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Leader (1850-1860), 28th August 1852, Edition Town of 2, Page 830

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      as a Law , he will do for Morals what JSTewton did'for Physics j and not The misconception of the nature of Law which pervades this work , is accompanied by as greater misconception of the scientific nature of Analogy , so much employed by him , e . g . —

      RELIGION AND ELECTKICITT . " In this . connexion between violence and religious feeling , there are not wa ting analogies with material phenomena . If the divine and spiritual principle of sincere religion has occasionally produced fruit so strange and unexpected as hostility and bloodshed , persecution and hatred , so have the subtler material elementshowever pervading may be their salutary effects—produced accompany ing evils , which can neither be evaded nor denied . One of the subtlest of our atmospheric elements is electricity . Of the great part it plays in promoting vegetation , in the formation of rain and dew , and in the regulation of climate and temperature , there can be little doubt . Yet it is probable that this recondite but salutary and beneficent agent is , in its changes and mutations , one of the causes of those mysterious visitations of pestilence and famine that , from time to time , in all recorded nges ,

      have , at certain periods , afflicted the world . The same may probably be true of magnetism and of galvanism , if these be not indeed modifications only of electricity . Thus , then , in both worlds , material and moral , evils may accompany , and do accompany , the most refined and spiritualised , as well as the grossest and most tangible agencies . Electricity becomes the source of disease and death ; religious zeal , of persecution , cruelty , and aggression . The best of motives and agents are not good unmixed , as the worst are not altogether bad ; and as that electric fluid , which is present in the rain and dew that refreshes all nature , is the moving power likewise in the thunderstorm , the tornado , the pompero , and the hurricanebreathes pestilence in the sirocco , and storm in the monsoon—so have the mild teachings even of Christianity their possible tendencies to an opposite influence , and from the Sermon on the Mount the perversity of human passion has elaborated a Sicilian Vespers and a Saint Bartholomew !"

      Monmouth and Macedon both have M . as their initial . This work is , however , only one of a class . So long as men attempt the scientific solution of moral problems , and neglect the Method of positive science , so long will they wander helplessly through the labyrinth without a clue .

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      SPECIMENS OF INDIAN POETRY . Specimens of Old Indian Poetry . Translated from the original Sanskrit into English Verse . By Ealph T . H . Griffith . Arthur Hall , Virtue , and Co . Those who complain of the neglect of the Indian Muse , forget that beyond the remoteness of Indian thought there lies another cause—inadequacy of translation . Few poems read well in translation , and none where the substance is not of itself interesting enough to dispense with form . Now in Orient a l poetry the form is everything ; and that form is so opposed to all our ideas , that in translation it is apt to be wearisome bombast .

