Part 13

See'st thou not, my Radha? Lo, the night, thy bridesmaid, Comes!--her eyes thick-painted With soorma of the gloom-- The night that binds the planet-worlds For jewels on her forehead, And for emblem and for garland Loves the blue-black lotus-bloom; The night that scents her breath so sweet With cool and musky odours, That joys to spread her veil of shade Over the limbs of love;

And when, with loving weary, Yet dreaming love, they slumber, Sets the far stars for silver lamps To light them from above.

So came she where he stood, awaiting her At the bower's entry, like a god to see, With marriage-gladness and the grace of heaven. The great pearl set upon his glorious head Shone like a moon among the leaves, and shone Like stars the gems that kept her gold gown close: But still a little while she paused--abashed At her delight, of her deep joy afraid-- And they that tended her sang once more this:

(What follows is to the Music VARÂDI and the Mode RUPAKA.)

Enter, thrice-happy! enter, thrice-desired! And let the gates of Hari shut thee in With the soul destined to thee from of old.

Tremble not! lay thy lovely shame aside; Lay it aside with thine unfastened zone, And love him with the love that knows not fear,

Because it fears not change; enter thou in, Flower of all sweet and stainless womanhood! For ever to grow bright, for ever new;

Enter beneath the flowers, O flower-fair! Beneath these tendrils, Loveliest! that entwine And clasp, and wreathe and cling, with kissing stems;

Enter, with tender-blowing airs of heaven, Soft as love's breath and gentle as the tones Of lover's whispers, when the lips come close:

Enter the house of Love, O loveliest! Enter the marriage-bower, most beautiful! And take and give the joy that Hari grants,

Thy heart has entered, let thy feet go too! Lo, Krishna! lo, the one that thirsts for thee! Give him the drink of amrit from thy lips.

* * * * *

Then she, no more delaying, entered straight; Her step a little faltered, but her face Shone with unutterable quick love; and--while,

The music of her bangles passed the porch-- Shame, which had lingered in her downcast eyes, Departed shamed ... and like the mighty deep, Which sees the moon and rises, all his life Uprose to drink her beams.

(Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled RADHIKAMILANE SANANDADAMODARO.)

"Upon whose brow shame is ashamed to sit"

--occurs at the close of the Sarga, part of which is here perforce omitted, along with the whole of the last one.]

* * * * *

Hari keep you! He whose might, On the King of Serpents seated, Flashes forth in dazzling light From the Great Snake's gems repeated: Hari keep you! He whose graces, Manifold in majesty,-- Multiplied in heavenly places-- Multiply on earth--to see Better with a hundred eyes Her bright charms who by him lies.

What skill may be in singing, What worship sound in song, What lore be taught in loving, What right divined from wrong: Such things hath Jayadeva-- In this his Hymn of Love, Which lauds Govinda ever,-- Displayed; may all approve!

THE END OF THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS

MISCELLANEOUS ORIENTAL POEMS.

THE RAJPOOT WIFE.

Sing something, Jymul Rao! for the goats are gathered now, And no more water is to bring; The village-gates are set, and the night is gray as yet, God hath given wondrous fancies to thee:--sing!

Then Jymul's supple fingers, with a touch that doubts and lingers, Sets athrill the saddest wire of all the six; And the girls sit in a tangle, and hush the tinkling bangle, While the boys pile the flame with store of sticks.

And vain of village praise, but full of ancient days, He begins with a smile and with a sigh-- "Who knows the babul-tree by the bend of the Ravee?" Quoth Gunesh, "I!" and twenty voices, "I!"

"Well--listen! there below, in the shade of bloom and bough, Is a musjid of carved and coloured stone; And Abdool Shureef Khan--I spit, to name that man!-- Lieth there, underneath, all alone.

"He was Sultan Mahmoud's vassal, and wore an Amir's tassel In his green hadj-turban, at Nungul. Yet the head which went so proud, it is not in his shroud; There are bones in that grave,--but not a skull!