Part 39 (2/2)
But Love is gone, far gone beyond returning, A candle snuffed by wandering breezes vain; And see! I am his wick, with Love once burning, Now blackened by the smoke of nameless pain.
In slaying Love, fate wrought but half a slaughter, For I am left. And yet the clinging vine Must fall, when falls the st.u.r.dy tree that taught her Round him in loving tenderness to twine.
So then, fulfil for me the final mission Of him who undertakes a kinsman's part; Commit me to the flames (my last pet.i.tion) And speed the widow to her husband's heart.
The moonlight wanders not, the moon forsaking; Where sails the cloud, the lightning is not far; Wife follows mate, is law of nature's making, Yes, even among such things as lifeless are.
My breast is stained; I lay among the ashes Of him I loved with all a woman's powers; Now let me lie where death-fire flames and flashes, As glad as on a bed of budding flowers.
Sweet Spring, thou camest oft where we lay sleeping On blossoms, I and he whose life is sped; Unto the end thy friendly office keeping, Prepare for me the last, the fiery bed.
And fan the flame to which I am committed With southern winds; I would no longer stay; Thou knowest well how slow the moments flitted For Love, my love, when I was far away.
And sprinkle some few drops of water, given In friends.h.i.+p, on his ashes and on me; That Love and I may quench our thirst in heaven As once on earth, in heavenly unity.
And sometimes seek the grave where Love is lying; Pause there a moment, gentle Spring, and shower Sweet mango-cl.u.s.ters to the winds replying; For he thou lovedst, loved the mango-flower.”
As Charm prepared to end her mortal pain In fire, she heard a voice from heaven cry, That showed her mercy, as the early rain Shows mercy to the fish, when lakes go dry:
”O wife of Love! Thy lover is not lost For evermore. This voice shall tell thee why He perished like the moth, when he had crossed The dreadful G.o.d, in fire from s.h.i.+va's eye.
When darts of Love set Brahma in a flame, To shame his daughter with impure desire, He checked the horrid sin without a name, And cursed the G.o.d of love to die by fire.
But Virtue interceded in behalf Of Love, and won a softening of the doom: 'Upon the day when s.h.i.+va's heart shall laugh In wedding joy, for mercy finding room,
He shall unite Love's body with the soul, A marriage-present to his mountain bride.'
As clouds hold fire and water in control, G.o.ds are the fount of wrath, and grace beside.
So, gentle Charm, preserve thy body sweet For dear reunion after present pain; The stream that dwindles in the summer heat, Is reunited with the autumn rain.”
Invisibly and thus mysteriously The thoughts of Charm were turned away from death; And Spring, believing where he might not see, Comforted her with words of sweetest breath.
The wife of Love awaited thus the day, Though racked by grief, when fate should show its power, As the waning moon laments her darkened ray And waits impatient for the twilight hour.
_Fifth canto. The reward of self-denial_.--Parvati reproaches her own beauty, for ”loveliness is fruitless if it does not bind a lover.” She therefore resolves to lead a life of religious self-denial, hoping that the merit thus acquired will procure her s.h.i.+va's love. Her mother tries in vain to dissuade her; her father directs her to a fit mountain peak, and she retires to her devotions. She lays aside all ornaments, lets her hair hang unkempt, and a.s.sumes the hermit's dress of bark. While she is spending her days in self-denial, she is visited by a Brahman youth, who compliments her highly upon her rigid devotion, and declares that her conduct proves the truth of the proverb: Beauty can do no wrong. Yet he confesses himself bewildered, for she seems to have everything that heart can desire. He therefore asks her purpose in performing these austerities, and is told how her desires are fixed upon the highest of all objects, upon the G.o.d s.h.i.+va himself, and how, since Love is dead, she sees no way to win him except by ascetic religion. The youth tries to dissuade Parvati by recounting all the dreadful legends that are current about s.h.i.+va: how he wears a coiling snake on his wrist, a b.l.o.o.d.y elephant-hide upon his back, how he dwells in a graveyard, how he rides upon an undignified bull, how poor he is and of unknown birth. Parvati's anger is awakened by this recital. She frowns and her lip quivers as she defends herself and the object of her love.
s.h.i.+va, she said, is far beyond the thought Of such as you: then speak no more to me.
Dull crawlers hate the splendid wonders wrought By lofty souls untouched by rivalry.
They search for wealth, whom dreaded evil nears, Or they who fain would rise a little higher; The world's sole refuge neither hopes nor fears Nor seeks the objects of a small desire.
Yes, he is poor, yet he is riches' source; This graveyard-haunter rules the world alone; Dreadful is he, yet all beneficent force: Think you his inmost nature can be known?
All forms are his; and he may take or leave At will, the snake, or gem with l.u.s.tre white; The b.l.o.o.d.y skin, or silk of softest weave; Dead skulls, or moonbeams radiantly bright.
For poverty he rides upon a bull, While Indra, king of heaven, elephant-borne, Bows low to strew his feet with beautiful, Unfading blossoms in his chaplet worn.
Yet in the slander spoken in pure hate One thing you uttered worthy of his worth: How could the author of the uncreate Be born? How could we understand his birth?
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