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Updated: May 5, 2025
The veiled, skeleton sat in state, lifting the cypress-wreath above its head, as the guerdon of some guest illustrious in the qualifications which there claimed precedence. As the stewards deemed the world inexhaustible in misery, and were desirous of recognizing it in all its forms, they had not seen fit to reassemble the company of the former year.
There they sat, with the veiled skeleton of the founder holding aloft the cypress-wreath, at one end of the table, and at the other, wrapped in furs, the withered figure of Gervayse Hastings, stately, calm, and cold, impressing the company with awe, yet so little interesting their sympathy that he might have vanished into thin air without their once exclaiming, "Whither is he gone?"
But when pale Death, all featureless and grim, Lifted his bony hand, and beckoning Held out his cypress-wreath, she followed him, And Love was left forlorn and wondering, That she who for his bidding would not stay, At Death's first whisper rose and went away. Rivals, "Ohe, Ahmed Din! Shafiz Ulla ahoo! Bahadur Khan, where are you?
But when pale Death, all featureless and grim, Lifted his bony hand, and beckoning Held out his cypress-wreath, she followed him, And Love was left forlorn and wondering, That she who for his bidding would not stay, At Death's first whisper rose and went away. 'Ohe, Ahmed Din! Shafiz Ullah ahoo! Bahadur Khan, where are you? Come out of the tents, as I have done, and fight against the English.
"Neglected son of genius! thou hast pass'd In broken-hearted loneliness away; And one who prized thy talents, fain would cast The cypress-wreath above thy nameless clay. Ah, could she yet thy spirit's flight delay, Till the cold world, relenting from its scorn, The fadeless laurel round thy brows should twine, Crowning the innate majesty of mind, By crushing poverty and sorrow torn.
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