Part 46 (1/2)

_with its artificial pool_;

A pool is near, to which an emerald stair Leads down, with blooming lotuses of gold Whose stalks are polished beryl; resting there, The wistful swans are glad when they behold Thine image, and forget the lake they loved of old.

XIV

_its hill of sport, girdled by bright hedges, like the dark cloud girdled by the lightening_;

And on the bank, a sapphire-crested hill Round which the golden plantain-hedges fit; She loves the spot; and while I marvel still At thee, my friend, as flas.h.i.+ng lightnings flit About thine edge, with restless rapture I remember it.

XV

_its two favourite trees, which will not blossom while their mistress is grieving_;

The ashoka-tree, with sweetly dancing lines, The favourite bakul-tree, are near the bower Of amaranth-engirdled jasmine-vines; Like me, they wait to feel the winning power Of her persuasion, ere they blossom into flower.

XVI

_its tame peac.o.c.k_;

A golden pole is set between the pair, With crystal perch above its emerald bands As green as young bamboo; at sunset there Thy friend, the blue-necked peac.o.c.k, rises, stands, And dances when she claps her bracelet-tinkling hands.

XVII

_and its painted emblems of the G.o.d of wealth_.

These are the signs--recall them o'er and o'er, My clever friend--by which the house is known, And the Conch and Lotus painted by the door: Alas! when I am far, the charm is gone-- The lotus' loveliness is lost with set of sun.

XVIII

Small as the elephant cub thou must become For easy entrance; rest where gems enhance The glory of the hill beside my home, And peep into the house with lightning-glance, But make its brightness dim as fireflies' twinkling dance.

XIX

_The Yaksha's bride_.

The supremest woman from G.o.d's workshop gone-- Young, slender; little teeth and red, red lips, Slight waist and gentle eyes of timid fawn, An idly graceful movement, generous hips, Fair bosom into which the sloping shoulder slips--

XX

Like a bird that mourns her absent mate anew Pa.s.sing these heavy days in longings keen, My girlish wife whose words are sweet and few, My second life, shall there of thee be seen-- But changed like winter-blighted lotus-blooms, I ween.

XXI

Her eyes are swol'n with tears that stream unchidden; Her lips turn pale with sorrow's burning sighs; The face that rests upon her hand is hidden By hanging curls, as when the glory dies Of the suffering moon pursued by thee through nightly skies.

XXII

_The pa.s.sion of love pa.s.ses through ten stages, eight of which are suggested in this stanza and the stanzas which follow. The first stage is not indicated; it is called Exchange of Glances_.

Thou first wilt see her when she seeks relief In wors.h.i.+p; or, half fancying, half recalling, She draws mine image worn by absent grief; Or asks the caged, sweetly-singing starling: ”Do you remember, dear, our lord? You were his darling.”