Heart-Foam
Oh! to be wafted away
From this black Aceldama of sorrow,
Where the dust of an earthy to-day
Makes the earth of a dusty to-morrow.
W.S. Gilbert.
Cossimbazar
Come fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar,
For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from afar.
“Banoolah! Banoolah!” The Brahmins are nigh,
And the depths of the jungle re-echo their cry.
Pestonjee Bomanjee!
Smite the guitar;
Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.
Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon,
Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon.
Stick to thy music, and oh, let the sound
Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round.
Famsetjee, Feejeebhoy!
Sweep the guitar.
Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.
Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed
Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed?
Art thou a Ghebir—a blinded Parsee?
Not that it matters an atom to me.
Cursetjee Bomanjee!
Twang the guitar
Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.
Henry S. Leigh.