27
Beneath a gilded canopy,
Appears the fast decaying corse.
And there the sultry air is stirred
With silver handled Chowries wrought
With the rich plume of some rare bird,
Or those more precious cow-tails brought
From glad Kathay's far distant wall,
Or the steep hills of the Nepaul.
Behind, a thick promiscuous troop
Of veiled and turbaned heads is seen,
And in the centre of the group,
Each in an open palanquin
The Rajah's wives are borne—a pair
Of brighter forms have never blest
The eye of man—both are so fair,
None can say which is loveliest—
She who so stately and so proud
With lofty mien and eyes of light,
Receives the homage of the croud
