Gitanjali
(Song offerings)
by Rabindranath Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore (1861--1941), was an Indian who received Nobel prize (1913) for Literature. This collection of songs was first published in 1913 as a collection of prose translations made by the author from the original Bangla (a language of India) Poems.
This is one of my most favorite collections. I am presenting here some of the songs from the original book.
1
When thou commandest me to sing
it seems that my heart
would break with pride;
and I look to thy face,
and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life
melts into one sweet harmony
and my adoration spreads wings
like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing.
I know that only as a singer
I come before thy presence.
I touch by the edge
of the far-spreading wings of my song
thy feet
which I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing
I forget myself
and call thee friend
who art my lord.
2
I know not how thou singest,
my master!
I ever listen in silent amazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world.
The life breath of thy music
runs from sky to sky.
The holy stream of thy music
breaks through all stony obstacles
and rushes on.
My heart longs
to join in thy song,
but vainly struggles for a voice.
I would speak,
but speech breaks not into song,
and I cry out baffled.
Ah, thou hast made my heart
captive in the endless meshes
of thy music, my master!
3
Life of my life,
I shall ever try to keep
my body pure,
knowing that thy living touch
is upon all my limbs.
I shall ever try
to keep all untruths
out from my thoughts,
knowing that thou art that truth
which has kindled
the light of reason in my mind.
I shall ever try
to drive all evils away
from my heart and
keep my love in flower,
knowing that thou hast thy seat
in the inmost shrine
of my heart.
And it shall be my endeavour
to reveal thee in my actions,
knowing it is thy power
gives me strength to act.
4
I ask for a moment's indulgence
to sit by thy side.
The works that I have in hand
I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face
my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes
an endless toil
in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come
at my window
with its sighs and murmurs;
and the bees are plying their minstrelsy
at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite,
face to face with thee,
and to sing dedication of life
in this silent and overflowing leisure.
5
Pluck this little flower and take it,
delay not!
I fear lest it droop
and drop into the dust.
I may not find a place
in thy garland,
but honour it with a touch of pain
from thy hand and pluck it.
I fear lest the day end
before I am aware,
and the time of offering go by.
Though its colour be not deep
and its smell be faint,
use this flower in thy service
and pluck it while there is time.
6
My song has put off
her adornments.
She has no pride
of dress and decoration.
Ornaments would mar our union;
they would come
between thee and me;
their jingling would drown thy whispers.
My poet's vanity dies
in shame before thy sight.
O master poet,
I have sat down at thy feet.
Only let me make
my life simple and straight,
like a flute of reed
For thee to fill with music.
7
O Fool,
try to carry thyself
upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar,
to come beg at thy own door!
Leave all thy burdens
on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.
Thy desire at once
puts out the light
from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy
take not thy gifts
through its unclean hands.
Accept only
what is offered by sacred love.
8
The time that my journey takes
is long and the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot
of the first gleam of light,
and pursued my voyage
through the wildernesses of worlds
leaving my track
on many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course
that comes nearest to thyself,
and that training is the most intricate
which leads
to the utter simplicity of a tune.
The traveller has to knock
at every alien door
to come to his own,
and one has to wander
through all the outer worlds
to reach
the innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed
far and wide
before I shut them
and said `Here art thou!'
The question and the cry
`Oh, where?'
melt into tears of a thousand streams
and deluge the world
with the flood of the assurance
`I am!'
9
The song that I came to sing
remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days
in stringing and in unstringing
my instrument.
The time has not come true,
the words have not been rightly said;
only there is the agony
of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened;
only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face,
nor have I listened to his voice;
only I have heard
his gentle footsteps
from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed
in spreading his seat on the floor;
but the lamp has not been lit
and I cannot ask him
into my house.
I live in the hope
of meeting with him;
but this meeting is not yet.
10
My desires are many
and my cry is pitiful,
but ever didst thou save me
by hard refusals;
and this strong mercy
has been wrought into my life
through and through.
Day by day
thou art making me
worthy of the simple,
great gifts
that thou gavest to me unasked
this sky and the light,
this body and the life
and the mind
saving me
from perils of overmuch desire.
There are times
when I languidly linger
and times
when I awaken and hurry
in search of my goal;
but cruelly thou hidest
thyself from before me.
Day by day
thou art making me
worthy of thy full acceptance
by refusing me ever and anon,
saving me
from perils of weak,
uncertain desire.
11
I am here
to sing thee songs.
In this hall of thine
I have a corner seat.
In thy world
I have no work to do;
my useless life
can only break out
in tunes without a purpose.
When the hour strikes
for thy silent worship
at the dark temple of midnight,
command me, my master,
to stand before thee to sing.
When in the morning air
the golden harp is tuned,
honour me,
commanding my presence.
@@@
12
I have had my invitation
to this world's festival,
and thus my life
has been blessed.
My eyes have seen
and my ears have heard.
It was my part
at this feast
to play upon my instrument,
and I have done all I could.
Now, I ask,
has the time come at last
when I may go in
and see thy face
and offer thee
my silent salutation?
13
I am only waiting for love
to give myself up
at last into his hands.
That is why
it is so late
and why I have been guilty
of such omissions.
They come with their laws
and their codes
to bind me fast;
but I evade them ever,
for I am only waiting for love
to give myself up
at last into his hands.
People blame me
and call me heedless;
I doubt not
they are right in their blame.
The market day is over
and work is all done
for the busy.
Those who came
to call me in vain
have gone back in anger.
I am only waiting for love
to give myself up
at last into his hands.
14
If thou speakest not
I will fill my heart
with thy silence
and endure it.
I will keep still
and wait like the night
with starry vigil
and its head bent
low with patience.
The morning will surely come,
the darkness will vanish,
and thy voice pour down
in golden streams
breaking through the sky.
Then thy words
will take wings
in songs from every one
of my birds' nests,
and thy melodies
will break forth in flowers
in all my forest groves.
15
On the day
when the lotus bloomed,
alas,
my mind was straying,
and I knew it not.
My basket was empty
and the flower
remained unheeded.
Only now and again
a sadness fell upon me,
and I started up from my dream
and felt a sweet trace
of a strange fragrance
in the south wind.
That vague sweetness
made my heart ache
with longing
and it seemed to me
that it was
the eager breath of the summer
seeking for its completion.
I knew not then
that it was so near,
that it was mine,
and that this perfect sweetness
had blossomed
in the depth of my own heart.
16
Art thou abroad
on this stormy night
on thy journey of love,
my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.
I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door
and look out on the darkness,
my friend!
I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore
of the ink-black river,
by what far edge
of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom
art thou threading
thy course to come to me,
my friend?
