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able; and, to a person who has only travelled in the lower parts, and seen the better cultivated and more inhabited tracts of the country, scarcely credible. Perhaps a more complete and better marked example of this cannot be produced in any purely mountainous country, certainly not in that under consideration, than is exhibited in the features we see, marking the beds of the Sutlej, the Pabur, the Jumna, and the Bhagiruttee (the head of the Ganges.)

"The mountains which form the valley of the Sutlej, particularly on the north-west side, are brown, bar. ren, steep, and rocky; but they have these characters without the grandeur produced by lofty precipices or fringing wood. The nullahs that furrow them are dark, uninteresting chasms, and their breasts in general are unenlivened by cultivation; and, though their heights are thickly crowned with forts, there are no neat villages surrounded with trees, on which the eye may turn and rest from the dark desert around. Such are the Cooloo hills, which met our view from below Comharsein, even to beyond Seran. And on the Bischur side, though there may be somewhat more cultivation above, and wood yields its verdure here and there, to embellish the valleys, still the lower parts of the hills, for a descent of full three miles, to the narrow, rocky, and arid bed of the river, exhibit little except black rock peeping irregularly through brown burnt grass.

"The smiling vale of the Pabur, offers a delightful contrast to the black chasm through which the Sutlej rolls. We cannot speak of this river very near its source; but, from a long way beyond the village of Pooroo, which is seven miles above Raeengudh, it flows meandering through a valley of moderate breadth, in which pasture and crops are chequered with its dif

ferent streams; and on the banks and roots of the hills, rich cultivation, villages, and wood, form a lovely picture, which extends up the stream as far as the eye can distinguish, and till brown hills, topped with snow and rocks, close the prospect.

"If any success has attended the perhaps too detailed descriptions of the banks and bed of the Jumna, the reader will already have formed an idea of them: though rocky, precipitous, and wild, they are woody, green, and varied with sloping faces, which are rich with cultivation and verdure. Here and there the river runs through a level, though narrow bottom, and many well-cultivated and beautiful valleys lead into it; even at its source, though a wilder collection of requisites for a romantic and imposing landscape, as rock, wood, precipice, and snow, could not well be drawn together, they did not form so truly desert and stern a scene as is exhibited in the bed of the Bhagiruttee.

"I have said that these mountains are more lofty and bare; in fact, we had now penetrated farther into their higher and more inclement regions; and the Bhagiruttee, a far larger river than the Jumna, has worn a deeper bed, even in the stubborn materials of their bowels.

"It is not easy to describe the change of scene effected by this change of situation; not only is luxuriant foliage more rare, all rich and lively greens giving way to the dark brown of the fir, which spots the face of the rock; but even that rock is evidently more continually acted on by the severity of the storms. Instead of being covered with rich and varied hues, the effect of lichens and the smaller herbage, that usually clothe and variegate even a precipice, the rocks here are white, grey, red, or brown, the colour of their fracture, as if a constant violence was crum

bling them to pieces. Their sharp and splintered pinnacles spire up above the general mass; their middle region and feet are scantily sprinkled with the sombre, unvarying fir-tree; while the higher parts, retiring from the view, present little more than brown rock, except where a lofty mass of snow overtops them, and calls to our recollection how nearly and completely we are surrounded by it. No green smiling valleys yield their waters to the river; the white and foul torrents which swell its stream, pour their troubled tribute through chasms cleft in the solid rock, or are seen tumbling down its face, from the snow that gives them birth.

"The whole scene casts a damp on the mind; an indefinite idea of desert solitude and helplessness steals over it: we are, as it were, shut out from the world, and feel our nothingness."

Nothing, however, could equal the grandeur of the scene at Gungotree, a place sacred in the eyes of the Hindoos, and where the traveller is immediately in presence of that wonderful peak, whence the Ganges issues.

"The scene in which this holy place is situated, is worthy of the mysterious sanctity attributed to it, and the reverence with which it is regarded. The bare and peaked cliffs which shoot to the skies, yield not in ruggedness or elevation to any we have seen; their ruins lie in wild chaotic masses at their feet, and scantier wood imperfectly relieves their na

kedness; even the dark pine more rarely roots itself in the deep chasms which time has worn. Thus on all sides is the prospect closed, except in front to the eastward, where, from behind a mass of bare spires, four huge, lofty, snowy peaks arise; these are the peaks of Roodroo-Himmalah. There could be no finer finishing, no grander close, to such a scene.

"We approach it through a labyrinth of enormous shapeless masses of granite, which, during ages, have fallen from the cliffs above, that frown over the very temple, and, in all probability, will some day themselves descend in ruins and crush it. Around the enclosure, and among the masses, for some distance up the mountain, a few fine old pine-trees throw a dark shade, and form a magnificent foreground; while the river runs impetuously in its shingly bed, and the stifled but fearful sound of the stones which it rolls along with it, crushing together, mixes with the roar of its waters.

"We are now in the centre of the stupendous Himmalalı, the loftiest, and perhaps most rugged, range of mountains in the world. We were at the acknowledged source of that noble river, equally an object of veneration and a source of fertility, plenty, and opulence to Hindostan; and we had now reached the holiest shrine of Hindoo worship which these holy hills contain. These are surely striking considerations, combining with the solemn grandeur of the place, to move the feelings strongly.”

FUGITIVE AND OCCASIONAL POETRY.

LINES

WRITTEN ON THE 19TH OF JULY, IN MEMORY OF HIS MAJESTY'S CORONATION.

