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# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Fire Hunters (Greece Chunder Dutt)

Fire Hunters.
There are no abler adepts in the art Of woodcraft, than the gentle Gonds, who dwell In the wild region where the mighty sal, The hardy salei, and Briarean saj, O'erhung with creepers of enormous bulk, Clothe the soft uplands, and the vales that lie Round the head-waters of the rapid Sone.
Unused to agriculture, and devoid Of e'en such lore as is required to rear Cattle or sheep or poultry with success, They look alone to what their woods supply, Gums, berries, honey, wholesome nuts and game, To meet their wants, and thus from youth become Experienced trappers, wary, quick of eye, And full of rare devices to ensnare The game that furnishes their fires with meat.
They often start at eve in knots of four, Equipped with a slight pole of pliant wood, From which as from a balance-beam depend A heap of branches, and an earthen jar With blazing fagots piled of driest wood. This strange machine, contrived with simple art, To cast a flaring light upon the path, The foremost hunter on his shoulder bears, And while the second, as he jogs, oft shakes A rod of iron garnished with ten rings, That jingle lightly like a bunch of keys, The hindmost follow with their hunting poles Of toughened cane, six yards and more in length.
When near the covert side, the jingling sound Excites the timid hare, nay bolder game, To scour the precincts, and detect the cause: It tempts the open, but the occult glare Frustrates its purpose, and it stands agaze; Till a quick thwack! delivered with just aim, Cuts short its blank surprise and life at once.
If the sport lasts an hour or two, so rich Are all the coverts of their woods in game, The hunters come home with a varied bag Of hares and porcupines and spotted deer.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/An Indian Wreath (Jatindra Mohan Tagore)

MAHARAJAH SIR JOTINDRA MOHUN TAGORE, 1831-1908.
An Indian Wreath.
Bring CHAMPA from the bower, Fresh blown and of a golden dye; inweave Gay APRAJITA of the richest blue, That rivals Beauty's eyes when lit by Love First dawning. BELH too,—sweet BELA cull, That blooms in virgin loveliness serene, And with it twine ambrosial JANTI fair Whose fragrance well may vie with PARIJAT Of Indra's bower. Forget not NAGESHUR, The Love-God's fav'rite; for with that he tips This flowery shaft, and him the world obeys: With these in clusters bright ASOKA braid, —A charm 'gainst broken hearts and sorrow's pangs,— And GUNDHARAJ that sends its frankincense Afar; then gather sweet SAPHALIKA, That blooms and falls at eventide, nor waits It e'er the Day-God's ardent looks to meet, Like maids who coyly shun each wanton gaze; And RAJNI-GANDHA, that expands at night Alone, and like a lover's vow doth breathe Its odour rich in secret. There—'tis done, The wreath's complete, an offering rich and rare, Fit to adorn the forehead of the fair.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Hymn to Durga (Nabakrishna Ghosh)

Hymn to Durga.
HAIL Mighty Goddess! Universal Soul! Power or Love, Fate or Illusion sweet! Whate'er thy name, O mother, whose control All nature quickens—humbly thee I greet! Hail! ten-armed Goddess of the lion-throne, Whose power Time and Space and Being own! The seed of things was in thy mighty womb, Their source prolific, and their final doom!
From thee the mystic Trinal Unity— Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesha—one in three— All sprung, thou primal dread Divinity, Thou great First Cause of all and End to be! The wondrous glories of yon azure sky, The nameless beauties that around us lie, The whirlwind's blast, and lightning's dazzling flame, All—all thy pow'r and providence proclaim.
Descend, great Deity! from thy cloud girt seat Amidst the changeless, everlasting snows Of lofty Himmala, where at thy feet Time's self doth lie like Passion in repose. And Kartikaya on his star-eyed bird, As fits the war-god, bravely keeps his guard; And Ganesha, in sober vesture drest Wooing Philosophy to his loving breast.
And golden Lakshmee, smiling like the morn, And bright as when she rose from the ocean foam, Her lap adorn'd with golden ears of corn, Emparadises still thy mountain home. And lovely Saraswatee—lute in hand— Attended by the Arts—a witching band— Awakes ethereal music midst the snows, And all the place with rapturous ardour glows.
The Aryan world prepares for social mirth By acts of lovingkindness to mankind; May universal love pervade the earth, And charity fill every heart and mind! May brother brother clasp in close embrace, And pleasure beam in each familiar face, As friend meets friend around the festive board And tells of pangs endured or triumphs scored!
Come, Mother come, all clothed in holy light, The sun and moon both shining at thy feet. O bless our hearths and homes! O bless our sight With visions of the glorious Infinite! In varied names we worship only thee; In vain, the creeds veil thee in mystery: For God or Goddess, it is all the same— In every form we worship but thy name!
Come, Goddess bright, O come, Supernal Power, In beaming smiles and loveliness arrayed, Our only hope in dark misfortune's hour, Our sole support, and never-failing aid! O bless the land with Peace and tranquil Joy! May no distressing ills the Year annoy! O come with all thy radiant progeny, Durga, Durga, Durgatinashini!
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Baby (Manmohan Ghose)