#17
If the day is done,
if birds sing no more,
if the wind has flagged tired,
then draw the veil of darkness
thick upon me,
even as thou hast wrapt
the earth with the coverlet of sleep
and tenderly closed the petals
of the drooping lotus at dusk.
From the traveller,
whose sack of provisions is empty
before the voyage is ended,
whose garment is torn and dust laden,
whose strength is exhausted,
remove shame and poverty,
and renew his life
like a flower under the cover
of thy kindly night.
18
In the night of weariness
let me give myself up
to sleep without struggle,
resting my trust upon thee.
Let me not force
my flagging spirit
into a poor preparation
for thy worship.
It is thou who drawest
the veil of night
upon the tired eyes
of the day
to renew its sight
in a fresher gladness of awakening.
<b>19</b>
Light, oh where is the light?
Kindle it
with the burning fire of desire!
There is the lamp
but never a flicker of a flame
is such thy fate, my heart?
Ah, death were better by far for thee!
Misery knocks at thy door,
and her message is
that thy lord is wakeful,
and he calls thee
to the love-tryst
through the darkness of night.
The sky is overcast
with clouds
and the rain is ceaseless.
I know not
what this is that stirs in me
I know not its meaning.
A moment's flash
of lightning drags down
a deeper gloom on my sight,
and my heart gropes
for the path
to where the music
of the night calls me.
Light, oh where is the light!
Kindle it
with the burning fire of desire!
It thunders
and the wind rushes
screaming through the void.
The night is black
as a black stone.
Let not the hours
pass by in the dark.
Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.
20
Obstinate are the trammels,
but my heart aches
when I try to break them.
Freedom is all I want,
but to hope for it
I feel ashamed.
I am certain
that priceless wealth is in thee,
and that thou art
my best friend,
but I have not
the heart to sweep away
the tinsel that fills my room
The shroud
that covers me
is a shroud of dust and death;
I hate it, yet hug it in love.
My debts are large,
my failures great,
my shame secret and heavy;
yet when I come
to ask for my good,
I quake in fear
lest my prayer be granted.
21
By all means
they try to hold me secure
who love me in this world.
But it is otherwise
with thy love
which is greater than theirs,
and thou keepest me free.
Lest I forget them
they never venture
to leave me alone.
But day passes by
after day and thou art not seen.
If I call not thee
in my prayers,
if I keep not thee
in my heart,
thy love for me
still waits for my love.
22
Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may name thee my all.
Let only that little be left
of my will whereby
I may feel thee on every side,
and come to thee in everything,
and offer to thee my love
every moment.
Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may never hide thee.
Let only that little
of my fetters be left
whereby I am bound
with thy will,
and thy purpose
is carried out in my life
and that is the fetter of thy love.
23
Where the mind is without fear
and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world
has not been broken up
into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out
from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving
stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream
of reason has not lost its way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward
by thee into ever-widening
thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom,
my Father,
let my country awake.
24
This is my prayer to thee, my lord
strike, strike at the root
of penury in my heart.
Give me the strength
lightly to bear
my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength
to make my love
fruitful in service.
Give me the strength
never to disown the poor
or bend my knees
before insolent might.
Give me the strength
to raise my mind high
above daily trifles.
And give me the strength
to surrender my strength
to thy will with love.
25
That I want thee, only thee
let my heart repeat
without end.
All desires
that distract me,
day and night,
are false and empty to the core.
As the night keeps
hidden in its gloom
the petition for light,
even thus in the depth
of my unconsciousness rings the cry
`I want thee, only thee'.
As the storm
still seeks its end in peace
when it strikes
against peace with all its might,
even thus my rebellion
strikes against thy love
and still its cry is
`I want thee, only thee'.
26
When the heart is hard
and parched up,
come upon me
with a shower of mercy.
When grace is lost from life,
come with a burst of song.
When tumultuous work
raises its din on all sides
shutting me out from beyond,
come to me,
my lord of silence,
with thy peace and rest.
When my beggarly heart
sits crouched,
shut up in a corner,
break open the door,
my king,
and come with the ceremony of a king.
When desire blinds
the mind with delusion and dust,
O thou holy one,
thou wakeful,
come with thy light and thy thunder.
27
This is my delight,
thus to wait and watch
at the wayside
where shadow chases light
and the rain comes
in the wake of the summer.
Messengers,
with tidings from unknown skies,
greet me
and speed along the road.
My heart is glad within,
and the breath
of the passing breeze is sweet.
From dawn till dusk
I sit here before my door,
and I know
that of a sudden
the happy moment
will arrive when I shall see.
In the meanwhile
I smile
and I sing all alone.
In the meanwhile
the air is filling
with the perfume of promise.
28
I know not
from what distant time
thou art ever coming
nearer to meet me.
Thy sun and stars
can never keep thee
hidden from me for aye.
In many a morning and eve
thy footsteps have been heard
and thy messenger has come
within my heart
and called me in secret.
I know not
only why today
my life is all astir,
and a feeling
of tremulous joy
is passing through my heart.
It is as if the time
were come
to wind up my work,
and I feel in the air
a faint smell
of thy sweet presence.
29
The night is nearly spent
waiting for him in vain.
I fear lest in the morning
he suddenly come to my door
when I have fallen asleep
wearied out.
Oh friends,
leave the way open to him
forbid him not.
If the sounds of his steps
does not wake me,
do not try to rouse me,
I pray.
I wish not to be called
from my sleep
by the clamorous choir of birds,
by the riot of wind
at the festival of morning light.
Let me sleep undisturbed
even if my lord comes
of a sudden to my door.
Ah, my sleep, precious sleep,
which only waits
for his touch to vanish.
Ah, my closed eyes
that would open their lids
only to the light of his smile
when he stands before me
like a dream emerging
from darkness of sleep.
Let him appear
before my sight
as the first of all lights and all forms.
The first thrill of joy
to my awakened soul
let it come from his glance.
And let my return to myself
be immediate return to him.
30
I thought I should ask of thee
but I dared not
the rose wreath
thou hadst on thy neck.
Thus I waited for the morning,
when thou didst depart,
to find a few fragments
on the bed.
And like a beggar
I searched in the dawn
only for a stray petal or two.
Ah me, what is it I find?
What token left of thy love?
It is no flower, no spices,
no vase of perfumed water.
It is thy mighty sword,
flashing as a flame,
heavy as a bolt of thunder.
The young light of morning
comes through the window
and spread itself upon thy bed.
The morning bird twitters and asks,
`Woman, what hast thou got?'
No, it is no flower, nor spices,
nor vase of perfumed water
it is thy dreadful sword.
I sit and muse in wonder,
what gift is this of thine.
I can find no place to hide it.
