Chiefs ancestors and of the old heroic days. The place of carousal is
a bare spot near a large and ancient well out of which grows a vast
pipal tree. Hard by is a little temple surmounted by a red flag on a
drooping bamboo. It is here that the _Gangôr_[F] and _Dassahra_[F]
solemnities are celebrated. Arrived on the ground, the Raja slowly
circles his horse; then, jerking the thorn-bit, causes him to advance
plunging and rearing, but dropping first on the near foot and then on
the off foot with admirable precision; and finally, making the white
monster, now in a lather of sweat, rise up and walk a few steps on his
hind legs, the Raja's performance concludes amid many shouts of wonder
and delight from the smooth-tongued courtiers. The thakores and
sardars now exhibit their skill in the _manége_ until the shades of
night fall, when torches are brought, amid much salaaming, and the
cavalcade defiles, through the city, back to the palace. Lights are
twinkling from the higher casements and reflected on the lake below;
the _gola_[G] slave-girls are singing plaintive songs, drum and conch
answer from the open courtyards. The palace is awake. The Raja, we
will romantically presume, bounds lightly from his horse and dances
gaily to the harem to fling himself voluptuously into the luxurious
arms of one of the five-and-twenty queens, or one of the
five-and-twenty grand duchesses; and they stand for one delirious
moment wreathed in each other's embraces--

While soft there breathes
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seems to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose,
And, as it swell'd again at each faint close,
The ear could track through all that maze of chords
And young sweet voices these impassioned words--