Baby.
Baby dear! and shall we sever? All your own Mother is, and yours alone. Father goes, he cares not he! Comes, and now from other shores, Baby dear, your deity Woos he, and adores. Never heed him! he was never Yours!
My one bliss, and would you lonely Leave my heart, Thus from mother's lap to part? O what is it, charm of charms, Seek your lips incarnadine, Stretching forth your little arms, With that cry divine? Enchantment! art thou not only Mine?
Fret not so, nor fear my raiment: Heed not thou! Softly though he flatters now. Woods nor whispers thinks she sweet, Mother, to thy vague murmurs: Men, the world, the roaring street, Father, he prefers. Hers you are 'gainst every claimant, Hers!
Leave him! Not a kiss deserves he Lonely here To forsake us, baby dear. Toils and troubles all the week They possess him, toils like tares For the rose of baby's cheek Not a thought he cares. 'Tis for them his heart preserves he, Theirs!
Laughing, see, has baby known him, And small hands Stretching out, his beard demands. O his flattery well I know, Sweet he comes, as April showers;
Wait, poor prattler, he will go, False as April flowers. No, my joy, we cannot own him Ours.
From his arms to keep you? Never! Baby dear! From his arms, your native sphere. Home from labour comes he tired, You and I, his only bliss. Crown him, crown our king desired To adore and kiss, You and I his slaves forever, His.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Elegy (Manmohan Ghose)

Elegy.
Where breathes who bloomless left the meadows! She! Grave, in the wintriness of thee? Her laughter might have thrilled the dead, So real she seemed, so white and red: Gone, and the aching world she widows With me!
O, of her presence any rumour, Spring, News of her sweetness canst thou bring? In that mysterious underground What charm, what fire, what fragrance bound? There, from whence bursts the whole bright summer On wing!
Her glorious kinsfolk, that forsook us, Wake: Each lily, for the light's own sake. But she, more strong, more swift to bloom, Kept captive in the cold earth's gloom, Will she not with the beaming crocus Upbreak?
Too well thy heart, bereaved lover, Knows, 'Tis dust that did her bloom compose: And she, so vivid and so sweet, Is now a name, an image fleet; All that the stars remember of her, A rose!
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Home (Govin Chunder Dutt)

Home.
No picture from the master hand Of Gainsborough or Cuyp may vie With that which at my soul's command Appears before mine inward eye In foreign climes when doomed to roam— Its scene, my own dear native home.
What though no cloud-like hills uprear Their serried heights sublime afar! What though the ocean be not near, With wave and wind in constant war!
Nor rock nor sea could add a grace, So perfect seems the hallowed place.
Casuarinas in solemn range, At distance look like verdant hills; And winds draw from them music strange, Such as the tide makes when it fills Some shingle-strown and land-girt bay From men and cities far away.
And round, as far as eye can reach What vivid piles of foliage green! Mango and shaddock, plum and peach, And palms like pillars tall between: An emerald sea surrounds the nest, A sea for ever charmed in rest.
What roses blossom on the lawn! What warblers on the bamboo boughs, Lithe and elastic, swing at dawn, And pour their orisons and vows! What dew upon the greensward lies! How lovingly look down the skies!
And at high noon when every tree Stands brooding on its round of shade, And cattle to the shelter flee And there, in groups recumbent laid, Gaze ruminant—what deep repose Lies on the landscape as it glows!
But most at evening's gentle hour The reign of Peace is clearly read, In the blue mists which hail her power, Pavilions rich and banners spread, While 'mid the hush is heard the tone Of night's sweet minstrel—hers alone.
As star by star leaps out above, As twilight deepens into night, As round me cluster those I love, And eye meets eye in glances bright, I feel that earth itself may be Lit up with heaven's own radiancy.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Dasahara (Kasiprasad Ghose)