I am ashamed to wear it,
frail as I am,
and it hurts me
when press it to my bosom.
Yet shall I bear
in my heart this honour
of the burden of pain,
this gift of thine.
From now there shall be
no fear left for me
in this world,
and thou shalt be victorious
in all my strife.
Thou hast left death
for my companion
and I shall crown him
with my life.
Thy sword is with me
to cut asunder my bonds,
and there shall be
no fear left for me in the world.
From now I leave off
all petty decorations.
Lord of my heart,
no more shall there be
for me waiting and weeping in corners,
no more coyness
and sweetness of demeanour.
Thou hast given me
thy sword for adornment.
No more doll's decorations for me!
31
Let all the strains of joy
mingle in my last song
the joy that makes the earth
flow over
in the riotous excess of the grass,
the joy that sets the twin brothers,
life and death,
dancing over the wide world,
the joy that sweeps in
with the tempest,
shaking and waking all life with laughter,
the joy that sits still
with its tears
on the open red lotus of pain,
and the joy
that throws everything
it has upon the dust,
and knows not a word.
32
Yes, I know,
this is nothing but thy love,
O beloved of my heart
this golden light
that dances upon the leaves,
these idle clouds
sailing across the sky,
this passing breeze
leaving its coolness upon my forehead.
The morning light
has flooded my eyes
this is thy message to my heart.
Thy face is bent from above,
thy eyes look down on my eyes,
and my heart has touched thy feet.
33
Thou hast made me
known to friends
whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me
seats in homes
not my own.
Thou hast brought
the distant near
and made a brother
of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart
when I have to leave
my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides
the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.
Through birth and death,
in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me
it is thou, the same,
the one companion
of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart
with bonds of joy
to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee,
then alien there is none,
then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer
that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch
of the one in the play of many.
34
She who ever had remained
in the depth of my being,
in the twilight
of gleams and of glimpses;
she who never opened
her veils in the morning light,
will be my last gift to thee,
my God,
folded in my final song.
Words have wooed
yet failed to win her;
persuasion has stretched to her
its eager arms in vain.
I have roamed
from country to country
keeping her in the core of my heart,
and around her
have risen and fallen
the growth and decay of my life.
Over my thoughts and actions,
my slumbers and dreams,
she reigned
yet dwelled alone and apart.
many a man knocked
at my door and asked for her
and turned away in despair.
There was none in the world
who ever saw her face to face,
and she remained
in her loneliness
waiting for thy recognition.
35
Deliverance is
not for me
in renunciation.
I feel the embrace
of freedom
in a thousand bonds of delight.
Thou ever pourest for me
the fresh draught of thy wine
of various colours and fragrance,
filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light
its hundred different lamps
with thy flame
and place them
before the altar of thy temple.
No, I will never shut
the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing
and touch will bear thy delight.
Yes, all my illusions
will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires
ripen into fruits of love.
36
If it is not my portion
to meet thee in this life
then let me ever feel
that I have missed thy sight.
let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs
of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
As my days pass
in the crowded market of this world
and my hands grow full
with the daily profits,
let me ever feel
that I have gained nothing
let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs
of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
When I sit by the roadside,
tired and panting,
when I spread my bed
low in the dust,
let me ever feel
that the long journey is still before me
let me not forget a moment,
let me carry the pangs
of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
When my rooms
have been decked out
and the flutes sound
and the laughter there is loud,
let me ever feel
that I have not invited thee to my house—
-let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs
of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
37
It is the pang of separation
that spreads
throughout the world
and gives birth
to shapes innumerable
in the infinite sky.
It is this sorrow of separation
that gazes in silence
all nights from star to star
and becomes lyric
among rustling leaves
in rainy darkness of July.
It is this overspreading pain
that deepens into loves and desires,
into sufferings and joy in human homes;
and this it is
that ever melts and flows
in songs through my poet's heart.
38
In desperate hope
I go and search for her
in all the corners of my room;
I find her not.
My house is small
and what once has gone from it
can never be regained.
But infinite is thy mansion, my lord,
and seeking her
I have to come to thy door.
I stand under the golden canopy
of thine evening sky
and I lift my eager eyes to thy face.
I have come
to the brink of eternity
from which nothing can vanish
no hope, no happiness,
no vision of a face seen through tears.
Oh, dip my emptied life
into that ocean,
plunge it into the deepest fullness.
Let me for once
feel that lost sweet touch
in the allness of the universe.
39
On the day
when death will knock at thy door
what wilt thou offer to him?
Oh, I will set before my guest
the full vessel of my life
I will never let him go
with empty hands.
All the sweet vintage
of all my autumn days and summer nights,
all the earnings and gleanings
of my busy life
will I place before him
at the close of my days
when death will knock at my door.
40
O thou the last fulfilment of life,
Death, my death,
come and whisper to me!
Day after day
I have kept watch for thee;
for thee have I borne
the joys and pangs of life.
All that I am,
that I have, that I hope
and all my love
have ever flowed towards thee
in depth of secrecy.
One final glance
from thine eyes
and my life
will be ever thine own.
The flowers have been woven
and the garland is ready
for the bridegroom.
After the wedding
the bride shall leave her home
and meet her lord
alone in the solitude of night.
41
I know
that the day will come
when my sight of this earth
shall be lost,
and life will take
its leave in silence,
drawing the last curtain
over my eyes.
Yet stars will watch at night,
and morning rise as before,
and hours heave like sea waves
casting up pleasures and pains.
When I think
of this end of my moments,
the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see
by the light of death thy world
with its careless treasures.
Rare is its lowliest seat,
rare is its meanest of lives.
Things that I longed
for in vain and things that I got
let them pass.
Let me
but truly possess
the things that I ever spurned
and overlooked.
42
When my play was with thee
I never questioned who thou wert.
I knew nor shyness nor fear,
my life was boisterous.
In the early morning
thou wouldst call me from my sleep
like my own comrade
and lead me running
from glade to glade.
On those days
I never cared to know
the meaning of songs
thou sangest to me.
Only my voice
took up the tunes,
and my heart danced in their cadence.
Now, when the playtime is over,
what is this sudden sight
that is come upon me?
The world with eyes bent
upon thy feet stands
in awe with all its silent stars.
43
I dive down into the depth
of the ocean of forms,
hoping to gain
the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing
from harbour to harbour
with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed
when my sport
was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager
to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall
by the fathomless abyss
where swells up the music
of toneless strings
I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it
to the notes of forever,
and when it has sobbed out
its last utterance,
lay down my silent harp
at the feet of the silent.
