Its marble wings up springing from the shade
By the dark peepul's glossy foliage made,
The waving niem, the willow-like bamboo,
And shrubs of fragrant scent and brilliant hue,
The Nazim's regal palace proudly gleams
In pearl-like splendour in the evening beams;
While each surrounding crag and sun-kissed slope
Crowned with the bright luxuriant mango tope,
Each vagrant creeper with its starry wreath,
Are softly mirrored in the stream beneath.
Where'er the wandering eyes delighted roam
From groves embowering peeps the graceful dome
Of some small mosque, or holy Bramin's cell,
Where the lamp glances, and the silvery bell
Makes gentle music in the balmy air;
No other sounds the listening echoes bear
On this calm eve, save snatches of sweet song
Which rise at intervals from yonder throng
Assembled on the terraced ghaut, and fling[1]
O'er Ganges' wave each flowery offering.
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