"Where art thou, darling--why so long
Hast thou delayed to-night?
We die of thirst--we are not strong,
This fasting kills outright.
Speak to us, dear one--only speak,
And calm our idle fears,
Where hast thou been, and what to seek?
Have pity on these tears."
With head bent low the monarch heard,
Then came a cruel throb
That tore his heart--still not a word,
Only a stifled sob!
"It is not Sindhu--who art thou?
And where is Sindhu gone?
There's blood upon thy hands--avow!"
"There is."--"Speak on, speak on,"
The dead child in their arms he placed,
And briefly told his tale,
The parents their dead child embraced,
And kissed his forehead pale.
"Our hearts are broken. Come, dear wife,
On earth no more we dwell;
Now welcome Death, and farewell Life,
And thou, O king, farewell!
We do not curse thee, God forbid
But to my inner eye
The future is no longer hid,
Thou too shalt like us die.
Die--for a son's untimely loss!
Die--with a broken heart!
Now help us to our bed of moss,
And let us both depart.
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