MEGHDUTM
Meghdutam
(Cloud Messenger) by Kalidasa
(Translated from Sanskrit by H. H. Wilson, 1843)
Where Ramagiri's cool, dark woods extend,
And those pure streams, where Sita bathed, descend;
Spoiled of his glories, severed from his wife,
A banished Yaksha passes his lonely life:
Doomed, by his lord's stern sentence, to sustain
Twelve tedious months of solitude and pain.
To these dreary hills through circling days confined,
In dull unvaried grief, the god repined;
And sorrow, withering every youthful charm,
Had slipped the golden bracelet from his arm;
When with Ashada's glooms the air was hung,
And one dark cloud around the mountain clung;
In form, some elephant, whose sportive rage,
ramparts, scarce equal to his might, engage.
Long on the mass of mead-reviving dew
The heavenly exile fixed his eager view;
And still the melancholy tear suppressed,
though bitterest sorrow wrung his heaving breast.
For e'en the happy husband, as he folds
His cherished partner in his arms, beholds
This gathering darkness with a troubled heart:
What must they feel, whom fate and distance part!
Such were the Yaksha's thoughts, but fancy found
Some solace in the glooms that deepened round;
And bade him hail amidst the labouring air,
A friendly envoy to his distant fair;
Who, charged with graceful tidings, might impart
New life and pleasure to her drooping heart.
Cheered with the thought, he culled each budding flower,
And wildly wooed the fertilizing power;
(For who, a prey to agonizing grief,
Explores not idlest sources for relief;
And, as to creatures sensible of pain,
To lifeless nature loves not to complain?)
Due homage offered, and oblations made,
the Yaksha thus the Cloud majestic prayed:-
Hail, friend of Indra, counselor divine,
Illustrious offspring of a glorious line!
Wearer of shapes at will, thy worth I know'
And bold entrust thee with my fated woe:
For, better far, solicitation fail
With high desert, than with the base prevail.
Thou art the wretch'd aid, affliction's friend;
To me, unfortunate, thy succour lend;
My lonely state compassionate behold,
Who mourn the vengeance of the god of Gold;
Condemned amidst these dreary rocks to pine,
and all I wish, and all I love, resign.
Where dwell the Yakshas in their sparkling fields,
And Shiva's crescent groves surrounding gilds,
Direct thy licensed journey, and relate
To her who mourns in Alaka, my fate.
There shalt thou find the partner of my woes,
True to her faith, and stranger to repose;
Her task to weep our destiny severe,
And count the moments of the lingering year:
A painful life she leads, but still she lives,
While hope its aid invigorating gives;
For female hearts, though fragile as the flower,
Are firm, when closed by hope's investing power.
Still, as thou mountest on thine airy flight,
Shall widowed wives behold thee with delight,
With eager gaze, their long locks drawn apart,
Whilst hope re-animates each drooping heart:
Nor less shall husbands, as thy course they trace,
Expect at hand a faithful wife's embrace;
Unless, like me, in servitude they bend,
And on another's lordly will depend.
The gentle breeze shall fan thy stately way,
In sportive wreathes the Crane around thee play;
pleased on thy left the Chataka, along
pursue thy path, and cheer it with his song;
And when thy thunders soothe the parching earth'
And showers, expected, raise her mushroom birth;
The swans for Mount Kailasa shall prepare,
And track thy course attendant through the air.
Short be thy farewell to this hill addressed;
This hill with Rama's holy feet impressed;
Thine ancient friend, whose scorching sorrows mourn
Thy frequent absence and delayed return.
Yet ere thine ear can drink what love inspires,
The lengthened way my guiding aid requires.
Oft on whose path full many a lofty hill
Shall ease thy toils, and many a cooling rill.
Rise from these streams, and seek the upper sky;
Then to the north with daring pinions fly.
The beauteous Sylphs shall mark thee with gaze,
in doubt if by the gale abruptly torn,
Some mountain-peak along the air is borne.
The ponderous Elephants, who prop the skies,
hall view thy form expansive with surprise;
Now first their arrogance exchanged for shame,
Lost in thy bulk their long unrivaled fame.
Eastward, where various gems, with blending ray,
In Indra's bow o'er yonder hillock play,
And on thy shadowy form such radiance shed,
As peacock's plumes around a krishna spread,
Direct thy course: to Malas smiling ground,
Where fragment tillage breathes the fields around;
Thy fertile gifts, which looks of love reward,
Where bright-eyed peasants tread the verdant sward.
Thence sailing north, and veering to the west,
On Amrakuta's lofty ridges rest;
Oft have thy showers the mountain's flames allayed,
Then fear not wearied to demand it's aid.
Not e'en the basest, when a failing friend
Solicits help it once was his to lend,
The aid that gratitude exacts denies:
much less shall noble minds the claim despise.
When o'er the wooded mountain's towering head
Thy hovering shades like flowing tresses spread,
Its form shall shine with charms unknown before,
That heavenly hosts may gaze at, and adore;
This earth's round breast, bright swelling from the ground,
And with thy orb as with a nipple crowned.
Next bending downwards from thy lofty flight,
On Chitrakuta's humbler peak alight;
O'er the tall hill thy weariness forego,
And quenching rain-drops on its flames bestow;
For speedy fruits are certain to await
Assistance yielded to the good and great.
Thence journeying onwards, Vindhya's ridgy chain,
And Reva's rill, that bathes its foot, attain;
Whose slender streams upon the brown hill's side,
Like painted streaks upon the dusky hide
Of the tall Elephant--in bright display,
Through stones and rocks wind slow their arduous way.
Here the soft dews thy path has lost resume,
And sip the gelid current's rich perfume,
Where the wild Elephant delights to shed
The juice exuding fragrant from his head.
Then swift proceed, nor shall the blast have force
To check with empty gusts thy ponderous course.
Reviving nature bounteous shall dispense,
To cheer thy journey, every charm of sense;
Blossoms, with blended green and russet hue,
And opening buds, shall smile upon thy view,
Earth's blazing woods in incense shall arise,
And warbling birds with music fill the skies.
Respectful Demigods shall curious count
The chattering storks in lengthening order mount:
Shall mark the Chataka's, who, in thy train,
Expect impatiently the dropping rain.
And, when thy muttering thunders speak thee near,
Shall clasp their brides, half ecstasy, half fear.
Ah! much I dread the long-protected way,
Where charms so numerous spring to tempt delay:
Will not the frequent hill retard thy flight,
Nor flowery plain persuade prolonged delight?
Or can the Peacock's animated hail,
The bird with lucid eyes, to lure thee fail?
Lo! Where awhile the Swans reluctant cower,
Dasarna's fields await the coming shower.
Then shall their groves diffuse profounder gloom,
And brighter buds the deepening shade illume;
Then shall the ancient tree, whose branches wear
The marks of village reverence and care,
Shake through each leaf, as birds profanely wrest
The reverend boughs to form the rising nest.
