The boast of India's sunny land
Mid fertile plains and waving woods,
In shining pomp sublimely grand,
Where Ganges spreads its sacred floods—
The holy city's temples glow
Reflected in the stream below.
A mass of cupolas and towers,
Arches, and pillared colonnades,
And flat-roofed palaces, where flowers
Are clust'ring round the balustrades.
And there from the Zenana's halls,
Stealing when eve reveals its stars,
The dark-eyed maids hold festivals,
And listen to the soft sitars,
Hymning those sweet and gentle themes
Which young hearts picture in their dreams.
Oh bright, Benares! are thy domes,
And beautiful thy sacred groves,
Where ring-doves make their blissful homes
And the white bull unfettered roves;
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