718 BENGALI LANGUAGE & LITERATURE. [ Chap. it is, oh Mother Kali,—and all the world will find fault with you that you could not save a sinner like me’! *‘ My days are spent in vain pleasure; I have forgotten the only reality in life. When I earned money here and there, my wife, friends, brothers, and sons were all under my control; but now advanced in years, and unable to earn, they treat me unkindly because of my poverty. When death
will come and pull me by the hair, they will prepare a bamboo bier for me, and dismiss me from the | house with a poor earthern pitcher, stripped of clothing like an ascetic.”’ Sister Nivedita says of the works of Rama Prasada, ‘“ No flattery could touch a nature so un- approachable in its simplicity. For in these A Euro- writings we have, perhaps alone in literature, the জনি spectacle of a great poet, whose genius Is spent in Prasada. 7521151115 the emotions of a child. William Blake in our own poetry strikes the note that is nearest his, and Blake is by no means his peer. Robert Burns, in his splendid indifference to rank and Whitman in his glorification of common things, have points of kinship with him. But to such a radiant white heat of childlikeness, it would be
- গেল দিন বুথ রঙ্গরসে, আম কাক্গ হারালাম, কালের বশে।
যখন ধন উপাজ্জন, করেছিলাম দেশ বিদেশে, তখন ভাই, বন্ধু, দারা, স্থত, সবাই ছিল আপন বশে॥ এখন ধন উপাজ্জন, হল না আর দশার শেষে । সেই ভাই, বন্ধু, দ্বারা, স্ৃত, নিধন বলে সবায় দোষে ॥ বম এসে শিয়রে বস, ধর বে যখন অগ্রকেশে, তপন সাজায়ে মাচা, কলসী কীচা, বিদায় দিবে দণ্ডীর বশে ॥"
