Toru Dutt

(4 March 1856 - 30 August 1877 / Calcutta / British India)

The Young Captive


The budding shoot ripens unharmed by the scythe,
Without fear of the press, on vine branches lithe,
Through spring-tide the green clusters bloom.
Is't strange, then, that I in my life's morning hour,

Though troubles like clouds on the dark present lower,
Half-frighted shrink back from my doom ?
Let the stern-hearted stoic run boldly on death!
I - I weep and I hope; to the north wind's chill breath
I bend, - then erect is my form!
If days there are bitter, there are days also sweet,
Enjoyment unmixed where on earth may we meet?
What ocean has never a storm?
Illusions the fairest assuage half my pain,
The walls of a prison enclose me in vain,
The strong wings of hope bear me far;
So escapes from the net of the fowler the bird,
So darts he through ether, while his music is heard
Like showers of sweet sound from a star.
Comes Death unto me? I sleep tranquil and calm.
And Peace when I waken stands by with her balm.
Remorse is the offspring of crimes;
My welcome each morning smiles forth in all eyes,
My presence is here, to sad brows, a surprise
Which kindles to pleasure at times.
The end of my journey seemed so far to my view;
Of the elm-trees which border the long avenue,
The nearest are only past by;
At the banquet of life I have barely sat down.
My lips have but pressed the bright foaming crown
Of the wine in my cup bubbling high.
I am only in spring, - the harvest I'd see,
From season to season like the sun I would be
Intent on completing my round;
Shining bright in the garden, - its honour and queen;
As yet but the beams of the morning I've seen,
I wait for eve's stillness profound.
O Death, thou canst wait; leave, leave me to dream,
And strike at the hearts where Despair is supreme,
And Shame hails thy dart as a boon!
For me, Pales has arbours unknown to the throngs,
The world has delights, the Muses have songs,
I wish not to perish too soon.
A prisoner myself, broken-hearted and crushed,
From my heart to my lips all my sympathies rushed,
And my lyre from its slumbers awoke;
At these sorrows, these wishes, of a captive, I heard,
And to rhyme and to measure I married each word
As softly and simply she spoke.
Should this song of my prison hereafter inspire
Some student with leisure her name to inquire,
This answer at least may be given, -
That grace marked her figure, her action, her speech,
And such as lived near her, blameless might teach
That life is the best gift of heaven

Note: Captive: Aimée de Coigny, duchess of Fleury.

Submitted: Thursday, March 22, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Young Captive by Toru Dutt )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 1 comments »

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  2. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  3. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  4. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  5. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
  6. Alone, Edgar Allan Poe
  7. "Hope" is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson
  8. Sciences Take xx xxx xx Original .., Lee Mack
  9. Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
  10. Invictus, William Ernest Henley

Poem of the Day

poet Richard Lovelace

Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
...... Read complete »

   

New Poems

  1. PH: Poetry Writing: In Poetry, Brian Johnston
  2. Moving Out, Adriana Avila
  3. The Main Ingredient, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  4. Missing From Action, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  5. 12 Poems (English) from the Poetry Hat, sheena blackhall
  6. Owl & Handbag, sheena blackhall
  7. Lighthouse, sheena blackhall
  8. Human Touch, Mark R Slaughter
  9. Fishing Village, sheena blackhall
  10. Skull, Mark R Slaughter
[Hata Bildir]