Upon their toiling cattle by wild beasts
That nightly from their hill abodes came down
To feast on them. And in that motley crowd
Were servants of the state and many more
Who long had waited merely for a glimpse
Of their just ruler Désing holding court.

But soon there echoed through the lofty hills
The sound of th' Indian bugle and the drum
Proclaiming the arrival of the prince;
And often, as the new flood rushing down
With the still waters of a sleeping stream,
Leaves nought behind, and all is vacancy,
Or as the dim light of a shallow lamp
Suddenly blazes forth and soon is quenched,
So louder rose the clamour of the crowd
At the sound of the bugle and the drum,
Then straightway in deep silence died away,
And perfect stillness reigned everywhere.

Upon his gorgeous throne sat Jinji's prince
With servants fanning him on either side;
And in a place of honour sate in that
Capacious hall his holy Brahmin priest,
The master of his well-trained army there,
The chief and trusted min'ster of the state,
The aged poet that his praises sang,
The sage that, versed in all the starry lore,
His royal master's fortunes daily told;
The painter that adorned those ancient walls,