swift."

Manu's self from Ganga's water--took again that wondrous fish, And he brought him to the ocean,--with his own hand cast him in.

Brought by Manu to the ocean--very large that fish appeared, But not yet of form unmeasured,--spread delicious odours round.

But that fish by kingly Manu--cast into the ocean wide, In these words again bespake him--and he smiled as thus he spake: "Blessed! thou hast still preserved me--still my every wish fulfilled, When the awful time approaches--hear from me what thou must do.

In a little time, O blessed!--all this firm and seated earth, All that moves upon its surface--shall a deluge sweep away.

Near it comes, of all creation--the ablution day is near; Therefore what I now forewarn thee--may thy highest weal secure.

All the fixed and all the moving--all that stirs, or stirreth not, Lo, of all the time approaches--the tremendous time of doom.

Build thyself a ship, O Manu--strong, with cables well prepared, And thyself, with the seven Sages--mighty Manu enter in.

All the living seeds of all things--by the Brahmins named of yore, Place thou first within thy vessel--well secured, divided well.

From thy ship keep watch, O hermit--watch for me, as I draw near; Horned shall I swim before thee--by my horn thou'lt know me well.

This the work thou must accomplish,--I depart; so fare thee well-- Over these tumultuous waters--none without mine aid can sail.

Doubt thou not, O lofty minded!--of my warning speech the truth."

To the fish thus answered Manu--"All that thou requir'st, I'll do."

Thus they parted, of each other--mutual leave when they had ta'en, Manu, raja! to accomplish--all to him the fish had said.

Taking first the seeds of all things--launched he forth upon the sea; On the billowy sea, the prudent--in a beauteous vessel rode.

Manu of the fish bethought him;--conscious of his thought the fish, Conqueror of hostile cities!--with his horn came floating by.

King of men, the born of Manu!--Manu saw the sea-borne fish, In his form foreshewn, the horned--like a mountain huge and high.

To the fish's head his cable, Manu bound--O king of men!