Part 4

There came a hermit: reverend was he As Bráhmanhood's embodied sanctity. With coat of skin, with staff and matted hair, His face was radiant, and he spake her fair. Up rose the maid the holy man to greet, And humbly bowed before the hermit's feet. Though meditation fill the pious breast, It finds a welcome for a glorious guest: The sage received the honour duly paid, And fixed his earnest gaze upon the maid. While through her frame unwonted vigour ran, Thus, in his silver speech, the blameless saint began: "How can thy tender frame, sweet lady, bear In thy firm spirit's task its fearful share? Canst thou the grass and fuel duly bring, And still unwearied seek the freshening spring? Say, do the creeper's slender shoots expand, Seeking each day fresh water from thy hand, Till like thy lip each ruddy tendril glows, That lip which, faded, still outreds the rose? With loving glance the timid fawns draw nigh: Say dost thou still with joy their wants supply? For thee, O lotus-eyed, their glances shine, Mocking the brightness of each look of thine. O Mountain-Lady, it is truly said That heavenly charms to sin have never led, For even penitents may learn of thee How pure, how gentle Beauty's self may be. Bright GANGÁ falling with her heavenly waves, HIMÁLAYA'S head with sacred water laves, Bearing the flowers the seven great Sages fling To crown the forehead of the Mountain-King. Yet do thy deeds, O bright-haired maiden, shed A richer glory round his awful head. Purest of motives, Duty leads thy heart: Pleasure and gain therein may claim no part. O noble maid, the wise have truly said That friendship soon in gentle heart is bred. Seven steps together bind the lasting tie: Then bend on me, dear Saint, a gracious eye. Fain, lovely UMÁ, would a Bráhman learn What noble guerdon would thy penance earn. Say, art thou toiling for a second birth, Where dwells the great Creator? O'er the earth Resistless sway? Or fair as Beauty's Queen, Peerless, immortal, shall thy form be seen? The lonely soul bowed down by grief and pain, By penance' aid some gracious boon may gain. But what, O faultless one, can move thy heart To dwell in solitude and prayer apart? Why should the cloud of grief obscure thy brow, 'Mid all thy kindred, who so loved as thou? Foes hast thou none: for what rash hand would dare From serpent's head the magic gem to tear? Why dost thou seek the hermit's garb to try, Thy silken raiment and thy gems thrown by? As though the sun his glorious state should leave, Rayless to harbour 'mid the shades of eve. Wouldst thou win heaven by thy holy spells? Already with the Gods thy father dwells. A husband, lady? O forbear the thought, A priceless jewel seeks not, but is sought. Maiden, thy deep sighs tell me it is so; Yet, doubtful still, my spirit seeks to know Couldst thou e'er love in vain? What heart so cold That hath not eagerly its worship told? Ah! could the cruel loved one, thou fair maid, Look with cold glances on that bright hair's braid? Thy locks are hanging loosely o'er thy brow, Thine ear is shaded by no lotus now. See, where the sun hath scorched that tender neck Which precious jewels once were proud to deck. Still gleams the line where they were wont to cling, As faintly shows the moon's o'ershadowed ring. Now sure thy loved one, vain in beauty's pride, Dreamed of himself when wandering at thy side, Or he would count him blest to be the mark Of that dear eye, so soft, so lustrous dark. But, gentle UMÁ, let thy labour cease; Turn to thy home, fair Saint, and rest in peace. By many a year of penance duly done Rich store of merit has my labour won. Take then the half, thy secret purpose name; Nor in stern hardships wear thy tender frame."

