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 Brahman ceased: but UMa'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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, The th.o.r.n.y paths of penance hath she trod.

But since that mighty one hath KaMA 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 G.o.d in anger hurled the shaft away, But deep in UMa'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, "G.o.d 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 UMa'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 Brahman turned to UMa 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 UMa 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 G.o.d, 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 l.u.s.tre 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 BRAHMa'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 G.o.d 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.

_UMa'S ESPOUSALS._

Now gentle UMa bade a damsel bear To ['S]IVA, Soul of All, her maiden prayer: "Wait the high sanction of HIMaLAYA'S will, And ask his daughter from the royal hill."

Then ere the G.o.d, 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 UMa'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 GANGa'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 G.o.d 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 BRAHMa 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.