Then stately Brahmans on their shoulders bore
A noble brother of their sacred caste,
In manhood's bloom and early prime cut down.
Then Brahman youth, bearing a little child
Half hid in flowers, and as in seeming sleep.
Then other Brahmans in a litter bore
One young and fair, in early womanhood,
Her youthful beauty joined with matron grace,
In bridal dress adorned with costly gems--
The very face the prince had dreaming seen,
The very child she carried in her arms.
Then many more, uncovered, four by four,
The aged first, then those in manhood's prime,
And then the young with many acolytes
Chanting in unison their sacred hymns,
Accompanied by many instruments,
Both wind and string, in solemn symphony;
And at respectful distance other castes,
Afraid to touch a Brahman's sacred robes
Or even mingle with his grief their tears.
And when they reached the fragrant funeral-pile,
Weeping they placed their dead on their last couch,
The child within its father's nerveless arms;
And when all funeral rites had been performed,
The widow circled thrice the funeral-pile,
Distributing her gifts with lavish hand,
Bidding her friends a long and last farewell--
Then stopped, and raised her tearless eyes and said:
"Farewell, a long farewell, to life and friends!
Farewell! O earth and air and sacred sun!