Where royal Vidisa confers renown
Thy warmest wish shall fruit delightful crown:
There, Vetravati's stream ambrosial laves
A gentle bank, with mildly murmuring waves;
And there, her rippling brow and polished face
Invite thy smiles, and sue for thy embrace.
Next, o'er the lesser hills thy flight suspend,
And growth erect to drooping flowerets lend;
While sweeter fragrance breathes from each recess,
Than rich perfumes the hireling wanton's dress.
On Naga Nadi's banks thy waters shed,
And raise the feeble jasmine's languid head;
Grant for a while thy interposing shroud,
To where those damsels woo the friendly Cloud;
As, while the garland's flowery stores they seek,
The scorching sunbeams singe the tender check,
The ear-hung lotus fades: and vain they chase,
Fatigued and faint, the drops that dew the face.
What though to northern climes thy journey lay,
Consent to track a shortly devious way;
To fair Ujjain's palaces and pride,
And beauteous daughters, turn awhile aside.
Those glancing eyes, those lightning looks unseen,
Dark are thy days, and thou in vain hast been.
Diverging thither now the road proceeds,
Where eddying waters fair Nirvindhya leads,
Who speaks the language amorous maids devise,
The lore of signs, the eloquence of eyes;
And seeks, with lavish beauty, to arrest
Thy course, and woo thee to her bridal breast.
The torrent passed, behold the Sindhu glide,
As though the hair-band bound the slender tide;
Bleached with the withered foliage, that the breeze
has showered rude from overhanging trees:
To thee she looks for succour, to restore
Her lagging waters, and her leafy shore.
Behold the city whose immortal fame
Glows in Avanti's or Visala's name!
Renowned for deeds that worth and love inspire,
And bards to paint them with poetic fire;
The fairest portion of celestial birth.
Of Indra's paradise transferred to earth;
The last rewards to acts of virtue given;
The only recompense then left to Heaven.
Here, as the early Zephyrs waft along,
In swelling harmony, the woodland song;
They scatter sweetness from the fragrant flower
That joyful opens to the morning hour.
With friendly zeal they sport around the maid
Who early courts their vivifying aid;
And, cool from Sipra's gelid waves embrace
Each languid limb and enervated grace.
Her should thy spirit with toils decay,
rest from the labours of the wearying way:
Round every house the flowery fragrance spreads;
O'er every floor the painted footstep threads;
Breathed through each casement, swell the scented air,
Soft odours shaken from the disheveled hair;
Pleased on each terrace, dancing with delight,
The friendly Peacock hails thy grateful flight:
Delay then! certain in Ujjain to find
And that restores the frame, or cheers the mind.
Hence, with new zeal, to Shiva homage pay,
The god whom earth and hell and heaven obey:
The choir who tend his holy fane shall view
With awe, in thee, his neck's celestial blue:
Soft through the rustling grove the fragrant gale
Shall sweets from Gandhavati's fount exhale;
Where with rich dust the lotus-blossoms teem,
And youthful beauties frolic in the stream.
Here, till the sun has vanished in the west,
Till evening brings its sacred ritual, rest;
Then reap the recompense of holy prayer,
like drums thy thunders echoing in the air.
They who, with burning feet and aching arms,
With wanton gestures and emblazoned charms,
In Mahadeva's fane the measure tread,
Or wave the gorgeous chowrie o'er his head,
Shall turn on thee the grateful speaking eye,
Whose glances gleam, like bees, along the sky,
As from thy presence, showers benign and sweet
Cool the parched earth, and soothe their tender feet.
Nay, more--Bhavani shall herself approve,
And pay thy services with looks of love;
When, as her Shiva's twilight rites begin,
And he would clothe him in the reeking skin,
He deems thy form the sanguinary hide,
And casts his elephants attire aside;
For at his shoulders, like a dusky robe,
mantling, impends thy vast and shadowy globe;
Where ample forests, stretched its skirts below
projecting trees like dangling limbs bestow;
And vermil roses, fiercely blooming, shed
Their rich reflected glow, their blood-resembling red.
Amidst the darkness palpable, that shrouds,
Deep as the touchstone's gloom, the night with clouds,
With glittering lines of yellow lightning break,
And frequent trace in heaven the golden streak:
To those fond fair who tread the royal way,
The path their doubtful feet explore betray,
Those thunders hushed, whose shower-foreboding sound
Would check their ardour, and their hopes confound.
On some cool terrace, where the turtle-dove
In gentlest accents breathes connubial love,
Repose awhile; or plead your amorous vows
Through the long night, the lightning for your souse.
Your path retraced, resumed your promised flight,
When in the east the sun restores the light,
And shun his course; for with the dawning sky
The sorrowing wife dispels the tearful eye,
Her lord returned;--so comes the sun, to chase
The dewy tears that stain the Padma's face;
And ill his eager penitence will bear,
That thou shouldst check his progress through the air.
Now to Gambhira's wave thy shadow flies,
And on the stream's pellucid surface lies,
like some loved image faithfully impressed
Deep in the maiden's pure unsullied breast:
And vain thy struggles to escape her wiles,
Or disappoint those sweetly treacherous smiles,
Which glistening Sapharas insidious dart,
Bright as the lotus, at thy vanquished heart.
What breast so firm unmoved by female charms?
Not thine, my friend: for now her waving arms,
O'erhanging Bayas, in thy grasp enclosed,
Rent her cerulean vest, and charms exposed,
prove how successfully she tempts delay,
And wins thee loitering from the lengthening way.
Thence, satiate, lead along the gentle breeze
That bows the lofty summits of the trees;
And pure with fragrance, that the earth in flowers
Repays profuse to fertilizing showers;
Vocal with sounds the elephants excite
To Devagiri wings its welcome flight.
There change thy form, and showering roses shed,
Bathed in the dews of heaven, on Skanda's head;
Son of the Crescent's god, whom holy ire
Called from the flame of all devouring fire,
To snatch the Lord of Swarga from despair,
And timely save the trembling hosts of air.
Next bid thy thunders o'er the mountain float,
And echoing caves repeat the pealing note;
Fit music for the bird, whose lucid eye
Gleams like the horned beauty of the sky;
Whose moulting plumes, to love maternal dear,
Lend brilliant pendants to Bhavani's ear.
To him whose youth in Sara thickets strayed
Reared by the nymphs, thy adoration paid,
Resume thy road, and to the world proclaim
The glorious tale of Rantideva's fame,
Sprung from the blood of countless oxen shed,
And a fair river through the regions spread.
Each lute-armed spirit from thy path retires,
Lest drops ungenial damp the tuneful wires.
