Like morning mist upon the main,
But dimly may the gazer's eye
Its indistinct advance descry;
Slowly it moves—thus slow we find
Truth dawn upon the doubting mind:
At first, a cloud its hues appear,
And then it rolling gathers near,
Just ray by ray, till robed in light,
It dazzling stands before the sight.
A glittering throng advanceth nigh
With drum, and gong, and soldiery;
Their spears of gold, in Surya's gleam
Reflect his splendour, beam for beam;
Their chargers brave are proudly prancing,
With silver bright their bridles ring;
While woman's brighter eyes are glancing
Like light upon a seraph's wing.
And there the priests with triple thread
And saintly mien, and solemn tread,
Pronounce their golden God to please,
Religion's holiest mysteries;
Thus hallowing with their sacred power
The rites of that eventful hour.
One lovely form is gliding there
As if 'twere pure embodied air,
With face half veiled, enrobed in white,
She, like a blessed child of light
Amidst her maidens seems to rise,
Like Chandra in the jewelled skies!
A sound of song is on the breeze,
As welcome to the spirit bright
As love's delicious phantasies,
Or ladies' sighs in bowers by night;
As sweet as air-touched harps, and dear
As praise to youthful poet's ear.