The holy Bráhman ceased: but UMÁ'S breast In silence heaved, by love and fear opprest. In mute appeal she turned her languid eye, Darkened with weeping, not with softening dye, To bid her maiden's friendly tongue declare The cherished secret of her deep despair: "Hear, holy Father, if thou still wouldst know, Why her frail form endures this pain and woe, As the soft lotus makes a screen to stay The noontide fury of the God of Day. Proudly disdaining all the blest above, With heart and soul she seeks for ['S]IVA'S love. For him alone, the Trident-wielding God, The thorny paths of penance hath she trod. But since that mighty one hath KÁMA slain, Vain every hope, and every effort vain. E'en as life fled, a keen but flowery dart Young LOVE, the Archer, aimed at ['S]IVA'S heart. The God in anger hurled the shaft away, But deep in UMÁ'S tender soul it lay; Alas, poor maid! she knows no comfort now, Her soul's on fire, her wild locks hide her brow. She quits her father's halls, and frenzied roves The icy mountain and the lonely groves. Oft as the maidens of the minstrel throng To hymn great ['S]IVA'S praises raised the song, The lovelorn lady's sobs and deep-drawn sighs Drew tears of pity from their gentle eyes. Wakeful and fevered in the dreary night Scarce closed her eyes, and then in wild affright Rang through the halls her very bitter cry, "God of the azure neck, why dost thou fly?" While their soft bands her loving arms would cast Hound the dear vision fading all too fast. Her skilful hand, with true love-guided art, Had traced the image graven on her heart. "Art thou all present? Dost thou fail to see Poor UMÁ'S anguish and her love for thee?" Thus oft in frenzied grief her voice was heard, Chiding the portrait with reproachful word. Long thus in vain for ['S]IVA'S love she strove, Then turned in sorrow to this holy grove. Since the sad maid hath sought these forest glades To hide her grief amid the dreary shades, The fruit hath ripened on the spreading bough; But ah! no fruit hath crowned her holy vow. Her faithful friends alone must ever mourn To see that beauteous form by penance worn, But oh! that ['S]IVA would some favour deign, As INDRA pitieth the parching plain!" The maiden ceased: his secret joy dissembling, The Bráhman turned to UMÁ pale and trembling: "And is it thus, or doth the maiden jest? Is this the darling secret of thy breast?"

Scarce could the maid her choking voice command, Or clasp her rosary with quivering hand: "O holy Sage, learned in the Vedas' lore, 'Tis even thus. Great ['S]IVA I adore. Thus would my steadfast heart his love obtain, For this I gladly bear the toil and pain. Surely the strong desire, the earnest will, May win some favour from his mercy still."

"Lady," cried he, "that mighty Lord I know; Ever his presence bringeth care and woe. And wouldst thou still a second time prepare The sorrows of his fearful life to share? Deluded maid, how shall thy tender hand, Decked with the nuptial bracelet's jewelled band, Be clasped in his, when fearful serpents twine In scaly horror round that arm divine? How shall thy robe, with gay flamingoes gleaming, Suit with his coat of hide with blood-drops streaming? Of old thy pathway led where flowerets sweet Made pleasant carpets for thy gentle feet. And e'en thy foes would turn in grief away To see these vermeil-tinted limbs essay, Where scattered tresses strew the mournful place, Their gloomy path amid the tombs to trace. On ['S]IVA'S heart the funeral ashes rest, Say, gentle lady, shall they stain thy breast, Where the rich tribute of the Sandal trees Sheds a pure odour on the amorous breeze? A royal bride returning in thy state, The king of elephants should bear thy weight. How wilt thou brook the mockery and the scorn When thou on ['S]IVA'S bull art meanly borne? Sad that the crescent moon his crest should be: And shall that mournful fate be shared by thee? His crest, the glory of the evening skies, His bride, the moonlight of our wondering eyes! Deformed is he, his ancestry unknown; By vilest garb his poverty is shown. O fawn-eyed lady, how should ['S]IVA gain That heart for which the glorious strive in vain No charms hath he to win a maiden's eye: Cease from thy penance, hush the fruitless sigh! Unmeet is he thy faithful heart to share, Child of the Mountain, maid of beauty rare! Not 'mid the gloomy tombs do sages raise The holy altar of their prayer and praise."

