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98
Ballads of Hindustan.
Because I suffer, should I give
Thee, king, a needless pain?
Ah, no! I die, but mayst thou live,
And cleansed from every stain!"
Struck with these words, and doubly grieved
At what his hands had done,
The monarch wept, as weeps bereaved
A man his only son.
"Nay, weep not so," resumed the child,
"But rather let me say
My own sad story, sin-defiled,
And why I die to day!
Picking a living in our sheaves,
And happy in their loves,
Near, 'mid a peepul's quivering leaves,
There lived a pair of doves.
Never were they two separate,
And lo, in idle mood,
I took a sling and ball, elate
In wicked sport and rude,—