Celestial couples, bending from the skies,
Turn on thy distant course their downward eyes,
And watch thee lessening in thy long descent,
To rob the river's scanty stores intent;
As clothed in sacred darkness not thine own,
Thine is the azure of the costly stone,
A central sapphire in the loosened girth
Of scattering pearls, that strung the blooming earth.
The streamlet traversed, to the eager sight
Of Dasapura's fair impart delight;
Welcomed with looks that sparkling eyes bestow,
Whose arching brows like graceful creepers glow,
Whose upturned lashes to thy lofty way
The pearly ball and pupil dark display;
Such contrast as the lovely Kunda shows,
When the black bee sits pleased amidst her snows.
Hence to the land of Brahma's favoured sons,
O'er Kuru's fatal field, thy journey runs.
With deepest glooms hang o'er the deadly plain,
Dewed with the blood of mighty warriors slain.
There Arjun's wrath opposing armies felt,
And countless arrows strong Gandhiva dealt.
Thick as thy drops, that in the pelting shower,
Incessant hurtle round the shrinking flower.
O'er Sarasvati's waters wing your course,
And inward prove their purifying force;
Most holy, since, oppressed with heaviest grief,
The ploughshare's mighty Lord here sought relief;
No longer quaffed the wine cup with his wife,
But mourned in solitude o'er kindred strife.
The journey next o'er Kanakhala bends,
Where Jahnu's daughter from the hills descends;
Whose sacred waters, to Bhagirath given,
Conveyed the sons of Sagara to heaven.
She, who with smiling waves disportive strayed
Through Sambhu's locks, and with his tresses played;
Unheeding, as she flowed delighted down,
The gathering storm of Gauri's jealous frown.
Should her clear current tempt thy thirsty lip,
And thou inclining bend the stream to sip;
Thy form, like Indra's Elephant, displayed,
Shall clothe the crystal waves with deepest shade;
With sacred glooms the darkening waves shall glide,
As where the Jumna mixes with the tide.
As Shiva's Bull upon his sacred neck,
Amidst his ermine, owns some sable speck;
So shall thy shade upon the mountain show,
Whose sides are silvered with eternal snow;
Where Ganga leads her purifying waves,
And the Musk Deer spring frequent from the caves.
From writhing boughs should forest flames arise,
Whose breath the air, and brand the Yak supplies;
Instant afford the aid 'tis thine to lend,
And with a thousand friendly streams descend.
Of all the fruits that fortune yields, the best
Is still the power to succour the distressed.
Shame is the fruit of actions indiscreet,
And vain presumption ends but in defeat.
So shall the Sarabhas, who thee oppose,
Themselves to pain and infamy expose;
When round their heads, amidst the lowering sky,
White as a brilliant smile, thy hailstones fly.
Next to the mountain, with the foot impressed
of him who wears the crescent for his crest,
Devoutly pass, and with religious glow
Around the spot in pious circles go:
For there have Saints the sacred altar raised,
And there eternal offerings have blazed,
And blest the faithful worshippers; for they
The stain of sin with life shall cast away,
And, after death, a glad admittance gain
To Shiva's glorious and immortal train.
Here wake the chorus--Bid the thunder's sound,
Deep and reiterated, roll around,
Loud as a hundred drums--while softer strains
The swelling gale breathes sweetly through the canes;
And from the lovely songsters of the skies,
Hymns to the victor of Tripura rise.
Thence to the snow-clad hills thy course direct,
And Krauncha's celebrated pass select;
That pass the swans in annual light explore;
And erst a Hero's mighty arrows tore.
Winding thy way due north through the defile,
Thy form compressed, with borrowed grace shall smile:
The sable foot that Bali marked with dread,
A god triumphant o'er creation.
Ascended thence, a transient period rest,
Renowned Kailasa's venerated guest.
That mount, whose sides with brightest lustre shine,
A polished mirror, worthy charms divine;
Whose base a Ravan from its centre wrung,
Shaken, not sundered, stable though unstrung;
Whose lofty peaks to distant realms in sight
Present a Siva's smile, a lotus white.
And lo! those peaks, than ivory more clear,
When yet unstained the parted tusks appear,
Beam with new lustre, as around their head
Thy glossy glooms metallic darkness spread;
As shews a Halabhrita's sable vest,
More fair the pallid beauty of his breast.
Haply across thy long and mountain way
In sport may Gauri with her Shiva stray;
Her serpent bracelet from her wrist displaced,
And in her arms the mighty god embraced.
Should thus it fortune, be it thine to lend
A path their holy footsteps may ascend;
Close in thy hollow form thy stores compressed,
While by the touch of feet celestial blessed.
Then shall the nymphs of heaven, a giddy train,
Thy form an instrument of sport detain;
And with the lightning, round each wrist that gleams,
Shall set at liberty thy cooling streams.
But should they seek thy journey to delay--
A grateful solace in the sultry day--
Speak harsh in thunder, and the nymphs shall fly
Alarmed, nor check thy progress through the sky.
Where bright the mountain's crystal glories break,
Explore the golden lotus-covered lake;
Imbibe the dews of Manasa, and spread
A friendly veil round Airavata's head;
Or, life dispensing, with the Zephyrs go,
Where heavenly trees with fainting blossoms blow.
Now on the mountain's side, like some dear friend,
Behold the city of the gods impend;
Thy goal behold, where Ganga's winding rill
Skirts like a costly train the sacred hill;
Where brilliant pearls descend in lucid showers,
And clouds, like tresses, clothe her lofty towers.
There every palace with thy glory vies,
Whose soaring summits kiss the lofty skies;
Whose beauteous inmates bright as lightning glare,
And tabors mock the thunders of the air;
The rainbow flickering gleams along the walls,
And glittering rain in sparkling diamonds falls.
There lovely triflers wanton through the day,
Dress all their care, and all their labour play;
One while, the fluttering Lotus fans the fair,
Or Kunda top-knots crown the jetty hair.
Now, o'er the cheek the Lodh's pale pollen shines,
Now midst their curls the Amaranth entwines.
These graces varying with the varying year,
Sirisha blossoms deck the tender ear;
Or new Kadambas, with thy coming born,
The parted locks and polished front adorn.
Thus graced, they woo the Yakshas to their arms,
And gems, and wine, and music, aid their charms.
The strains divine with art celestial thrill,
And wines from grapes of heavenly growth, distil.
The gems bestrew each terrace of delight,
Like stars that glitter through the shades of night,
There, when the Sun restores the rising day,
What deeds of love his tell-tale beams display!
The withered garlands on the pathway found;
The faded lotus prostrate on the ground;
The pearls, that bursting zones have taught to roam,
Speak of fond maids, and wanderers from home.