Impatient UMÁ listened: the quick blood Rushed to her temples in an angry flood. Her quivering lip, her darkly-flashing eye Told that the tempest of her wrath was nigh. Proudly she spoke: "How couldst thou tell aright Of one like ['S]IVA, perfect, infinite? 'Tis ever thus, the mighty and the just Are scorned by souls that grovel in the dust. Their lofty goodness and their motives wise Shine all in vain before such blinded eyes. Say who is greater, he who strives for power, Or he who succours in misfortune's hour? Refuge of worlds, O how should ['S]IVA deign To look on men enslaved to paltry gain? The spring of wealth himself, he careth naught For the vile treasures that mankind have sought. His dwelling-place amid the tombs may be, Yet Monarch of the three great worlds is he. What though no love his outward form may claim, The stout heart trembles at his awful name. Who can declare the wonders of his might? The Trident-wielding God, who knows aright? Whether around him deadly serpents twine, Or if his jewelled wreaths more brightly shine; Whether in rough and wrinkled hide arrayed, Or silken robe, in glittering folds displayed; If on his brow the crescent moon he bear, Or if a shrunken skull be withering there; The funeral ashes touched by him acquire The glowing lustre of eternal fire; Falling in golden showers, the heavenly maids Delight to pour them on their shining braids. What though no treasures fill his storehouse full, What though he ride upon his horned bull, Not e'en may INDRA in his pride withhold The lowly homage that is his of old, But turns his raging elephant to meet His mighty Lord, and bows before his feet, Right proud to colour them rich rosy red With the bright flowers that deck his prostrate head. Thy slanderous tongue proclaims thy evil mind, Yet in thy speech one word of truth we find. Unknown thou call'st him: how should mortal man Count when the days of BRAHMÁ'S Lord began? But cease these idle words: though all be true, His failings many and his virtues few, Still clings my heart to him, its chosen lord, Nor fails nor falters at thy treacherous word. Dear maiden, bid yon eager boy depart: Why should the slanderous tale defile his heart? Most guilty who the faithless speech begins, But he who stays to listen also sins." She turned away: with wrath her bosom swelling, Its vest of bark in angry pride repelling: But sudden, lo, before her wondering eyes In altered form she sees the sage arise; 'Tis ['S]IVA'S self before the astonished maid, In all his gentlest majesty displayed. She saw, she trembled, like a river's course, Checked for a moment in its onward force, By some huge rock amid the torrent hurled Where erst the foaming waters madly curled. One foot uplifted, shall she turn away? Unmoved the other, shall the maiden stay? The silver moon on ['S]IVA'S forehead shone, While softly spake the God in gracious tone: "O gentle maiden, wise and true of soul, Lo, now I bend beneath thy sweet control. Won by thy penance, and thy holy vows, Thy willing slave ['S]IVA before thee bows."

He spake, and rushing through her languid frame, At his dear words returning vigour came. She knew but this, that all her cares were o'er, Her sorrows ended, she should weep no more!

_CANTO SIXTH._

Canto Sixth.

_UMÁ'S ESPOUSALS._

Now gentle UMÁ bade a damsel bear To ['S]IVA, Soul of All, her maiden prayer: "Wait the high sanction of HIMÁLAYA'S will, And ask his daughter from the royal hill." Then ere the God, her own dear Lord, replied, In blushing loveliness she sought his side. Thus the young mango hails the approaching spring By its own tuneful bird's sweet welcoming.