      Translation is always a makeshift . But as English readers are not likel y to learn Sanskrit for the literary delight of enjoying Indian poetry , one is very glad to get hold of a makeshift , that some dim image may be seen , " as in a glass darkly , " of this Indian Muse . Hence the interest of such a work as Mr . Griffith ' s . It is an unpretending little volume , but lovers of literature will prize it ; and as our own poets are silent just now a hearing may be gained for these voices of an early world . The " Veda Hymns" with which the volume opens belong to the untranslateablc class . The extracts from the " Book of the Law of Manu , " the " llamayana , " and the " Mahabharata" are more intelligible . From the first we extract THE DUTY OF KINGS . " lie that ruleth should endeavour with his might and main to bo Like the Powers of God around him , in his strength and majesty ; Like the Itain-Uod in due season sendeth showers from above , He should shed upon his kingdom equal favour , gracious love ; As the Sun draws up the water witli his fiery rays of might , Thus let him from his own kingdom claim his revenue and right ; As the mighty IViml unhinder'd bloweth freely tohere he wilt , Jjet the monarch , ever present with his spies all places fill ; JAJce as in the judgment Yama pnnisheth both friends and foes , Jjet him judge and punish duly rebels who his might oppose : As the Moon's unclouded rising bringeth peace and calm delight , Let his gracious presence ever gladden all his people ' s sight ; Let the king consume the wicked—burn the guilty in his ire , . Bright in glory , fierce in anger , like the mighty God of Fire ; Ah the ( leneral Mother fecdeth all to whom hIio giveth birth , Let the king support Ins subjects , like the kindly-fostering Earth . " But , the most beautiful of all is that " Death of the Hermit Boy" from the " Ilamayana . " The bereaved king , whoso h o ii lias just been taken from him , reruns in his sorrow to an early crime , and ace in his present affliction a punishment : —• " Spake he sorrowing to Kausalya , sighing , weeping , for her sou : — ' Art thou waking , mournful lady ? give me all thy listening car , Hearken to a tale of sorrow , — to an ancient deed of fear . Surely each must reap the harvest of his actions here below , Virtuous deed shall bear a blessing , win shall ever bring forth woe ; I { right are the Palasa ' s blossoms , homely is the Ainm true , And a man will foil the Amras , tend I'alasas carefully . For awhile his heart is merry , when he sees the flowers so fair , Hut in HUiiiiner-tinie he sorrows , seeking fruit , for none is there . . Fool ! I watcr'd bright 1 ' alasas , laid the useful Aiuras low ; Now 1 mourn for hanish'd Kama , and my folly fruitcth woe . 'Tis a deed of youthful rashness brings on me this evil day , As a young child tastcth poison , eating death in heedless play . '" He rohdoti how ho waited in nmbuHh to try liin archer-skill , and fancying ho heard a wild benn ( , — " linger to lay low the monster , forth a glittering shall I drew , Poisonous as fell serpent ' s venom from the string the arrow Hew ; Then 1 heard a bitter wailing , and a voice ,. ' Ah , me ! ah , me !' Of one wounded , fulling , dying , calling out in agony ;