KASIPRASAD GHOSE, 1809-1873.
Dasahara.
Glorious river! thee of yore Siva on his tresses bore, When thou didst thy rapid flow Take unto this world below, From the peak of Himalay, Where thy lucid waters stray, Dispensing to the gods above Purity and holy love.
Propitious river! by thy grace Royal Sagar's numerous race, Though burned to ashes by the fire Of the saintly sage's ire, Enjoyed the bright, unchanging hours, Smiling round the emerald bowers, And bringing in the heavenly sphere Joys which only circle there.
Holy stream! thou dost bestow Freedom from each earthly woe, Destroying all the sins that be Pertaining to humanity, And ensure at being's close, Sweet and undisturbed repose. Nay! even the deities love to lave Their forms of glory in thy wave.
Beauteous river! on thy spray
The lotos famed in ancient lay—
Whose chaplets and whose odours sweet, Goddess! to thee are offerings meet— In gladness doth its leaves unfold Full to the morning's beam of gold, As if inspired with the love Of the majestic sun above.
Dreadful river! in thy waves His length the alligator laves, And sharks and sea-hogs round him play, Glad with the hope of human prey. When summer with the hot sun crowned, Showers her dazzling splendour round, And brings forth in our Indian bowers Refulgent days and lovely flowers.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Gibraltar (Greece Chunder Dutt)

Gibraltar.
The flag that here floats proudly in the air, The silent warders on the ramparts white, The guns that hide in sheltered nooks from sight, Or from the seaward scarp, their chosen lair, Gaze on the waters with a steadfast stare, The rock-cut embrasures ablaze at night, The mole, the ships, the keep's commanding height, All speak of stern resolve, and watchful care. For leagued in arms should Europe rise once more, To question on this steep the Lion's reign, Swift must the deadly hail of battles pour, As on the day when baffled France and Spain Beheld their vaunted ships in flames ashore, Or drifting helpless on the stormy main.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Akbar's Dying Charge (Hur Chunder Dutt)

Akbar's Dying Charge.
This is no time to weep, my son, By weeping you do wrong, But bear thee up right manfully And in God's love be strong.
Lovely and large thy heritage, As lovely as a bride, To keep her still thine own gird on That bright sword by thy side.
See now it hangs on yonder wall (For powerless is the hand That wielded it in hunt or fray) My own, my noble brand.
Read what is writ on either side And write it in your breast, Those characters of gold shine clear: 'The merciful are blest.'
Upon the jewelled hilt and haft The diamond-sparks bespeak The grasp around it must be pure Though not infirm or weak.
At honour's beck, in kingdom's cause, Like lightning let it fall, With power avenge the oppressed and wronged, And justly rule o'er all.
The blood-stains on the polished steel At mercy's fount make clean, And may thy battle-fields right soon With waving crops be green.
In all the triumphs, all the joys Which thy good angel brings, Forget not to give glory, son, To God the King of kings.
His blessing crave, his grace implore, Alike in weal and woe, Long be thy reign in this fair land,— I go where all things go.
# The Christian Tourists