In UMÁ'S ear he softly whispered, yea, Then scarce could tear him from her arms away. Swift with a thought he summoned from above The Seven bright Saints to bear his tale of love. They came, and She, the Heavenly Dame, was there, Lighting with glories all the radiant air; Just freshly bathed in sacred GANGÁ'S tide, Gemmed with the dancing flowers that deck her side, And richly scented with the nectarous rill That heavenly elephants from their brows distil. Fair strings of pearl their radiant fingers hold, Clothed are their limbs in hermit-coats of gold; Their rosaries, large gems of countless price, Shone like the fruit that glows in Paradise, As though the glorious trees that blossom there Had sought the forest for a life of prayer. With all his thousand beams the God of Day, Urging his coursers down the sloping way, His banner furled at the approach of night, Looks up in reverence on those lords of light. Ancient creators: thus the wise, who know, Gave them a name in ages long ago: With BRAHMÁ joining in creation's plan, And perfecting the work His will began; Still firm in penance, though the hermit-vow Bears a ripe harvest for the sages now. Brightest in glory 'mid that glorious band See the fair Queen, the Heavenly Lady, stand. Fixing her loving eyes upon her spouse, She seemed sent forth to crown the sage's vows With sweet immortal joy, the dearest prize Strong prayer could merit from the envious skies. With equal honour on the Queen and all Did the kind glance of ['S]IVA'S welcome fall. No partial favour by the good is shown: They count not station, but the deed alone. So fair she shone upon his raptured view, He longed for wedlock's heavenly pleasures too. What hath such power to lead the soul above By virtue's pleasant path as wedded love! Scarce had the holy motive lent its aid To knit great ['S]IVA to the Mountain-Maid, When KÁMA'S spirit that had swooned in fear Breathed once again and deemed forgiveness near.

The ancient Sages reverently adored The world's great Father and its Sovran Lord, And while a soft ecstatic thrilling ran O'er their celestial frames, they thus began: "Glorious the fruit our holy studies bear, Our constant penance, sacrifice and prayer. For that high place within thy thoughts we gain Which fancy strives to reach, but longs in vain. How blest is he, the glory of the wise, Deep in whose thoughtful breast thy Godhead lies! But who may tell his joy who rests enshrined, O BRAHMÁ'S great Creator, in thy mind! We dwell on high above the cold moon's ray; Beneath our mansion glows the God of Day, But now thy favour lends us brighter beams, Blest with thy love our star unchanging gleams. How should we tell what soul-entrancing bliss Enthrals our spirit at an hour like this? Great Lord of All, thou Soul of Life indwelling, We crave one word thy wondrous nature telling. Though to our eyes thy outward form be shown, How can we know thee as thou shouldst be known? In this thy present shape, we pray thee, say Dost thou create? dost thou preserve or slay? But speak thy wish; called from our starry rest We wait, O ['S]IVA, for our Lord's behest"

Then answered thus the Lord of glory, while Flashed from his dazzling teeth so white a smile, The moon that crowned him poured a larger stream Of living splendour from that pearly gleam: "Ye know, great Sages of a race divine, No selfish want e'er prompts a deed of mine. Do not the forms--eight varied forms--I wear, The truth of this to all the world declare? Now, as that thirsty bird that drinks the rain Prays the kind clouds of heaven to soothe its pain, So the Gods pray me, trembling 'neath their foe, To send a child of mine and end their woe. I seek the Mountain-Maiden as my bride: Our hero son shall tame the demon's pride. Thus the priest bids the holy fire arise, Struck from the wood to aid the sacrifice. Go, ask HIMÁLAYA for the lovely maid: Blest are those bridals which the holy aid. So shall more glorious honours gild my name, And win the father yet a prouder fame. Nor, O ye heavenly Sages, need I teach What for the maiden's hand shall be your speech, For still the wise in worthiest honour hold The rules and precepts ye ordained of old. This Lady too shall aid your mission there: Best for such task a skilful matron's care. And now, my heralds, to your task away, Where proud HIMÁLAYA holds his royal sway; Then meet me where this mighty torrent raves Down the steep channel with its headlong waves."

Thus while that holiest One his love confessed, The hermits listened: from each saintly breast Fled the false shame that yet had lingered there, And love and wedlock showed divinely fair.