      Writhing on the bank in anguish with a plaintive voice cried he , ' Ah ! wherefore has this arrow smitten a poor harmless Devotee ? Here at eve to fill my pitcher to this lonely stream I came , Tell me , whom have I offended , how have I deserved blame ? Who should slay the guiltless Hermit , living in the secret wood , His sole drink the river water , simple herbs and fruit his food ? Will the murderer spoil my body ? Am I for my vesture slain ? Little from my deerskin mantle , or my bark coat will ho gain ; 'Tis not mine own death that pains me—from my aged . parents torn , Long their stay and only succour— 'tis for their sad fate I mourn . Who will feed them when I am not ? Heedless youth , whoe ' er thou art , Thou hast murder'd father , mother , offspring—all with one fell dart . * Horror seized my soul within me , and my mind was well-nigh gone , In the stilly calm of evening as I heard that piteous moan ; Rushing forward through the bushes , on Surayu's bank I spied , Lying low , a young Ascetic , with my shaft deep in his side ; With his matted hair dishevell'd , and his pitcher cast away , From his side the life-blood ebbing , smear'd with dust and gore he lay ; Then he fix'd his eyes upon ine , —scarcely could my senses brook , As these bitter words he utter'd , that long last departing look : — ' Only to fetch water came I—tell me , wherefore do I bleed ? Have I sinn'd against thee , monarch ; done thee wrong in word or deed ? Ah ! I ' m not thine only victim—cruel king , thy heedless dart Pierces too a father ' s bosom , and an aged mother ' s heart . They , my parents , blind and feeble , from this hand alone can drink , When I come not , thirsting , hoping , sadly to the grave they'll sink . No fruit from my Veda studies , none from Penance do I gaiu , For my hapless father knows not his dear son is lying slam ; Ah ! and if he knew me dying , powerless to save were he , As a tree can never rescue from the axe the doomed tree . Hasten to him , son of llaghu ! tell my father of my fate , Lest his wrath like fire consume thee—hasten ere it be too late ! There within the shady forest is my father ' s hermitage , Go , entreat him , son of Raghu ! lest he curse thee in his rage ; Hasten , king !—but first in mercy draw this arrow from my side ; Ah ! it eats away my body , as the river-bank the tide . ' Mind-distracted thus I ponder'd ; —Now he writhes in agony , When I draw the deadly arrow from his body he must die , Quick he saw the doubt that held me , pitying , fearing , where I stood , And the wounded boy address'd me , conquering pain by fortitude : — ' Let not thy sad heart be troubled for thy sin if I should die , Lessen ed be thy grief and terror , for no Twice-born , King ! am I ; Fear not , thou inayst do my bidding guiltless of a Brahman ' s death , Wedded to a Vaisya father , Sudra mother gave me breath . ' Thus he spake , and I down kneeling , drew the arrow from his side ; Then the Hermit , rich in penance , fix'd his eyes on me , and died . Pierced through , wetted by the ripples , by Surayu lying dead , Bitterly I rnourn'd the Hermit , weeping , much disquieted . Motionless I stood in sorrow—sadly , anxiously I thought , How to minister most kindly to the woe my hand had wrought . From the stream I fill'd the pitcher , and , as he had told the road , Quickly reach'd the lowly cottage where the childless twain abode ; Talking of their son ' s long tarrying , a poor aged sightless pair , ¦ Like two birds with dipt wings , helpless , none to guide them , sat they there . Sadly , slowly , I approached them , by my rash deed left forlorn , Crush'd with terror was my spirit , and my mind with anguish torn ; At the sound of coining footsteps thus I heard the old man say , ' Dear son , bring me water quickly—thou hast been too long away ! Bathing in the stream , or playing , thou hast stay ' d so long from home , ^ Come , thy mother longeth for thee—come in , quickly , dear child , come . Be not angry , mine own darling—keep not in thy memory Any hard word from thy mother , any hasty speech from me ; Thou art thy poor parents' succour , eyes art thou unto the blind ; Speak , on thee our lives are resting—why so silent and unkind ? Thus I heard , yet deeper grieving , and in fresh augmented woe , Spake to the bereaved father , with words faltering and slow . " After relating what lias befallen" O ' er his cheeks at my sad story flow'd the tear-streams in a flood , Scarce for weeping spake the hermit , as with folded bands I stood ; 4 King ! hadst thou conceal'd this horror—this blood-shedding left untolii , On thy head the sin had fallen with its fruit ten thomuuid-fold ; For a Warrior stain'd with murder , of a Hermit above all , From his high estate , blood-guilty , were lie Indra ' s self , must fall ; Thou dost live , for all unconscious , monarch ! didst thou slay my so" > Else- had all the race of Jtaghu fallen , by thy deed undone ; Lead us , king , by thee bereaved , lead us to the fatal place , Lot us fold our darling's body in a long and last embrace . ' By the hand I . led the mourners to the river when : he lay , ?> Fondly clasp'd the sightless parents in their arms the death-cold < "l iy-We omit ilio lamentations of the father , followed by the funeral preparations—tho poem thus concludes : — " Duly were the sad rites ended by the parents' loving care , And again the Sage address'd me as I stood a suppliant then ) : - ' Thou hast slain my well-beloved , —robh'd my one dear child of breath , Slay me , slay tho childless father—there is now no sting in death . J Jut—for thou bast kill'd my darling--wretched King ! thy breast nlia » Something of the pangs I suffer a bereaved father ' s woe . — Thus I lay my curse upon thee—for this thing that thou bant done , As I mourn for my beloved , thou shalt sorrow for a son . ' Thus the childless Hermit cursed me , and straightway the aged pair To tho funeral pile ascended , and breathed out their spirits there . Lady dear ! that youthful folly fruitefh woe upon my head , Heavy is my heart , within me , and my soul disquieted ; Yea , the ancient , Hermit ' s cursing is fulHH'd on mo this day , —¦ Sorrow for my banish'd Kama taketh all my life away . Kihs ino now , my own Kausalya , quickly , will my vital breath Leave me at the awful huuuuouh of the messengers of Death ;

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      830 THE LEADER . [ Saturday ,

  • Citation
    • Leader (1850-1860), Aug. 28, 1852, page 830, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse2.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1949/page/18/