Indian Poetry Part 8

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 pa.s.sed the porch-- Shame, which had lingered in her downcast eyes, Departed shamed[5] ... 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 Gita Govinda ent.i.tled_ RADHIKAMILANE SANANDADAMODARO.)

[Footnote 5: This complete antic.i.p.ation (_salajja lajj.a.pi_) of the line--

"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 wors.h.i.+p 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, G.o.d 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 va.s.sal, and wore an Amir's ta.s.sel 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!

"And, deep drove in his breast, there moulders with the rest A dagger, brighter once than Chundra's ray; A Rajpoot lohar whet it, and a Rajpoot woman set it Past the power of any hand to tear away.

"'Twas the Ranee Neila true, the wife of Soorj Dehu, Lord of the Rajpoots of Nourpoor; You shall hear the mournful story, with its sorrow and its glory, And curse Shureef Khan,--the soor!"

All in the wide Five-Waters was none like Soorj Dehu, To foeman who so dreadful, to friend what heart so true?

Like Indus, through the mountains came down the Muslim ranks, And town-walls fell before them as flooded river-banks;

But Soorj Dehu the Rajpoot owned neither town nor wall; His house the camp, his roof-tree the sky that covers all;

His seat of state the saddle; his robe a s.h.i.+rt of mail; His court a thousand Rajpoots close at his stallion's tail.

Not less was Soorj a Rajah because no crown he wore Save the grim helm of iron with sword-marks dinted o'er;

Because he grasped no sceptre save the sharp tulwar, made Of steel that fell from heaven,--for 'twas Indra forged that blade!

And many a starless midnight the shout of "Soorj Dehu"

Broke up with spear and matchlock the Muslim's "Illahu."

And many a day of battle upon the Muslim proud Tell Soorj, as India's lightning falls from the silent cloud.

Nor ever shot nor arrow, nor spear nor slinger's stone, Could pierce the mail that Neila the Ranee buckled on:

But traitor's subtle tongue-thrust through fence of steel can break; And Soorj was taken sleeping, whom none had ta'en awake.

Then at the noon, in durbar, swore fiercely Shureef Khan That Soorj should die in torment, or live a Mussulman.

But Soorj laughed lightly at him, and answered, "Work your will!

The last breath of my body shall curse your Prophet still."

With words of insult shameful, and deeds of cruel kind, They vexed that Rajpoot's body, but never moved his mind.