SAY, glorious orb! whose undiminish'd lamp
Hath lighted countless nations to repose,

When didst thou mark in court, or bower, or camp,
A statelier train, or comelier forms, than those
Whose long array yon ample gates enclose?

The Chiefs are there, who bade the lion wave
On earth and ocean o'er Britannia's foes;

The Senate there, who, to the vanquish'd brave,
Her arts, her equal laws, her rescued freedom gave.

Worthy are they to clasp the gilded spur,

To pace with plumed head and garter'd knee,
While velvet glows beneath pale minever,
The sumptuous garb of antique chivalry;
For not at high Poitiers beat hearts more free,
Not hardier knights the proud Armada met,
Than gird thy golden pall, and beat for thee,

Monarch, whose rule in Albion's crown hath set
Gems that may Tudor mock, and shame Plantagenet.

And now that peerless crown adorns thy brow,
Thine arm sustains the sceptre of command;
Princes before thy throne their fealty vow,
And every voice, and each exultant hand,
Attests the homage of thy native land.

The white robed choir respond, and music's wings,
Fraught with a nation's prayers, for Heaven expand;
From base to battlement the fabric rings,

And silence guards no more the sepulchre of kings.

Dreams my fond brain-or hath that sound affray'd
The slumbering tenants of the sculptured tomb?
Methinks I track along the dim arcade

Whose storied panes increase its twilight gloom,
Long-buried chiefs that wait the day of doom.
Sebert is there, who bade the cross divine
On Thorney's barren islet bud and bloom;
Meek Edward quits his desecrated shrine;

And Henry wakes, whose name shall with these walls decline.

Potent in arts alone, the wavering Sire

Leans on the dauntless son, his life's support,
On him whose wisdom curb'd the nobles' ire,

Whose valour won the Cambrian mountain fort;
And there strides on the Knight of Agincourt
In equal pace with him of Cressy's field.
Victors in vain, since Fortune's fickle sport

To jarring chiefs consign'd th' unblemish'd shield,
And left to babes the sword scarce Ascabart could wield.

Warriors and war's flood waves thus idly ebb;

But mark the pile where brass has learned to breathe, And stone, like dew-drops on Arachne's web,

Looks lightly down o'er bannered stalls beneath.
Thence come the peaceful kings with sword in sheath.
On Richmond's brow the blended roses twine,

Red Albin's thistle decks her Stuart's wreath,
But Erin's flower, for ages doom'd to pine,

Reserves its bloom to bless the Heir of Brunswick's line.

Nations repose: for man's impetuous pride,

His schemes, his strifes, by death's cold hand are hushed; Remorseless Mary walks at Edward's side;

Eliza views the beauteous foe she crush'd,

Nor paler grows her cheek that never blush'd;

Voluptuous Charles, thrice bound in Bourbon's chain, Meets great Nassau, with Bourbon's conquest flush'd ; And Stuart's daughters, him whose golden rein

Ruled the white steed that ramp'd o'er Stuart's lost domain.

Silent the train recedes-but, ah! to him

Who claims their throne, that silence speaks more loud
Than the glad people's voice, their splendour dim
Dispels life's pageant like a summer cloud.
Pensive on him gaze all-the meek—the proud-
The valiant and the weak-but pensive most

Pale Richard's shade-see, see! the crimson'd shroud,
He lingering waves, and, ere in darkness lost,
Gives language to the looks of all the shadowy host.

"Monarch! the feast, the song, the banquet cup,
For thee shall glad yon rafter'd roof to-night;
And every angel form that bears it up,

Shall bathe his pinions in a flood of light.
For thee, in orient pearl, and plumage white,
Shall beauteous Albion lead her starry train,
For thee, the Prince, the Noble, and the Knight,
The lawn-robed Prelate, and the lowly swain,
Shall shout, till vales, and hills, and oceans, shout again.

"The hand untaught to serve, on thee shall tend,
And maple vie with gold thy touch to meet;
The knee unused to kneel, to thee shall bend;
And, like its mountain lord, the falcon fleet
Shall stoop from air, and chirp thy hand to greet;
While trump, and drum, and clarion's thrilling call,
Herald the youthful Champion, at thy feet

To seal his challenge with the gauntlet's fall,

By high-born Howard back'd, and him who quell'd the Gaul.

"Quaff the full cup of bliss: yet, oh, beware!
As high it foam'd for me, when that fair roof,
My master-work, first spanned the yielding air,
And echo'd first the charger's clattering hoof,
My Champion too was there in arms of proof;

No hand opposed, no tongue defiance spoke;
Thousands throng'd round, who stood ere long aloof,
And he who hired the assassin's kindlier stroke,
Knelt lowest of the low-the faithless Bolingbroke.

"Then trust not thou the flatterer's hollow voice,
Court not the wavering crowds' vociferous zeal,
Be just-if mortals deem thee just, rejoice-

But if the traitor's malison they deal,
To Him who made thee King, make thine appeal,
Be His strong arm thy buckler, He thy might;
So may'st thou stand unmoved, nor fear, nor feel

Seditious breath, that taints the breeze of night,
Or bold rebellion's shaft, that shames the noonday light.

"And in that hour, when mortal strength is weak,
When thou, like us, shalt own a tyrant's sway,
Supreme o'er Valour's arm, and Beauty's cheek,
And even o'er Virtue's tenement of clay,

With whom thy Sire and mine alike decay,

And thy fair daughter's bloom untimely show'd

Oh! in that awful hour be Heaven thy stay,

And there be thou enthroned, through His dear blood,

Who wore the thorn-wove crown, and dyed the Holy Rood."

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