Safe bore the crew along the wat'ry waste,
And after twenty days' fast sailing she
Encountered on the way a storm, was wrecked,
And all save Rudra perished in the waves.
The shipwrecked merchant lost all that he had,
And wandered through a distant country with
No friends, no money but his hands to earn
For him his daily bread: the lonely youth
Thus dragged for years his miserable life
With nothing to make it worth living save
The hope, the only hope, to see his wife;
Till at the end of twenty years a ship
Was sighted that was bound for Nundipore.
In it he sailed and safely landed in
His native port. It was the midday noon;
He saw the selfsame fishing village that
Stood years ago upon the sandy beach,
And with a joyful heart he hastened to
His house which all deserted seemed; inside
With falt'ring steps he went, and on the walls
Of the big hall were hanging pictures of
His sire, of Krishna playing on the flute,
Of Rama, Siva, and the other gods
Whom in his childhood days his house adored,
And seemed as they were drawn but yesterday;
A thousand other old familiar scenes
In quick succession passed before his eyes,
Then quickly passed into a room, where lo!
There slept a youth and she for whom for years
Life's toils he patient bore. As one born blind