Here filled with modest fears, the Yaksha's bride
Her charms from passion's eagerness would hide;
The bold presumption of her lover's hands
To cast aside the loosened vest, withstands;
And, feeble to resist, bewildered turns
Where the rich lamp with lofty radiance burns;
And vainly whelms it with a fragrant cloud
Of scented dust, in hope the light to shroud.
The gale that blows eternally their guide,
High over Alaka the clouds divide
In parted masses, like the issuing smoke
of incense by the lattice-meshes broke:
Scattered they float, as if dispersed by fear,
Or conscious guilt spoke retribution near;
Their just award for showers that lately soiled
Some painted floor, or gilded roof despoiled.
Ere yet thy coming yields opposing gloom,
The moon's white rays the smiling night illume,
And on the moon gem concentrated fall,
That hangs in woven nets in every hall;
Whence cooling dews upon the fair descend,
And life renewed to languid nature lend.
What though while Shiva with the god of gold
Delights a friendly intercourse to hold;
The Lord of Love, remembering former woe,
Wields not in Alaka his bee-strung bow,
Yet still he triumphs: for each maid supplies
The fatal bow with love-inspiring eyes;
And wanton glances emulate the dart,
That speed unerring to the beauty heart.
Northward from where Kuveras holds his state,
Where Indra's bow surmounts the arching gate;
Where on rich boughs the clustering flower depends,
And low to earth the tall Mandara bends;
Pride of the grove, whose wants my fair supplies,
And nurtures like a child--my dwelling lies.
There is the fountain, emerald steps denote,
Where golden buds on stalks of coral float;
And for whose limpid waves the Swans forsake,
Pleased at thy sight, the mount-encircled lake.
Soft from the pool ascends a shelving ground,
Where shades devoted to delight abound;
Where the cerulean summit towers above
The golden circles of a plaintain-grove
Lamented haunts! Which now in thee I view,
As glittering lightnings girt thy base of blue.
See where the clustering Madhavi entwines,
And bright Kuruvaka the wreath confines;
Profuse, Ashoka sheds its radiant flower,
And budding Kesara adorns the bower:
These are my rivals; for the one would greet,
As I would willingly, my charmer's feet;
And, with my fondness, would the other sip
The grateful nectar of her honeyed lip.
A golden column, on a crystal base,
Begirt with jewels, rises o'er the place.
Here, when the evening twilight shades the skies,
The blue-necked peacock to the summit flies,
And moves in graceful circles to the tone
My fair awakens from her tinkling zone.
These be thy guide--and faithfully preserve
The marks I give thee: or e'en more, observe,
Where painted emblems holy wealth design,
Kuvera's treasures--that abode is mine.
Haply its honours are not now to boast,
Dimmed by my fate, and in my exile lost.
For when the sun withdraws his cheering rays,
Faint are the charms the Kamala displays.
To those loved scenes repaired, that awful size,
Like a young elephant, in haste disguise;
lest terror seize my fair one, as thy form
Hangs o'er the hillock, and portends the storm.
Thence to the inner mansion bend thy sight,
Diffusing round a mild and quivering light;
As when, through evening shades, soft flashes play
Where the bright fire-fly wings his glittering way.
There, in the fane, a beauteous creature stands,
The first best work of the creator's hands;
Whose slender limbs inadequately bear
A full-orbed bosom, and a weight of care;
Whose teeth like pearls, whose lips like Bimbas show,
And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow.
Lone as the widowed Chakravaki mourns,
Her faithful memory to her husband turns,
And sad, and silent, shalt thou find my wife,
Half of my soul, and partner of my life,
Nipped by chill sorrow, as the flowers enfold
Their shrinking petals from the withering cold.
I view her now! Long weeping swells her eyes,
And those dear lips are dried by parching sighs.
Sad on her hand her pallid cheek declines,
And half unseen through veiling tresses shines;
As when a darkling night the moon enshrouds,
A few faint rays break straggling through the Clouds.
Now at thy sight I mark fresh sorrows flow,
And sacred sacrifice augments her woe.
I mark her now with Fancy's aid retrace
This wasted figure and this haggard face.
Now from her favourite bird she seeks relief,
And tells the tuneful Sarika her grief;
Mourns o'er the feather'd prisoner's kindred fate,
And fondly questions of its absent mate.
In vain the lute for harmony is strung,
And round the robe-neglected shoulder slung;
And faltering accents strive to catch in vain
Our race's old commemorative strain:
The falling tear, that from reflection springs,
Corrodes incessantly the silvery strings;
Recurring woe still pressing on the heart,
The skillful hand forgets its grateful art,
And, idly wandering, strikes no measured tone,
But wakes a sad wild warbling of its own.
At times, such solace animates her mind
As widowed wives in cheerless absence find;
She counts the flowers, now faded on the floor,
That graced with monthly piety the door.
Thence reckons up the period, since from home,
And far from her, was I compelled to roam;
And deeming, fond, my term of exile run,
Conceives my homeward journey is begun.
Lightened by tasks like these, the day proceeds;
But much I dread bitterer night succeeds,
When thou shalt view her on the earth's cold breast,
Or lonely couch of separation rest,
Disturbed by tears those pallid cheeks that burn,
And visions of her dearer half's return.
Now seeking sleep, a husband to restore;
And waking now, his absence to deplore;
Deprived of slumber by returning woes,
Or mocked by idle phantoms of repose;
Till her slight form, consumed by ceaseless pain,
Shews like the moon, fast hastening to its wane.
Crisp from the purifying wave, her hair
Conceals the charms, no more her pleasing care;
And, with neglected nails, her fingers chase,
Fatigued, the tresses wandering o'er her face.
Firm winds the fillet, as it first was wove,
When fate relentless forced me from my love;
And never flowery wreaths, nor costly pearls,
Must hope to decorate the fetter'd curls;
Loosed by no hand, until, the law divine
Accomplished, that delighted hand is mine.
Dull as the flower when clouds through ether sweep,
Not wholly waking, nor resigned to sleep,
Her heavy eyelids languidly unclose
To where the moon its silvery radiance throws
Mild through the chamber: once a welcome light;
Avoided now; and hateful to her sight.
Those charms that glittering ornaments oppress,
Those restless slumbers that proclaim distress,
That slender figure worn by grief severe,
Shall surely gain thy sympathizing tear.
For the soft breast is swift to overflow,
In moist compassion, at the claims of woe.
The same fond wife as when compelled to part,
Her love was mine, I still possess her heart.
Her well-known faith this confidence affords,
Nor vain conceit suggests unmeaning words.
No boaster I! and time shall quickly teach,
With observation joined, how just my speech.
