Thornton, Robert John (1768?-1837) / Temple of Flora, or, Garden of the botanist, poet, painter, and philosopher.
Indian Reed; or, Canna Indica.
True to her plighted virgin vow She seeks the altar's radiant blaze, Her ardent prayers to Brabma pours, And calm approaching death surveys. With India's gorgeous gems adorn'd, And all her flowers, which loveliest blow: "Begin," she cries, "the solemn rites, "And bid the fires around me glow. A cheerful victim at that shrine "Where nuptial truth can conquer pain, " Around my brows rich garlands twine, With roses strew the hallow'd plain. "Near yon deep grove the pyre ascends, Where, pale in death, Calindus lies; "Soon shall these arms, no more withheld, "Embrace him in his kindred skies. "Friends of my youth, your plaints forbear, Nor with a tear these rites profane; Ere long, the sun, that now declines, Shall see me 'midst the sainted train. Mother, my last embrace receive; Take, sisters, take this parting kiss: "A glorious martyr decks your race, "And leaves you for the realms of bliss. "Hark! from the clouds his voice I hear; "Celestial visions round me fly! "I see the radiant shape appear, "His image beckons from the sky. "Haste, holy Bramins! light the blaze "That bears me to my parted love; "I fly, his seraph form to meet, "And join him in the realms above." SHAW.
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