  Ganges-Borne The fingers which had stray’d Thro’ shining clusters of his children’s hair Now lifeless moved, and play’d With horrible tresses of the ripples there; His eyes, as if he pray’d, Were cast beneath long eyelids, wan and spare. Rock’d by the roaring flood, He seem’d to speak as in debate with doom, Uplooking, while the flood Bore him with thunder to the ocean foam. God’s face, a luminous cloud, Look’d thro’ the midnight, black, and horrible gloom. Bangalore, 1890-3. |
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