No aimless wanderers, by the fiend Unrest Goaded from shore to shore; No schoolmen, turning, in their classic quest, The leaves of empire o'er. Simple of faith, and bearing in their hearts The love of man and God, Isles of old song, the Moslem's ancient marts, And Scythia's steppes, they trod.
Where the long shadows of the fir and pine In the night sun are cast, And the deep heart of many a Norland mine Quakes at each riving blast; Where, in barbaric grandeur, Moskwa stands, A baptized Scythian queen, With Europe's arts and Asia's jewelled hands, The North and East between!
Where still, through vales of Grecian fable, stray The classic forms of yore, And beauty smiles, new risen from the spray, And Dian weeps once more; Where every tongue in Smyrna's mart resounds; And Stamboul from the sea Lifts her tall minarets over burial-grounds Black with the cypress-tree.
From Malta's temples to the gates of Rome, Following the track of Paul, And where the Alps gird round the Switzer's home Their vast, eternal wall; They paused not by the ruins of old time, They scanned no pictures rare, Nor lingered where the snow-locked mountains climb The cold abyss of air!
But unto prisons, where men lay in chains, To haunts where Hunger pined, To kings and courts forgetful of the pains And wants of human-kind, Scattering sweet words, and quiet deeds of good, Along their way, like flowers, Or pleading, as Christ's freemen only could, With princes and with powers;
Their single aim the purpose to fulfil Of Truth, from day to day, Simply obedient to its guiding will, They held their pilgrim way. Yet dream not, hence, the beautiful and old Were wasted on their sight, Who in the school of Christ had learned to hold All outward things aright.
Not less to them the breath of vineyards blown From off the Cyprian shore, Not less for them the Alps in sunset shone, That man they valued more. A life of beauty lends to all it sees The beauty of its thought; And fairest forms and sweetest harmonies Make glad its way, unsought.
In sweet accordancy of praise and love, The singing waters run; And sunset mountains wear in light above The smile of duty done; Sure stands the promise,--ever to the meek A heritage is given; Nor lose they Earth who, single-hearted, seek The righteousness of Heaven!
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Notes Of Class Talks And Lectures/On Mantra And Mantra-Chaitanya

The Mantra - shastris (upholders of the Mantra theory) believe that some words have been handed down through a succession of teachers and disciples, and the mere utterance of them will lead to some form of realisation. There are two different meanings of the word Mantra - chaitanya. According to some, if you practise the repetition of a certain Mantra, you will see the Ishta - devata who is the object or deity of that Mantra. But according to others, the word means that if you practise the repetition of a certain Mantra received from a Guru not competent, you will have to perform certain ceremonials by which that Mantra will become Chetana or living, and then its repetition will be successful. Different Mantras, when they are thus "living", show different signs, but the general sign is that one will be able to repeat it for a long time without feeling any strain and that his mind will very soon be concentrated. This is about the Tantrika Mantras.
From the time of the Vedas, two different opinions have been held about Mantras. Yaska and others say that the Vedas have meanings, but the ancient Mantra - shastris say that they have no meaning, and that their use consists only in uttering them in connection with certain sacrifices, when they will surely produce effect in the form of various material enjoyments or spiritual knowledge. The latter arises from the utterance of the Upanishads.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Notes Of Class Talks And Lectures/On Questioning The Competency Of The Guru

In the course of a conversation Swamiji spiritedly remarked, "Leave off your commercial calculating ideas. If you can get rid of your attachment to a single thing, you are on the way to liberation. Do not see a public woman, or sinner, or Sadhu. That vile woman also is the Divine Mother. A Sannyasin says once, twice, that she is Mother; then he gets deluded again and says, 'Hence, O vile, unchaste woman!' At a moment all your ignorance may vanish. It is foolish talk that ignorance disperses gradually. There are disciples who have been devoted to the Guru even when he has fallen from the ideal. I have seen in Rajputana one whose spiritual teacher had turned a Christian, but who nevertheless went on giving him his regular dues. Give up your Western ideas. Once you have pledged your faith to a particular teacher, stick to him with all force. It is children who say that there is no morality in the Vedanta. Yes, they are right. Vedanta is above morality. Talk of high things, as you have become Sannyasins."
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Notes Of Class Talks And Lectures/On Art

In art, interest must be centred on the principal theme. Drama is the most difficult of all arts. In it two things are to be satisfied -- first, the ears, and second, the eyes. To paint a scene, if one thing be painted, it is easy enough; but to paint different things and yet to keep up the central interest is very difficult. Another difficult thing is stage - management, that is, combining different things in such a manner as to keep the central interest intact.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Notes Of Class Talks And Lectures/On Food

