His sixteen years had left him very fair,
⁠Tinted his cheeks with soft and delicate bloom,
Added new lustre to his clustered hair,
⁠And filled his amber eyes with tender gloom.

He sought some unknown thing, he knew not what,
⁠His scarce-seen bride, a child, was far away,
Desiring love, as yet he knew it not,
⁠Sleepless by night he grew, forlorn by day.

"Ah, go not near the Peepul trees,
That shiver in the evening breeze,
A young Churel might hide in these!

"And should she see thee, and desire,
Then will she burn thee in soft fire,
Till in her arms thou shalt expire!"

"But who and what is this Churel,
Who loves in Peepul trees to dwell,