Part 4

Then she, the maid of Radha, spake again; And pointing far away between the leaves Guided her lovely Mistress where to look, And note how Krishna wantoned in the wood Now with this one, now that; his heart, her prize, Panting with foolish passions, and his eyes Beaming with too much love for those fair girls-- Fair, but not so as Radha; and she sang:

(What follows is to the Music RÂMAGIRÎ and the Mode YATI.)

See, Lady! how thy Krishna passes these idle hours Decked forth in fold of woven gold, and crowned with forest-flowers; And scented with the sandal, and gay with gems of price-- Rubies to mate his laughing lips, and diamonds like his, eyes;-- In the company of damsels, who dance and sing and play, Lies Krishna, laughing, toying, dreaming his Spring away.

One, with star-blossomed champâk wreathed, wooes him to rest his head On the dark pillow of her breast so tenderly outspread; And o'er his brow with, roses blown she fans a fragrance rare, That falls on the enchanted sense like rain in thirsty air, While the company of damsels wave many an odorous spray, And Krishna, laughing, toying, sighs the soft Spring away.

Another, gazing in his face, sits wistfully apart, Searching it with those looks of love that leap from heart to heart; Her eyes--afire with shy desire, veiled by their lashes black-- Speak so that Krishna cannot choose but send the message back, In the company of damsels whose bright eyes in a ring Shine round him with soft meanings in the merry light of Spring.

The third one of that dazzling band of dwellers in the wood-- Body and bosom panting with the pulse of youthful blood-- Leans over him, as in his ear a lightsome thing to speak, And then with leaf-soft lip imprints a kiss below his cheek; A kiss that thrills, and Krishna turns at the silken touch To give it back--ah, Radha! forgetting thee too much.

And one with arch smile beckons him away from Jumna's banks, Where the tall bamboos bristle like spears in battle-ranks, And plucks his cloth to make him come into the mango-shade, Where the fruit is ripe and golden, and the milk and cakes are laid: Oh! golden-red the mangoes, and glad the feasts of Spring, And fair the flowers to lie upon, and sweet the dancers sing.

Sweetest of all that Temptress who dances for him now With subtle feet which part and meet in the Râs-measure slow, To the chime of silver bangles and the beat of rose-leaf hands, And pipe and lute and cymbal played by the woodland bands; So that wholly passion-laden--eye, ear, sense, soul o'ercome-- Krishna is theirs in the forest; his heart forgets its home.

Krishna, made for heavenly things, 'Mid those woodland singers sings; With those dancers dances featly, Gives back soft embraces sweetly; Smiles on that one, toys with this, Glance for glance and kiss for kiss; Meets the merry damsels fairly, Plays the round of folly rarely, Lapped in milk-warm spring-time weather, He and those brown girls together.

And this shadowed earthly love In the twilight of the grove, Dance and song and soft caresses, Meeting looks and tangled tresses, Jayadev the same hath writ, That ye might have gain of it, Sagely its deep sense conceiving And its inner light believing; How that Love--the mighty Master, Lord of all the stars that cluster In the sky, swiftest and slowest, Lord of highest, Lord of lowest-- Manifests himself to mortals, Winning them towards the portals Of his secret House, the gates Of that bright Paradise which waits The wise in love. Ah, human creatures! Even your phantasies are teachers. Mighty Love makes sweet in seeming Even Krishna's woodland dreaming; Mighty Love sways all alike From self to selflessness. Oh! strike From your eyes the veil, and see What Love willeth Him to be Who in error, but in grace, Sitteth with that lotus-face, And those eyes whose rays of heaven Unto phantom-eyes are given; Holding feasts of foolish mirth With these Visions of the earth; Learning love, and love imparting; Yet with sense of loss upstarting:--

For the cloud that veils the fountains Underneath the Sandal mountains, How--as if the sunshine drew All its being to the blue-- It takes flight, and seeks to rise High into the purer skies, High into the snow and frost, On the shining summits lost! Ah! and how the Koil's strain Smites the traveller with pain,-- When the mango blooms in spring, And "Koohoo," "Koohoo," they sing-- Pain of pleasures not yet won, Pain of journeys not yet done, Pain of toiling without gaining, Pain, 'mid gladness, of still paining.

But may He guide us all to glory high Who laughed when Radha glided, hidden, by, And all among those damsels free and bold Touched Krishna with a soft mouth, kind and cold; And like the others, leaning on his breast, Unlike the others, left there Love's unrest; And like the others, joining in his song, Unlike the others, made him silent long.

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

SARGA THE SECOND.

KLESHAKESHAVO.

THE PENITENCE OF KRISHNA.

Thus lingered Krishna in the deep, green wood, And gave himself, too prodigal, to those; But Radha, heart-sick at his falling-off, Seeing her heavenly beauty slighted so, Withdrew; and, in a bower of Paradise-- Where nectarous blossoms wove a shrine of shade, Haunted by birds and bees of unknown skies-- She sate deep-sorrowful, and sang this strain,

(What follows is to the Music GURJJARÎ and the Mode YATI.)

Ah, my Beloved! taken with those glances, Ah, my Beloved! dancing those rash dances, Ah, Minstrel! playing wrongful strains so well; Ah, Krishna! Krishna with the honeyed lip! Ah, Wanderer into foolish fellowship! My Dancer, my Delight!--I love thee still.

O Dancer! strip thy peacock-crown away, Rise! thou whose forehead is the star of day, With beauty for its silver halo set; Come! thou whose greatness gleams beneath its shroud Like Indra's rainbow shining through the cloud-- Come, for I love thee, my Beloved! yet.

Must love thee--cannot choose but love thee ever, My best Beloved--set on this endeavor, To win thy tender heart and earnest eye From lips but sadly sweet, from restless bosoms, To mine, O Krishna with the mouth of blossoms! To mine, thou soul of Krishna! yet I sigh

Half hopeless, thinking of myself forsaken, And thee, dear Loiterer, in the wood o'ertaken With passion for those bold and wanton ones, Who knit thine arms as poison-plants gripe trees With twining cords--their flowers the braveries That flash in the green gloom, sparkling stars and stones.

My Prince! my Lotus-faced! my woe! my love! Whose broad brow, with the tilka-spot above, Shames the bright moon at full with fleck of cloud; Thou to mistake so little for so much! Thou, Krishna, to be palm to palm with such! O Soul made for my joys, pure, perfect, proud!

Ah, my Beloved! in thy darkness dear; Ah, Dancer! with the jewels in thine ear, Swinging to music of a loveless love; O my Beloved! in thy fall so high That angels, sages, spirits of the sky Linger about thee, watching in the grove.

I will be patient still, and draw thee ever, My one Beloved, sitting by the river Under the thick kadambas with that throng: Will there not come an end to earthly madness? Shall I not, past the sorrow, have the gladness? Must not the love-light shine for him ere long?

Shine, thou Light by Radha given, Shine, thou splendid star of heaven! Be a lamp to Krishna's feet, Show to all hearts secrets sweet, Of the wonder and the love Jayadev hath writ above. Be the quick Interpreter Unto wisest ears of her Who always sings to all, "I wait, He loveth still who loveth late."

For (sang on that high Lady in the shade) My soul for tenderness, not blame, was made; Mine eyes look through his evil to his good; My heart coins pleas for him; my fervent thought Prevents what he will say when these are naught, And that which I am shall be understood.

Then spake she to her maiden wistfully--