O'er her left limbs shall glad pulsations play,
And signs auspicious indicate the way;
And like the lotus trembling on the tide,
While its deep roots the sportive fish divide,
So tremulous throbs the eye's enchanting ball,
Loose o'er whose lids neglected tresses fall.
Soothed by expected bliss, should gentle sleep
O'er her soft limbs and frame exhausted creep,
Delay thy tidings, and suspend thy flight,
And watch in silent patience through the night.
Withhold thy thunders, lest the awful sound
Her slumber banish, and her dreams confound;
Where her fond arms, like winding shrubs, she flings
Around my neck, and to my bosom clings.
Behold her rising with the early morn,
Fair as the flower that opening buds adorn;
And strive to animate her drooping mind
With cooling rain-drops and refreshing wind;
Restrain thy lightnings, as her timid gaze
Shrinks from bright intolerable blaze;
And murmuring softly, gentle sounds prepare,
With words like these to raise from despair--
'Oh, wife adored! Whose lord still lives for thee;
'Behold his friend and messenger in me;
'Who now approach thy beauteous presence, fraught
'With many a tender and consoling thought!
'Such tasks are mine:--where absent lovers stray,
'I speed the wanderer lightly on his way;
'And, with my thunders, teach his lagging mind
'New hopes the braid of absence to unbind.
As beauteous Mathili with glad surprise
Bent on the Son of air her opening eyes,
So my fair partner's pleased uplifted gaze
Thy friendly presence with delight surveys.
She smiles, she speaks, her misery foregoes,
And deep attention on thy words bestows;
For such dear tidings happiness impart,
Scarce less than mutual meeting to the heart.
Being, of years protracted, ail thy friend,
And with my words thine own suggestions blend!
Say thus: 'Thy lord o'er Rama's mountain strays,
'Nor cares but those of absence blight his days.
'His only wish by me his friend to know,
'If he is blest with health, that thou art so:
'For still this fear especially must wait
'On every creature of our passing state.
'What though to distance driven by wrath divine,
'Imagination joins his form with thine.
'Such as I view, is his emaciate frame;
'Such his regrets; his scorching pangs the same;
'To every sigh of thine his sigh replies,
'And tears responsive trickle from his eyes.
'By thee unheard, by those bright eyes unseen,
'Since fate resists, and regions intervene,
'To me the message of his love consigned
'Portrays the sufferings of his constant mind.
'Oh! Where he present, fondly would he seek,
'In secret whisper, that inviting cheek;
'Woo thee in close approach, his words to hear,
'And breathe these tender accents in thine ear.'
"Goddess beloved! how vainly I explore
"The world, to trace the semblance I adore.
"Thy graceful form the flexible tendril shews,
"And like thy locks the peacock's plumage glows;
"Mild as thy cheeks, the moon's new beams appear,
"And those soft eyes adorn the timid deer;
"In rippling brooks thy curling brows I see,
"But only view combined these charms in thee.
"E'en in these wilds our unrelenting fate
"Proscribes the union, love and art create:
"When, with the colours that the rock supplies,
"O'er the rude stone thy pictured beauties rise,
"Fain would I think, once more we fondly meet,
"And seek to fall in homage at thy feet;
"In vain--for envious tears my purpose blight,
"And veil the lovely image from my sight.
"Why should the god who wields the five-fold dart
"Direct his shafts at this afflicted heart;
"Nor spare to agonize an aching breast,
"By sultry suns and banishment oppressed?
"Oh, that these heavy hours would swiftly fly,
"And lead a happier fate, and milder sky!
"Believe me, dearest, that my doom severe
"Obtains from heavenly eyes the frequent tear;
"And where the spirits of these groves attend
"The pitying drops in pearly showers descend,
"As oft in sleep they mark my outstretched arms,
"That clasp in blissful dreams thy fancied charms,
"Play through the air, and fold in fond embrace
"Impassive matter and ethereal space.
"Soft and delightful to my senses blows
"The breeze that southward wafts Himalaya's snows,
"And rich impregnated with gums divine,
"Exuding fragrant from the shattered pine,
"Diffuses sweets to all, but most to me;
"Has it not touched? Does it not breathe of thee?
"What are my tasks? To speed the lagging night,
"And urge impatiently the rising light:
"The light returned, I sicken at ray,
"And shun as eagerly the shining day:
"Vain are my labours in this lonely state;
"But fate proscribes, and we must bow to fate.
"Let then my firmness save thee from despair,
"Who trust myself, nor sink beneath my care:
"Trust to futurity; for still we view
"The always wretched, always blest, are few:
"Life like a wheel's revolving orb, turns round,
"Now whirled in air, now dragged along the ground.
"When from his serpent couch, that swims the deep,
"Sarangi rises from celestial sleep;
"When four more months, unmarked, have run their course;
"To us all gloom--the curse has lost its force:
"The grief from separation born expires,
"And Autumn's nights reward our chaste desires.
"Once more I view thee, as mine eyes unclose,
"Laid by my side, and lulled by soft repose;
"And now I mark thee startle from thy sleep,
"Loose thy enfolding arms, and wake to weep:
"My anxious love long vainly seeks reply;
"Till, as the smile relumes that lucid eye,
"Thy arch avowal owns, that jealous fear
"Affrighted slumber, and aroused the tear.
"While thus, O goddess with the dark black eyes!
"My fond assurance confidence supplies,
"Let not the tales that idle tattlers bear,
"Subvert thy faith, nor teach thee to despair.
"True love, no time nor distance can destroy;
"And, independent of all present joy,
"It grows in absence, as renewed delight,
"Some dear memorials, some loved lines excite."
Such, vast Dispenser of the dews of heaven!
Such is my suit, and thy promise given:
Fearless, upon thy friendship I rely,
Nor ask that promise, nor expect reply.
To thee the thirsty Chatakas complain;
Thy only answer is the falling rain:
And still such answer from the proceeds,
Who grant our wishes, not in words, but deeds.
Thy task performed, consoled the mourner's mind,
Haste thy return these solitudes to find:
Soar from the mountain, whose exalted brow
The horns of Shiva's bull majestic plough,
And, hither speeding, to my sorrowing heart,
Shrunk like the bud at dawn, relief impart,
With welcome news my woes tumultuous still,
And all my wishes tenderly fulfill!
Then, to whatever scenes invite thy way,
Waft thy rich stores, and grateful glooms convey;
And ne'er may destiny, like mine, divide
Thy brilliant spouse, the lightning, from thy side!
This said, he ceased: the messenger of air
Conveyed to Alaka his wild despair.
The god of wealth, relenting, learnt his state,
And swift curtailed the limit of his fate;
Removed the curse, restored him to his wife,
And blest with ceaseless joy their everlasting life.
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