Part 7

Krishna, come! 'tis grief untold to grieve her--shame to let her sigh; Come, for she is sick with love, and thou her only remedy.

So she sang, and Jayadeva Prays for all, and prays for ever. That Great Hari may bestow Utmost bliss of loving so On us all;--that one who wore The herdsman's form, and heretofore, To save the shepherd's threatened flock, Up from the earth reared the huge rock-- Bestow it with a gracious hand, Albeit, amid the woodland band, Clinging close in fond caresses Krishna gave them ardent kisses, Taking on his lips divine Earthly stamp and woodland sign.

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

SARGA THE FIFTH.

SAKANDKSHAPUNDARIKAKSHO.

THE LONGINGS OF KRISHNA.

"Say I am here! oh, if she pardons me, Say where I am, and win her softly hither." So Krishna to the maid; and willingly She came again to Radha, and she sang:

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

Low whispers the wind from Malaya Overladen with love; On the hills all the grass is burned yellow; And the trees in the grove Droop with tendrils that mock by their clinging The thoughts of the parted; And there lies, sore-sighing for thee, Thy love, altered-hearted.

To him the moon's icy-chill silver Is a sun at midday; The fever he burns with is deeper Than starlight can stay: Like one who falls stricken by arrows, With the colour departed From all but his red wounds, so lies Thy love, bleeding-hearted.

To the music the banded bees make him He closeth his ear; In the blossoms their small horns are blowing The honey-song clear; But as if every sting to his bosom Its smart had imparted, Low lies by the edge of the river, Thy love, aching-hearted.

By the edge of the river, far wandered From his once beloved bowers, And the haunts of his beautiful playmates, And the beds strewn with flowers; Now thy name is his playmate--that only!-- And the hard rocks upstarted From the sand make the couch where he lies, Thy Krishna, sad-hearted.

Oh may Hari fill each soul, As these gentle verses roll Telling of the anguish borne By kindred ones asunder torn! Oh may Hari unto each All the lore of loving teach, All the pain and all the bliss; Jayadeva prayeth this!

Yea, Lady! in the self-same spot he waits Where with thy kiss thou taught'st him utmost love, And drew him, as none else draws, with thy look; And all day long, and all night long, his cry Is "Radha, Radha," like a spell said o'er:

And in his heart there lives no wish nor hope Save only this, to slake his spirit's thirst For Radha's love with Radha's lips; and find Peace on the immortal beauty of thy breast.

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

Mistress, sweet and bright and holy! Meet him in that place; Change his cheerless melancholy Into joy and grace; If thou hast forgiven, vex not; If thou lovest, go, Watching ever by the river, Krishna listens low:

Listens low, and on his reed there Softly sounds thy name, Making even mute things plead there For his hope: 'tis shame That, while winds are welcome to him, If from thee they blow, Mournful ever by the river Krishna waits thee so!

When a bird's wing stirs the roses, When a leaf falls dead, Twenty times he recomposes The flower-seat he has spread: Twenty times, with anxious glances Seeking thee in vain, Sighing ever by the river, Krishna droops again.

Loosen from thy foot the bangle, Lest its golden bell, With a tiny, tattling jangle, Any false tale tell: If thou fearest that the moonlight Will thy glad face know, Draw those dark braids lower, Lady! But to Krishna go.

Swift and still as lightning's splendour Let thy beauty come, Sudden, gracious, dazzling, tender, To his arms--its home. Swift as Indra's yellow lightning, Shining through the night, Glide to Krishna's lonely bosom, Take him love and light.

Grant, at last, love's utmost measure, Giving, give the whole; Keep back nothing of the treasure Of thy priceless soul: Hold with both hands out unto him Thy chalice, let him drain The nectar of its dearest draught, Till not a wish remain.

Only go--the stars are setting, And thy Krishna grieves; Doubt and anger quite forgetting, Hasten through the leaves: Wherefore didst thou lead him heav'nward But for this thing's sake? Comfort him with pity, Radha! Or his heart must break.

But while Jayadeva writes This rare tale of deep delights-- Jayadev, whose heart is given Unto Hari, Lord in Heaven-- See that ye too, as ye read, With a glad and humble heed, Bend your brows before His face, That ye may have bliss and grace.

And then the Maid, compassionate, sang on--

Lady, most sweet! For thy coming feet He listens in the wood, with love sore-tried; Faintly sighing, Like one a-dying, He sends his thoughts afoot to meet his bride.

Ah, silent one! Sunk is the sun, The darkness falls as deep as Krishna's sorrow; The chakor's strain Is not more vain Than mine, and soon gray dawn will bring white morrow.

And thine own bliss Delays by this; The utmost of thy heaven comes only so When, with hearts beating And passionate greeting, Parting is over, and the parted grow.