As unrebuked as they, I share
The license of the sun and air,
And in a common homage hide
My worship from her scorn and pride.
World-wide apart, and yet so near,
I breathe her charmed atmosphere,
Wherein to her my service brings
The reverence due to holy things.
Her maiden pride, her haughty name,
My dumb devotion shall not shame;
The love that no return doth crave
To knightly levels lifts the slave,
No lance have I, in joust or fight,
To splinter in my lady's sight
But, at her feet, how blest were I
For any need of hers to die!
1877.
THE DEAD FEAST OF THE KOL-FOLK.
E. B. Tylor in his Primitive Culture, chapter xii., gives an account of
the reverence paid the dead by the Kol tribes of Chota Nagpur, Assam.
"When a Ho or Munda," he says, "has been burned on the funeral pile,
collected morsels of his bones are carried in procession with a solemn,
ghostly, sliding step, keeping time to the deep-sounding drum, and when
the old woman who carries the bones on her bamboo tray lowers it from
time to time, then girls who carry pitchers and brass vessels mournfully
reverse them to show that they are empty; thus the remains are taken to
visit every house in the village, and every dwelling of a friend or
relative for miles, and the inmates come out to mourn and praise the
goodness of the departed; the bones are carried to all the dead man's
favorite haunts, to the fields he cultivated, to the grove he planted,
to the threshing-floor where he worked, to the village dance-room where
he made merry.
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