As plain as men could ever ask in, words:
"What makes my master choose this laggard pace?"

At length she climbs those rocky, rugged hills.
That guarded well the loveliest spot on earth
Until the Moguls centuries after came,
Like swarms of locusts swept before the wind,
Or ravening wolves, to conquer fair Cashmere.[4]
And when she reached the top, before her lay,
As on a map spread out, her native land,
By lofty mountains walled on every side,
From winds, from wars, and from the world shut out;
The same great snow-capped mountains north and east
In silent, glittering, awful grandeur stand,
And west the same bold, rugged, cliff-crowned hills.
That filled her eyes with wonder when a child.
Below the snow a belt of deepest green;
Below this belt of green great rolling hills,
Checkered with orchards, vineyards, pastures, fields,
The vale beneath peaceful as sleeping babe,
The city nestling round the shining lake,
And near the park and palace, her sweet home.

O noble, peaceful, beautiful Cashmere!
Well named the garden of eternal spring!
But yet, with home and all its joys so near.
She often turned and strained her eager eyes
To catch one parting glimpse of that sweet spot
Where more than half of her young heart was left.