The earth might know whether the fire
Beneath the hillock as a pyre
Was there and kept a-smouldering
Whatever burnt it with fiery sting.

From morning did he slowly, oh!
Acute and heavy stones below
Clasp with his own holy wrath,
A power ne one had ne now hath.

Though he’s been slumb’ring innocently
Since hundred years ago, sharply,
As I had heard from my ancestors,
Got furious by some evil stars.

It was a foggy day of autumn,
None could be seen at the bottom,
Nor high above a bird to fly,
Nor that hill, then calm and high.

When the pale sun reached the top,
Of earthly dome of clouds did rob
His grandeur boldly, the rain began
To curse the man with wicked plan.

Till then no one conjectured what
God had stored for their hapless lot,
But dreamt bygone months when they
Were carefree as a child and gay.

Once the sun was lost in the west,
Some eerie sounds from that hill-crest
Began to frighten children, and their
Unhappy parents uttered a prayer.

One wondered if it was a rumbling
Of the clouds, about to be tumbling
Once again as heavier rain
Upon grey mountains and verdant plain.

Another heard the rustling leaves,
As summer’s cool wind gently heaves.
But no such things were their outside,
Then must’ve in high note an infant cried.

That voice, as night seemed deep and darker,
Bit by bit, from grave to graver
Became, and did from the hill emerge.
All cravens shrieked, they shrieked, “O dirge!”


All at once in mightiest blast,
Liquid fire did up the crust
Gush out, flash out from the earth,
As if he gathered an endless mirth.

Then down that splendent stone did flow
With million captive crumbles, lo!
The brooklet virile made its way
Through forsaken woods and clay.

Hearth! A hearth of our whole world
That dormant knoll was like; he hurled
The hallowed fire, which God alone
Could gift mankind, with new adorn.

What rapture did the hill derive
Unburd’ning himself of newer life!
And what unwavering faith had he
In earth on whose lap his child would be!