You preach to others to be men but cannot give them good food. I have been thinking over this problem for the last four years. I wish to make an experiment whether something of the nature of flattened rice can be made out of wheat. Then we can get a different food every day. About drinking water, I searched for a filter which would suit our country. I found one pan - like porcelain vessel through which water was made to pass, and all the bacilli remained in the porcelain pan. But gradually that filter would itself become the hotbed of all germs. This is the danger of all filters. After continued searching I found one method by which water was distilled and then oxygen was passed into it. After this the water became so pure that great improvement of health was sure to result from its use.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Notes Of Class Talks And Lectures/On Shri Ramakrishna And His Views

By force, think of one thing at least as Brahman. Of course it is easier to think of Ramakrishna as God, but the danger is that we cannot form Ishvara - buddhi (vision of Divinity) in others. God is eternal, without any form, omnipresent. To think of Him as possessing any form is blasphemy. But the secret of image - worship is that you are trying to develop your vision of Divinity in one thing.
Shri Ramakrishna used to consider himself as an Incarnation in the ordinary sense of the term, though I could not understand it. I used to say that he was Brahman in the Vedantic sense; but just before his passing away, when he was suffering from the characteristic difficulty in breathing, he said to me as I was cogitating in my mind whether he could even in that pain say that he was an Incarnation, "He who was Rama and Krishna has now actually become Ramakrishna -- but not in your Vedantic sense!" He used to love me intensely, which made many quite jealous of me. He knew one's character by sight, and never changed his opinion. He could perceive, as it were, supersensual things, while we try to know one's character by reason, with the result that our judgments are often fallacious. He called some persons his Antarangas or 'belonging to the inner circle', and he used to teach them the secrets of his own nature and those of Yoga. To the outsiders or Bahirangas he taught those parables now known as "Sayings". He used to prepare those young men (the former class) for his work, and though many complained to him about them, he paid no heed. I may have perhaps a better opinion of a Bahiranga than an Antaranga through his actions, but I have a superstitious regard for the latter. "Love me, love my dog", as they say. I love that Brahmin priest intensely, and therefore, love whatever he used to love, whatever he used to regard! He was afraid about me that I might create a sect, if left to myself.
He used to say to some, "You will not attain spirituality in this life." He sensed everything, and this will explain his apparent partiality to some. He, as a scientist, used to see that different people required different treatment. None except those of the "inner circle" were allowed to sleep in his room. It is not true that those who have not seen him will not attain salvation; neither is it true that a man who has seen him thrice will attain Mukti (liberation).
Devotion as taught by Narada, he used to preach to the masses, those who were incapable of any higher training.
He used generally to teach dualism. As a rule, he never taught Advaitism. But he taught it to me. I had been a dualist before.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Notes Of Class Talks And Lectures/On Music

There is science in Dhrupad, Kheyal, etc., but it is in Kirtana, i.e. in Mathura and Viraha and other like compositions that there is real music -- for there is feeling. Feeling is the soul, the secret of everything. There is more music in common people's songs, and they should be collected together. The science of Dhrupad etc., applied to the music of Kirtana will produce the perfect music.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 7/Notes Of Class Talks And Lectures/On Conceptions Of Godhead

Man's inner hankering is to find some one who is free, that is, beyond the laws of nature. The Vedantins believe in such an Eternal Ishvara, while the Buddhists and the Sankhyas believe only a Janyeshvara (created God), that is, a God who was a man before, but has become God through spiritual practice. The Puranas reconcile these two positions by the doctrine of Incarna - tion. That is, they say that the Janyeshvara is nothing but the Nitya (Eternal) Ishvara, taking by Maya the form of a Janyeshvara. The argument of the Sankhyas against the doctrine of Eternal Ishvara, viz "how a liberated soul can create the universe", is based on false grounds. For you cannot dictate anything to a liberated soul. He is free, that is, he may do whatever he likes. According to the Vedanta, the Janyeshvaras cannot create, preserve, or destroy the universe.