Indian Poetry.

by Edwin Arnold.

_INTRODUCTION._

OM!

REVERENCE TO GANESHA!

"The sky is clouded; and the wood resembles The sky, thick-arched with black Tamala boughs; O Radha, Radha! take this Soul, that trembles In life's deep midnight, to Thy golden house."

So Nanda spoke,--and, led by Radha's spirit, The feet of Krishna found the road aright; Wherefore, in bliss which all high hearts inherit, Together taste they Love's divine delight.

_He who wrote these things for thee, Of the Son of Wa.s.soodee, Was the poet Jayadeva; Him Saraswati gave ever Fancies fair his mind to throng, Like pictures palace-walls along; Ever to his notes of love Lakshmi's mystic dancers move.

If thy spirit seeks to brood On Hari glorious, Hari good; If it feeds on solemn numbers.

Dim as dreams and soft as slumbers, Lend thine ear to Jayadev, Lord of all the spells that save.

Umapatidhara's strain Glows like roses after rain; Sharan's stream-like song is grand, If its tide ye understand; Bard more wise beneath the sun Is not found than Govardhun; Dhoyi holds the listener still With his shlokes of subtle skill; But for sweet words suited well Jayadeva doth excel._

(_What follows is to the Music_ MaLAVA _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.)

HYMN TO VISHNU

O thou that held'st the blessed Veda dry When all things else beneath the floods were hurled; Strong Fish-G.o.d! Ark of Men! _Jai!_ Hari, _jai!_ Hail, Keshav, hail! thou Master of the world!

The round world rested on thy s.p.a.cious nape; Upon thy neck, like a mere mole, it stood: O thou that took'st for us the Tortoise-shape, Hail, Keshav, hail! Ruler of wave and wood!

The world upon thy curving tusk sate sure, Like the Moon's dark disc in her crescent pale; O thou who didst for us a.s.sume the Boar, Immortal Conqueror! hail, Keshav, hail!

When thou thy Giant-Foe didst seize and rend, Fierce, fearful, long, and sharp were fang and nail; Thou who the Lion and the Man didst blend, Lord of the Universe! hail, Narsingh, hail!

Wonderful Dwarf!--who with a threefold stride Cheated King Bali--where thy footsteps fall Men's sins, O Wamuna! are set aside: O Keshav, hail! thou Help and Hope of all!

The sins of this sad earth thou didst a.s.soil, The anguish of its creatures thou didst heal; Freed are we from all terrors by thy toil: Hail, Purshuram, hail! Lord of the biting steel!

To thee the fell Ten-Headed yielded life, Thou in dread battle laid'st the monster low!

Ah, Rama! dear to G.o.ds and men that strife; We praise thee, Master of the matchless bow!

With clouds for garments glorious thou dost fare, Veiling thy dazzling majesty and might, As when Yamuna saw thee with the share, A peasant--yet the King of Day and Night.

Merciful-hearted! when thou earnest as Boodh-- Albeit 'twas written in the Scriptures so-- Thou bad'st our altars be no more imbrued With blood of victims: Keshav! bending low--

We praise thee, Wielder of the sweeping sword, Brilliant as curving comets in the gloom, Whose edge shall smite the fierce barbarian horde; Hail to thee, Keshav! hail, and hear, and come,

And fill this song of Jayadev with thee, And make it wise to teach, strong to redeem, And sweet to living souls. Thou Mystery!

Thou Light of Life! Thou Dawn beyond the dream!

Fish! that didst outswim the flood; Tortoise! whereon earth hath stood; Boar! who with thy tush held'st high The world, that mortals might not die; Lion! who hast giants torn; Dwarf! who laugh'dst a king to scorn; Sole Subduer of the Dreaded!

Slayer of the many-headed!

Mighty Ploughman! Teacher tender!

Of thine own the sure Defender!

Under all thy ten disguises Endless praise to thee arises.

(_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARi _and the Mode_ NIHSaRA.)

Endless praise arises, O thou G.o.d that liest Rapt, on k.u.mla's breast, Happiest, holiest, highest!

Planets are thy jewels, Stars thy forehead-gems, Set like sapphires gleaming In kingliest anadems; Even the great gold Sun-G.o.d, Blazing through the sky, Serves thee but for crest-stone, _Jai, jai!_ Hari, _jai!_ As that Lord of day After night brings morrow, Thou dost charm away Life's long dream of sorrow.

As on Mansa's water Brood the swans at rest, So thy laws sit stately On a holy breast.

O, Drinker of the poison!

Ah, high Delight of earth!

What light is to the lotus-buds, What singing is to mirth, Art thou--art thou that slayedst Madhou and Narak grim; That ridest on the King of Birds, Making all glories dim.

With eyes like open lotus-flowers, Bright in the morning rain, Freeing by one swift piteous glance The spirit from Life's pain: Of all the three Worlds Treasure!

Of sin the Putter-by!

O'er the Ten-Headed Victor!

_Jai_ Hari! Hari! _jai!_ Thou Shaker of the Mountain!

Thou Shadow of the Storm!

Thou Cloud that unto Lakshmi's face Comes welcome, white, and warm!

O thou,--who to great Lakshmi Art like the silvery beam Which moon-sick chakors feed upon By Jumna's silent stream,-- To thee this hymn ascendeth, That Jayadev doth sing, Of worship, love, and mystery High Lord and Heavenly King!

And unto whoso hears it Do thou a blessing bring-- Whose neck is gilt with yellow dust From lilies that did cling Beneath the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of Lakshmi, A girdle soft and sweet, When in divine embracing The lips of G.o.ds did meet; And the beating heart above Of thee--Dread Lord of Heaven!-- She left that stamp of love-- By such deep sign be given Prays Jayadev, the glory And the secret and the spells Which close-hid in this story Unto wise ears he tells.

END OF INTRODUCTION.

_SARGA THE FIRST._

SAMODADAMODARO.

THE SPORTS OF KRISHNA.

Beautiful Radha, jasmine-bosomed Radha, All in the Spring-time waited by the wood For Krishna fair, Krishna the all-forgetful,-- Krishna with earthly love's false fire consuming-- And some one of her maidens sang this song:--

(_What follows is to the Music_ VASANTA _and the Mode_ YATI.)

I know where Krishna tarries in these early days of Spring, When every wind from warm Malay brings fragrance on its wing; Brings fragrance stolen far away from thickets of the clove, In jungles where the bees hum and the Koil flutes her love; He dances with the dancers of a merry morrice one, All in the budding Spring-time, for 'tis sad to be alone.

I know how Krishna pa.s.ses these hours of blue and gold When parted lovers sigh to meet and greet and closely hold Hand fast in hand; and every branch upon the Vakul-tree Droops downward with a hundred blooms, in every bloom a bee; He is dancing with the dancers to a laughter-moving tone, In the soft awakening Spring-time, when 'tis hard to live alone.

Where Kroona-flowers, that open at a lover's lightest tread, Break, and, for shame at what they hear, from white blush modest red; And all the spears on all the boughs of all the Ketuk-glades Seem ready darts to pierce the hearts of wandering youths and maids; Tis there thy Krishna dances till the merry drum is done, All in the sunny Spring-time, when who can live alone?

Where the breaking forth of blossom on the yellow Keshra-sprays Dazzles like Kama's sceptre, whom all the world obeys; And Patal-buds fill drowsy bees from pink delicious bowls, As Kama's nectared goblet steeps in languor human souls; There he dances with the dancers, and of Radha thinketh none, All in the warm new Spring-tide, when none will live alone.