THE BOATMEN’S SONG TO GANGA.
Gold river! gold river! how gallantly now
Our bark on thy bright breast is lifting her prow.
In the pride of her beauty, how swiftly she flies:
Like a white-winged spirit through topaz-paved skies!
Gold river! gold river! thy bosom is calm,
And o’er thee the breezes are shedding their balm;
And nature beholds her fair features portrayed
In the glass of thy bosom—serenely displayed.
Gold river! gold river! the sun to thy waves,
Is fleeting to rest in thy cool coral caves;
And thence, with his tiar of light, at the morn
He will rise, and the skies with his glory adorn.
Gold river! gold river! how bright is the beam
Which brightens and crimsons thy soft-flowing stream;
Whose waters beneath make a musical clashing,
Whose ripples like dimples in childhood are flashing.
Gold river! gold river! the moon will soon grace
The hall of the stars with her light-shedding face;
The wandering planets her palace will throng,
And seraphs will waken their music and song.
Gold river! gold river! our brief course is done,
And safe in the city our home we have won;
And now, as the bright sun who drops from our view,
So, Ganga, we bid thee a cheerful adieu!
Source: Fisher’s Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Kasiprasad Ghose (1809–1873)