On through the heaven, o'er tracts of swordlike blue, Towards the gay city, swift as thought, they flew, Bright with high domes and palaces most fair, As if proud ALAKÁ were planted there, Or PARADISE poured forth, in showers that bless, The rich o'erflowings of its loveliness. Round lofty towers adorned with gems and gold Her guardian stream the holy GANGÁ rolled. On every side, the rampart's glowing crown, Bright wreaths of fragrant flowers hung waving down,-- Flowers that might tempt the maids of heavenly birth To linger fondly o'er that pride of earth. Its noble elephants, unmoved by fear, The distant roaring of the lions hear. In beauty peerless, and unmatched in speed, Its thousand coursers of celestial breed. Through the broad streets bright sylphs and minstrels rove: Its dames are Goddesses of stream and grove. Hark! the drum echoes louder and more loud From glittering halls whose spires are wrapt in cloud. It were the thunder, but that voice of fear Falls not in measured time upon the ear. 'Tis balmy cool, for many a heavenly tree, With quivering leaves and branches waving free, Sheds a delightful freshness through the air,-- Fans which no toil of man has stationed there. The crystal chambers where they feast at night Flash back the beamings of the starry light. So brightly pure that silver gleam is shed, Playing so fondly round each beauteous head, That all seem gifted from those lights above With richest tokens of superior love. How blest its maidens! cloudless is their day, And radiant herbs illume their nightly way. No term of days, but endless youth they know; No Death save him who bears the Flowery Bow: Their direst swoon, their only frenzy this-- The trance of love, the ecstasy of bliss! Ne'er can their lovers for one hour withstand The frown, the quivering lip, the scornful hand; But seek forgiveness of the angry fair, And woo her smile with many an earnest prayer. Around, wide gardens spread their pleasant bowers, Where the bright Champac opes her fragrant flowers: Dear shades, beloved by the sylphs that roam In dewy evening from their mountain home.

Ah! why should mortals fondly strive to gain Heaven and its joys by ceaseless toil and pain? E'en the Saints envied as their steps drew near, And owned a brighter heaven was opened here. They lighted down; braided was each long tress, Bright as the pictured flame, as motionless. HIMÁLAYA'S palace-warders in amaze On the Seven Sages turned their eager gaze,-- A noble company of celestial race Where each in order of his years had place,-- Glorious, as when the sun, his head inclining, Sees his own image 'mid the waters shining. To greet them with a gift HIMÁLAYA sped, Earth to her centre shaking at his tread. By his dark lips with mountain metals dyed, His arms like pines that clothe his lofty side: By his proud stature, by his stony breast, Lord of the Snowy Hills he stood confest. On to his Council-hall he led the way, Nor failed due honour to the Saints to pay. On couch of reed the Monarch bade them rest, And thus with uplift hands those Heavenly Lords addressed: "Like soft rain falling from a cloudless sky, Or fruit, when bloom has failed to glad the eye, So are ye welcome, Sages; thus I feel Ecstatic thrilling o'er my spirit steal, Changed, like dull senseless iron to burning gold, Or some rapt creature, when the heavens unfold To eyes yet dim with tears of earthly care, The rest, the pleasures, and the glory there. Long pilgrim bands from this auspicious day To my pure hill shall bend their constant way. Famed shall it be o'er all the lands around, For where the good have been is holy ground. Now am I doubly pure, for GANGÁ'S tide Falls on my head from heaven and laves my side. Henceforth I boast a second stream as sweet, The water, Sages, that has touched your feet. Twice by your favour is HIMÁLAYA blest,-- This towery mountain that your feet have prest, And this my moving form is happier still To wait your bidding, to perform your will. These mighty limbs that fill the heaven's expanse Sink down, o'erpowered, in a blissful trance. So bright your presence, at the glorious sight My brooding shades of darkness turn to light. The gloom that haunts my mountain caverns flies, And cloudy passion in the spirit dies. O say, if here your arrowy course ye sped To throw fresh glory round my towering head. Surely your wish, ye Mighty Ones, can crave No aid, no service from your willing slave. Yet deem me worthy of some high behest: The lord commandeth, and the slave is blest. Declare your pleasure, then, bright heavenly band: We crave no guerdon but your sole command. Yours are we all, HIMÁLAYA and his bride, And this dear maiden child our hope and pride."